CHAPTER XIX.
A CABLEGRAM.
The following morning a note came for Helen by a messenger. It wasfrom Lillian Stuart and, without a word of upbraiding for having beenkept in ignorance of Helen's presence in town, begged for a visit fromher prior to her return to Hetherford. Helen was fully alive to thegenerous spirit thus shown toward her, but it did not alter herdetermination to decline the invitation. She worded her answer askindly as possible, while making her meaning quite clear. It hurt hercruelly to take this step, and as she sealed the envelope there weretears in her eyes.
It was Mrs. Hill's day at home, and when, after luncheon, Eleanorreminded Helen of this fact, the girl pleaded to be excused, for shefelt far too depressed and out of sorts to meet people and to exertherself to entertain them. Mrs. Hill indulgently granted her request,and so she put on her hat and coat and started out for a walk. Shestrolled down a beautiful avenue, lined with fine residences,succeeded, as she proceeded, by richly and gayly ornamented shops. Acrowd of people were passing up and down, and the street at times wasalmost blocked with an innumerable throng of equipages. When Helen hadreached a point where this avenue is intersected by another, shecrossed the street and entered a square, whose patches of grass andbare trees were a rest to her eyes after the rows of stately buildingsall about her. Children were playing about on the smooth paths, and asHelen looked at them she found herself longing for a sight of dearlittle Gladys' round, chubby face. Across the street, on the blockbelow, a swinging sign caught her attention. Its staring characterstold her that an art exhibition was being held within, and she turnedher steps in that direction. As she approached the showy andover-ornamented doorway, she glanced up at a man who was coming towardher. Something in his gait and general bearing struck her as familiar.As he gained her side he raised his hat, and she saw that he wasValentine Farr.
"Why, Miss Lawrence," he exclaimed, "this is a very great andunexpected pleasure. I had no idea you were in town. How are you?"
"Oh! very well, thank you, but," with a sympathetic glance at his arm,which she saw he carried in a sling, "have you been hurt, Mr. Farr?"
"I had a fall aboard ship on our way to Fort Munroe, and broke my arm.It was badly attended to, so I got leave to come home and have Dr.----," naming a well-known surgeon, "fix it up for me."
"I am sorry," said Helen, looking at him with friendly eyes.
"Where were you going, Miss Lawrence?" Farr asked, as the surgingthrong crowded them close to the railing of a near house.
"I thought I would go in just above here, and see the pictures."
"Will you let me accompany you? I would deem it a very great favor, Ihave so many questions I want to ask you. I want to know all aboutHetherford and everyone there.
"Indeed, I wish you would, and I will gladly satisfy your curiosity.There is not much to tell of Hetherford save that Jean has gone toEurope."
She tried to mention her sister's name quite naturally, but the colorrose to her face, and she could not bring herself to look at hercompanion.
"To Europe?" he echoed, and could think of nothing further to say.
"I will tell you all about it when we are inside," Helen said to himrather flurriedly.
In a moment more they found themselves in a softly lighted room, thewalls of which were lined with paintings. A few people, catalogue inhand, were slowly walking about or standing in groups of two or threebefore some painting of more than usual merit. Helen gained courage toraise her eyes to her companion's face, and something in itsexpression made her direct her steps at once toward a huge red ottomanwhich occupied the center of the room.
"Shall we sit down here and have our talk first?" her voice softlyinterrogated. "You can show me the pictures afterward."
Farr looked at her gratefully.
"It would be my wish, Miss Helen, but you mustn't let me bore you."
For answer, Helen seated herself and motioned him to take the placebeside her.
"Jean went to Europe in October. She had not been at all well,and----"
"Not well?" he interrupted her with an anxious face.
"In fact, she was quite ill," Helen went on gravely, "and she had anopportunity to join some friends of ours who were over there, so wesent her in the hope that the change would benefit her."
"And how is she now?"
"Somewhat better, I think, but not very strong yet."
"I am deeply grieved," he answered, in a voice which his best effortscould not keep very steady.
There was a brief silence, during which Farr's eyes were fixed moodilyon the carpet.
"I called to see your sister," he began at length, "the day before weleft Hetherford, but she excused herself."
"I don't think Jean knew of your visit."
"You are mistaken," he returned bitterly. "The servant who admitted mehad received orders that Miss Jean would not see me, and she made thatfact patent to me beyond the possibility of any doubt."
"I cannot help that," said Helen, her determination to pursue thesubject struggling against a sudden timidity. "I am sure you arewrong. I remember the afternoon perfectly. Nathalie and I had been tothe inn, and when we reached home I found Jean on the sofa in herroom, and I asked her if anyone had called, and she said 'no.'"
A puzzled expression crossed Farr's face.
"It is very strange. Why, Miss Helen, I wrote and asked your sister ifshe would see me, and she replied that she would be at home at thehour I mentioned in my note."
All at once there flashed through Helen's mind a recollection whichsuggested a most cruel suspicion. Farr was looking straight at her,his honest eyes demanding an honest answer.
"I cannot explain it, Mr. Farr," she said slowly, "but I feelperfectly safe in answering you that it was all a mistake, and thatJean never knew of your call at the manor."
"And what of the message the servant gave me? Forgive me, Miss Helen,if I seem to press you, but this is no light matter to me."
"I am quite sure that Jean never gave that message, although I cangive you no further explanation of the matter."
Farr's face went very white, and, as Helen looked at him, she saw howmuch the past few months had changed him. There were deep lines abouthis mouth, and his grave eyes were immeasurably sad. Her heart wentout to him in sudden sympathy, and she spoke to him with a touch oftenderness in her voice.
"Jean will be with us again at Christmas time, I hope, and then youmust see her and let her explain to you how such a mistake was made."
Farr rested his elbow on his knee and dropped his head in his hand.
"If I only felt sure you were right, Miss Helen." He paused a moment,then resumed with deep earnestness, "I cared so much for your sisterthat the sudden withdrawal of her friendship was a bitter blow to me."
Helen's eyes were downcast, her lips refused to speak. The silence wasbroken by Farr.
"I think at one time I dreamed she cared for me a little, but myillusion was quickly dispelled."
Another pause of briefer duration, and then he turned to his companionwith a question on his lips.
"How was it, Miss Helen? Did I presume too much on your sister'skindness to me? I suppose I must have, although it seems to me that Ihardly deserved her excessive coldness and dislike."
Helen, thus put to the test, looked straight up at him, and answered alittle tremulously:
"Mr. Farr, Jean always liked you."
He drew a quick sharp breath.
"Why do you think so?" he asked. Then before Helen could reply, hewent on in a strained voice, "I loved Jean with all my heart, and wasabout to ask her to be my wife. I love her now--I shall always loveher."
"And Jean cares for you," Helen whispered, so low he had to bend hishead to catch the words.
"Cares for me?" he repeated, a sudden light in his eyes, his voicegrown very deep and tender.
"Yes, oh yes. There must have been some wretched mistake which can beexplained away. I don't know how it was," she went on with aplaintive smile. "Jean's heart was almost
broken because of you, andshe grew so ill we had to send her away."
"Thank God!" he ejaculated solemnly.
Helen broke into a little laugh, which was full of tears.
"That Jean has gone away?" she queried.
Farr lifted his head and drew a deep breath.
"I can't thank you, Miss Helen. I seem to have no words to express toyou what you have done for me to-day. Indeed, it seems as if Fate, foronce, had chosen to do me a kind turn."
After a little Helen said gently:
"You must come to the manor for Christmas, Mr. Farr. I can think of nogreater happiness for Jean than to have you there to welcome her onher return."
"Miss Helen, I--I can't realize it. You----" His voice broke, butafter a moment he resumed: "You are not holding out a vain hope tome--you are sure?"
Helen met his eyes steadily, and he was reassured, even before sheanswered gravely:
"Quite sure, Mr. Farr. Do you think I would have spoken else?"
She turned away her head, and he saw a tear on her cheek.
"I have tried to fill my mother's place to the girls, but I wasblinded by personal interests, and did not understand about Jean untiltoo late. I don't think I could have borne it if it had not been putin my power to retrieve my mistake."
Farr looked at her curiously, a thoroughly puzzled expression on hisface. He opened his lips to question her, but suddenly changed hismind, and closed them without having spoken.
Helen rose from the ottoman.
"We have not seen the pictures, have we?" she asked in a lighter tone.
Farr stood looking down at her with earnest eyes.
"Miss Helen, if God is good to me, if all goes well, is there awelcome for me at the manor?"
She put out her hand to him, and he held it tightly for a moment.
"God bless you."
Some minutes later they descended the wide stairs, and, passingthrough the outer door, found themselves once more in the crowdedthoroughfare. The short November day was drawing to a close, the windwas keen and sharp, and a flurry of snow filled the air.
"Now, Mr. Farr, I want you to put me in an omnibus, please, and youmust not come uptown with me."
Then, as he demurred, she added, with a friendly smile:
"My mind is so full of thoughts, I would really rather be alone for awhile. You understand, don't you?"
She turned on the steps of the omnibus to say:
"I will let you know about Jean's return, and remember, you are tospend Christmas with us."
"As if I could forget," Farr murmured to himself, as he strode away,his face alight with a great happiness.
As Helen rang the bell of the Hills' cozy apartment, the door wasopened from the inside, and she found herself face to face withLillian Stuart. From the drawing-room came the buzz of tongues, andthrough the half-open portieres she could see quite a number of peoplestanding about. Miss Stuart answered her unspoken thought:
"Don't go in there, Helen; take me to your room. I want to speak toyou for a moment. I have already made my call on the Hills."
Helen obediently led the way down the hall, but her heart was veryheavy, for she had no courage for another scene this afternoon. Sheknew that the conversation must necessarily be painful, and she madeevery effort to put off the evil moment; but in vain. Almost beforethe door was closed Miss Stuart began:
"Now, Helen, will you please explain to me why you must return toHetherford in such haste? Surely your aunt can spare you to me for afew days. I can't imagine how you could have planned to be in town,and not to be with me for a little visit."
Helen flushed guiltily.
"I am so sorry, dear," she faltered. "Another time, perhaps, but now Imust go home."
Miss Stuart started up, loosening her fur boa impatiently.
"That is absolute folly. There is nothing to stand in the wayunless----" She broke off abruptly, and her eyes searched Helen'sdowncast face. "Do you want to put an end to our friendship," shecried sharply. "Is that why you act so strangely?"
Helen lifted her hand with an imploring gesture of dissent.
"Answer me, Helen. Am I not right?"
Helen's head was bent still lower, and she made no attempt to speak.Miss Stuart watched her for a moment in silence, and a slight quiverpassed over her face. She came a step nearer, and laid her hand on thegirl's shoulder:
"Who has influenced you against me, Helen? What has happened?"
"Why, Lillian, what makes you say that? It is not fair, simply becausein one instance I am unable to fulfill your wishes."
Miss Stuart withdrew her hand, and her brow darkened.
"Helen, Helen; you disappoint me. Let us have the truth at allhazards. Tell me frankly, would not your answer always be the samenow, whenever I might ask you for a visit?"
Helen shivered a little, and she could not bring herself to meet thegirl's eyes. Presently Miss Stuart spoke again, the effort to subdueall emotion rendering her voice cold and stern.
"I understand. You have withdrawn your friendship from me. Oh! nodoubt you have discovered the depth of my unworthiness, and feelperfectly justified. Content in your own moral superiority, and inthat of your friends in general, you have decided that it would bewiser to banish me from the inner circle. Of course," she went on witha bitter laugh, "you have not reached this conclusion alone. Wouldyou mind telling me who has helped you to it?"
The taunting question stung Helen into a response:
"You told me an untruth, Lillian. You deliberately deceived me. Youcaused untold suffering to one who is very dear to me, to what end Icannot imagine. And this was your return for all the love and trust Ihad given you."
Miss Stuart turned a startled glance on Helen.
"What do you mean?" she asked breathlessly.
"I have seen Mr. Farr to-day, and a good many things that have puzzledme have been made clear. I am not judging you, Lillian. I amcompletely in the dark as to your motives. I only know that you werenot honest with me."
"So you have seen Val Farr," murmured Miss Stuart. She flung back herhead defiantly. "Well, what did he tell you of me? I thought he wastoo much of a man to speak ill of a woman."
"Your name was never mentioned, Lillian. I am not prepared to tell youwhat Mr. Farr said to me. Suffice it to say, it proved the untruth ofwhat you led me to believe last summer."
Miss Stuart caught her breath.
"I suppose that means that he is in love with your sister?"
"We will not discuss that, please," replied Helen with quiet dignity.
Her companion laughed, but there was no mirth in the sound.
"Well, I could have told you that last summer. I did lie to you aboutit. The game is played out now, and I have lost, so there is nofurther reason why I should not tell you the truth. I was jealous ofthat little sister of yours, and I did everything in my power to keepher and Valentine Farr apart. Placed in the same position, I shouldundoubtedly repeat the offense."
Cruel and unwomanly as the words were, there was something in herfriend's voice which stirred Helen with a feeling of pity. She roseand laid a gentle hand on Miss Stuart's arm.
"You must not try to make me think badly of you, dear. I would so muchrather believe that you did not realize how much misery you werecausing. Let us not speak any more of this, Lillian."
A sudden rush of tears dimmed Miss Stuart's eyes.
"The least I can do is to grant your last request, Helen. One thingmore I can do for you, dear--I can go. You need never see me again."
There was just a faint interrogation in the low-spoken words, butHelen remained quite silent. She was waging a bitter fight withinherself. Everything pressed her into a renunciation of this friendshipwhich had cost her so dear. Slowly there was awakening within her adeep knowledge of Guy Appleton's character, and with this knowledgecame a great longing to win from him the love which she had so lightlysacrificed. While a vestige of this friendship remained Guy wouldnever take her to his heart, and now her choice must be made. Then sh
ethought of Jean and Valentine Farr, and the thought strengthened herconviction that only one path was open to her. Raising hertearstained face, she met Lillian's eyes smiling sadly on her.
"So you find it hard to give me up, Helen? Are you sure it isnecessary?"
The critical moment had come, and involuntarily Helen put her handsbefore her eyes to shut out the beautiful face so close to her own:
"Our paths must lie apart, Lillian, dear; but as long as I live I willremember you and pray for you."
The silence that followed these words became oppressive, and Helenstirred uneasily and stole a timid glance at her friend. Miss Stuart'sface was uplifted; her wonderful eyes, filled with unutterablesadness, gazed mournfully into space. If suffering can expiate a sin,in that moment she fully expiated the wrong she had done to Jean.After a while she turned and laid her hands on Helen's shoulders.
"I understand, my dear, and I do not blame you. Good-by!" Andstooping, she kissed her gently on the lips.
* * * * *
Helen stood before the fire in the hall-way of the manor, two lettersin hand, a thoughtful expression in her eyes. In four days Jean andMrs. Fay would sail for home, and Guy had written: "Will you not sendfor me, Helen? I will never return until you do."
"Oh, dear," her thoughts ran, "why must it be left for me to decide!If Guy would only take it into his own hands and come, I would be sograteful."
Poor weak little woman! It was hard for her to act for herself. Howhappy she would be to find shelter in some safe harbor, guided thereby a stronger hand than her own. With one stroke of a pen she couldrecall Guy, but the strangest shyness overmastered her. She wanderedrestlessly about the house, her heart as heavy as lead; and not untildaylight was waning, and the long winter evening closing in upon themanor, did she finally start out for the telegraph office, a bit ofpaper held closely in the hand that was tucked in her muff.
* * * * *
In a hotel in Paris a party of people was assembled in a small privatesitting-room. Against the walls, their lids gaping, were a number ofhalf-filled trunks, and in the paraphernalia that were scatteredaround was every indication of an imminent departure. Mrs. Fay andJean bustled busily about, stowing away the many purchases which thiscity of shops had tempted them to make, stopping now and then toconsult Guy as to some detail of the long journey which lay beforethem. Poor Mrs. Appleton watched them with homesick eyes. She wastired of wandering about in strange lands, hungry for a sight of thelittle vine-covered cottage which had been empty for so many wearymonths. Surely no mother had ever given her son a greater love, a moregenerous sacrifice.
"I am a foolish old woman, my dear," she had said to him a few momentssince, when he had looked up suddenly and had seen the tears in hereyes. "I suppose it is not unnatural that I should sometimes dream ofspending the last years of my life in 'my own home.'"
Guy did not answer then. It was a shock to him to discover how muchthis exile had cost his patient, uncomplaining mother; and, as he satat the little table in the center of the room, apparently absorbed instraightening out accounts, he was facing the duty which had suddenlybeen made clear to him.
"Poor mother!" he thought, with tender compunction, "I have been aselfish brute."
Yet it was not easy for him to depart from the course he had markedout for himself, for, like many another man of strong character, Guywas very obstinate. One glance at his mother's face, however, made himashamed of his hesitation, and he pushed away his papers and rose tohis feet, while he framed the sentence which would determine theirreturn home. Just at that moment there was a knock at the door, and inresponse to Jean's brisk, "_Entrez_," a servant handed her a cablegramin its blue wrapper, addressed "Appleton, Continental, Paris."
Three simple words the message contained, but to the man who read themthey made all the difference between light and darkness, between lifeand death. The message read:
Please come home.--HELEN.
CHAPTER XX.
"PEACE ON EARTH--GOOD WILL TO MEN."
On a most delicious day late in December there is an air of unusualbustle and excitement over the manor. Outside the ground is coveredwith a deep mantle of glistening snow, and overhead the winter's sunshines cold and clear from out a vault of deepest blue. Within thehouse wood fires are blazing on every hearth, and the atmosphere isfilled with the fragrance of fresh flowers which Helen's deft handshave just arranged in every available vase and bowl.
Only yesterday the travelers from the other side arrived; Mrs.Appleton supremely contented to be once more at home; Guy, with theanticipation of his happiness lighting his whole face, and Jean sweetand brave as ever, but with a deep sadness in her eyes, and lookingsuch a frail and slender figure in her close-fitting gown.
Helen and Nathalie had gone to town to meet them, and had brought themto Hetherford; for on the morrow all the old friends were to gather atthe manor for Christmas, and the girls wanted one long quiet eveningwith Jean before the arrival of their guests.
This home-coming was very hard for poor Jean; harder than she hadanticipated; and when the first little excitement of her meeting withAunt Helen and the children was over, it required all her courage tokeep her face bright and smiling, her voice gay and cheery. Everythingspoke to her of Farr, and she sighed a little wearily, as she realizedthat all her journeyings had lessened not one whit the pain at herheart. As they gathered before the blazing logs in the drawing-room,just after dinner, to talk over all that had happened since theyparted, Helen's loving heart detected the undercurrent of pathos whichran through all Jean's spirited accounts of her travels andadventures; and she was tempted to speak just the few words whichalone could bring back the sunny light-hearted expression to Jean'sface. She resisted the temptation, however, for she had given Farr herpromise that his coming on the morrow should be a complete surprise.He was to come out on an early train, so as to secure a quiet hourwith Jean before the manor was invaded by its other guests.
And now he is almost due, and Helen's heart beats fast, and her eyeswatch Jean's every movement as if she feared to let her out of hersight. All the morning they have been dressing the house withChristmas greens, and Jean stands on tip-toe to fasten the last wreathover the fireplace, when a ringing of sleigh-bells breaks thestillness of the snowy winter's day. Then there is a stamping of aman's feet on the veranda, and Helen opens wide the door to admitValentine Farr. Jean's back is toward him, and there is just a briefinstant while she adjusts the last nail to secure the wreath, beforeshe turns.
"What a draught. Why don't you close the----" she begins; then,turning, the hammer she is holding falls to the ground with a crash,and, her hand on her heart, her eyes wide-open and startled, shestands facing Valentine Farr.
In another instant Helen has closed the door and disappeared into thedrawing-room, and Farr has taken Jean's hands in his own, and isspeaking to her in a voice grown very deep and tender.
"Jean, my little love, have you no word of welcome for me?"
The blood rushes into her face, then ebbs away, leaving it even palerthan before.
"Ah, I have frightened you, sweetheart," Farr cries contritely, "andyou are not very strong yet, are you, dear? But I have waited such aweary while; I have been so miserable for a sight of your sweet face;I could not wait to tell you that I love you. Surely you must haveknown it long ago, darling."
Jean's head droops lower and lower, and she does not speak.
"I want you to be my wife, dear," Farr's tender voice goes on. "Do youlove me, Jean?"
Still she is silent, and Farr's face grows very white.
"What is it, Jean? Are you angry with me for speaking to you soabruptly? Oh, my love, my love, don't tell me that you cannot care forme."
Then Jean raises her eyes, and though the tears are shining in them,they are full of a great happiness.
"I do love you, dear, with all my heart and soul," she says very low,but quite steadily.
Farr's face above he
r is eloquent, and for the moment they have noneed of words. Then the tears brim over in Jean's eyes, and with alittle tremulous cry she flings herself in his arms:
"O Val, I have been so miserable!"
And Farr, bending down, kisses her tenderly.
"Please God, darling, no misery will ever again come to you throughme."
* * * * *
A few hours later they all gather about the long dinner table and, inthe pause that follows upon their being seated, old Mr. Birdsall'ssweet and tremulous voice asks grace. In simple heartfelt words hethanks God for the safe return of the travelers, and asks his tenderblessing for one and all. Every head is reverently bent, and everyheart echoes the earnest prayer.
This is a gala occasion, and in its honor Aunt Helen presides at thehead of the table, and Willie and Larry and even little Gladys arepresent. With much ringing laughter and merriment the dinner hourpasses. Jean's voice is as joyous as in the old days, and Helen,hearing the sweet sound, is filled with overwhelming gratitude.
"I tell you, girls," Dick cries enthusiastically, "this is a proud dayfor me. I feel that it is entirely owing to my watchful care of youall that these pleasant things have come to pass. Jean, my child, didI not present Farr to you?"
Jean laughs, and blushes.
"Oh, I don't know, Dick. I am not quite clear about it. If you did Iam deeply indebted," and she turns a shy soft glance toward her lover.
"It was your humble servant. Now, there is a most appropriate way inwhich you may reward me," and Dick holds a sprig of mistletoe highabove his head.
"No, no. What nonsense," protests Jean.
"You may," smiles Farr.
"But I don't want to," she laughs saucily.
"Poor Dick," exclaims Mollie sorrowfully, and she jumps up from thetable to give him a sisterly hug and a kiss. "I declare it is a shame.I shan't see you so neglected."
"Thank you, my dear," returns Dick, with a grin, "that isn't quite thesame, but it is very sweet."
"Oh, dear," sighs Nan, as they push back their chairs, and wander intothe drawing-room, "how queer it seems to have Helen and Jean engaged.It is all very amusing now, but what will become of us next summer. Iam afraid our compact is about at an end."
Cliff, who is standing near Eleanor, bends down to whisper somethingto her, and then pushes her gently into the middle of the room. Shefaces the group before her with flaming cheeks, and looks about herhelplessly.
"Girls, I suppose I must confess. I, too, am a traitor to ourcompact."
"O Eleanor," cries Jean, excitedly, and puts a tender arm about her.
Cliff leans against the mantel, as nonchalant and languid as ever; buthis eyes rest on Eleanor with infinite pride and content. The girlturns toward the others with a graceful gesture of appeal.
"Am I forgiven?"
They crowd about her with eager, loving words of congratulation; andthen, when the confusion has subsided, Nan begs their attention for amoment.
"I have some news for you."
"O Nan! don't tell us you are engaged," implores Mollie dolorously.
Nan burst into a merry laugh.
"What an idea! No indeed. But, girls and boys what do you think? Emilyis _married_!"
"_Married?_" they cry in one breath.
"Yes, married to a very rich widower, with gray hair, and three bigchildren, and oh, lots of money!" and Nan almost chokes in her hasteto enumerate all these virtues.
"Now, Nan, be sensible, and take a long breath, and tell us all aboutit," says Nathalie.
"Well, he owns a fine place at B----, where Em lives, and he knew herwhen she was a little bit of a girl. He married and went to England tolive. About two years ago his wife died and this fall he returned toB----, renewed his acquaintance with Em, proposed to her, andyesterday they were married."
"What unseemly haste!" Mollie exclaims.
"No, not a bit of it. They didn't mean to be married until spring, butMr. Hazletine was suddenly recalled to England on important business,which may keep him there several months, and he was so unhappy atleaving Em that she consented to be married at once and go with him."
"To think of it! I suppose now Emily will roll by in her carriage,wear magnificent clothes, and completely dazzle us with her jewels ofinestimable value."
"So much the better, Mollie," rejoins Helen heartily. "Poor little Emhas tasted of poverty all her life. Think what a relief it will be toher to have ample means."
"It is fine," cries Eleanor.
"And what in the world shall we do?" groans Nathalie with a comicalglance at Nan and Mollie.
"Laugh at their love-making, and, with the hansom driver, be glad weare not in it."
"O Nan, you rowdy," laughs Jean.
Helen rises, and makes her way to the door, closely followed by Guy.
"I am going to say good-night to Aunt Helen," she whispers, her eyesdrooping shyly under the steadfast gaze he bends upon her.
"I will wait for you here, dear," he says, and takes her hand in his,but she blushes so painfully he lets it drop again.
"Foolish little woman," he sighs to himself. "Shall I ever reallypossess her heart?"
In a few moments she rejoins him, and Guy puts his arm about her, andleads her into the music room. No lamps are lighted, but thewindow-shades are up, and the moon's soft rays shine through thepanes, illumining mysteriously the great empty room. Far away, acrossthe snowclad landscape, the slender spire of St. Andrew's pointsheavenward, and through the windows of the church shines the red glowof a light within. The scene is one of infinite peace and beauty, andthe magic of the hour casts its spell over Helen and her lover, asspeechless, motionless, they stand within the recess of the window,gazing out at the marvelous beauty of the night.
By and by, Helen moves a little closer to her companion.
"I have something to tell you, Guy," she murmurs, "and I haven't thecourage to say it."
The old doubt, not yet dispelled, pales Guy's face.
"Don't tell me you are going to send me from you again, Helen."
The girl's heart throbs at the pain in his voice:
"No, no, dear. I want to tell you something so different. I love you,Guy," her voice dropping to a whisper. "Please never leave me again."
He holds her to his heart with a love the deeper for all the pain andwaiting, finding a heaven in the sweet lips which meet his so frankly.And even as they stand there the bell of St. Andrew's, solemnlytolling the midnight hour, ushers in the glad Christmas tide.
"Helen," says Eleanor's voice from the doorway, "may we all come in?We think it would be so sweet if you would play our Christmas hymn onthe organ and let us sing it together."
Helen pushes back the curtain, and steps forward, an expression ofperfect rest on her gentle face.
"Yes, indeed, I think it is a lovely idea."
Guy opens the organ. Helen steps into her place, and Cliff brings alamp from the hall, and places it nearby.
"Val," Jean whispers to her lover, "there is just one sad thought inmy heart to-night. I suppose it is the memory of Christ's message ofpeace and love, which makes me so sorrowful when I think of the bitterfeeling between your mother and yourself. Do you think it will ever bein my power to help to overcome it?"
"We will try together, sweetheart, and the great blessing of your lovewill make all life easier, and better for me."
Then Helen's hands strike the opening chords of the hymn and a hushfalls upon the little group, and with one accord they move nearer theorgan, and as the last bell of St. Andrew's dies slowly away, theirvoices take up the glad refrain:
It came upon the midnight clear, That glorious song of old, From angels bending near the earth, To touch their harps of gold: "Peace on the earth, good will to men, From heaven's all-gracious King." The world in solemn stillness lay, To hear the angels sing.
FINIS.
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