There was the throb of guilt in both their bosoms, resting in one the betrayal of a soul, on the other the crushing weight of innocent blood crying for vengeance.
And still, as yet, they slept in peace, for the dark waters of the East River had not given up that ghastly mute witness whirling and diving in the black under eddies around the rock-hewn pyramids of the Brooklyn Bridge.
A thousand pairs of eager eyes now watched the money exchanges of America and Europe for any paltry bit of the plunder stored away in Fritz Braun's black valise.

But the vengeance of God slept only while the sinners fled away from the place of the betrayal of a noble heart.
Vice-President Arthur Ferris of the Western Trading Company found in the proud and formal reserve of the reinstated officials an armor proof against all his legal acumen.
Some subtle spirit of unexpressed defiance seemed to have banded them all against him.

He felt that the stately oak which had sheltered him was now fallen indeed.

It was in an agony of spirit that he awaited the appearance of his unacknowledged wife.
The "private agency" which he had secretly employed brought a new discovery to his heart, when, ten days after Hugh Worthington's death, Ferris was awakened before his breakfast by a sudden report.
The spy handed, in silence, to the astounded man a sealed envelope, which was the tidings of an impending Waterloo.
"Miss Worthington arrived night before last, with Boardman and Warner.

They came on in a special car via the Pennsylvania road.
She is at A.C.