As soon as he waked up he bade his companions good night and went to his apartment.  The two others soon followed his example.

As this day passed, so passed the succeeding days of their sojourn in the city.

Mr. Rockharrt went out every morning on business connected with that great scheme which was going to quadruple his already enormous wealth.  He came home every evening quite worn out, and after dinner sat and dozed in his chair until bedtime.

Cora watched him anxiously and wondered at him.  He was aging fast.  She could see that in his whole appearance.  But what a strange infatuation for a man of seventy-seven, possessed already of almost fabulous wealth, to be as hotly in pursuit of money as if he were some poor youth with his fortune still to make!  And what, after all, could he do with so much more money?  Why could he not retire on his vast riches, and rest from his labors, leaving his two stalwart sons to carry on his business, and so live longer?  Cora mournfully asked herself.

On Sunday a strange thing happened.  Old Aaron Rockharrt announced at the breakfast table his intention of going to a certain church to hear a celebrated preacher, whose piety, eloquence and enthusiasm was the subject of general discussion; and he invited the two ladies to go with him.  Both consented—­Cora because she never willingly absented herself from public worship on the Sabbath; Rose because it was her cue to be amiable and to agree to everything that was proposed.

“We need not take a carriage.  The church is only two blocks off,” said Mr. Rockharrt, as he arose from the table.

The party was soon ready, and while the bell was still ringing, they set out to walk.  As they reached the sacred edifice the bell ceased ringing and the organ pealed forth in a grand voluntary.

“You see we are but just in time,” said Mr. Rockharrt, as he led his party into the building.

The polite sexton conducted the strangers up the center aisle and put them into a good pew.  The church was not full, but was filling rapidly.  Our party bowed their heads for the preliminary private prayer, and so did not see the great preacher as he entered and stood at the reading desk.  He was an English dean of great celebrity as a pulpit orator, now on a visit to the United States, and preaching in turn in every pulpit of his denomination as he passed.  He was a man of about sixty-five, tall, thin, with a bald head, a narrow face, an aquiline nose, blue eyes and a gray beard.  He began to read the opening texts of the service.

“’If we say that we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us.’”

At the sound of his voice Rose Stillwater started violently, looked up and grew ghastly white.  She dropped her face in her hands on the cushioned edge of the pew before her, and so sat trembling through the reading of the texts and the exhortations.  Afterward followed the ritualistic general confession and prayer, during which all knelt.