The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, December 18, 1904, Page 11

I t the hall was This little girl ldren of our sweet name, to keep her in comfc take her away. father, and , complacently. r child. Her i to mention it She is Dor- But there! my dear, I have What about ed into the burn- nothing to tell you, ave come to stay with this lovely place and I understood you in- ty when your brother I wish Frank had lived. had ained as poor . I have never here be 2 man?' were much too pretty attracted the love loved and have Hence your dismal life ng to laugh, but wincing. , 1 thought I was right. Tell me all about it, dear,” and the good lady herself for an lmeresuni ROS- Manners hesitated. proachfully, “nothing concerning you Come, she dear,” added, r woman returned to kneel rug and meditate. She was how much or how little she tell her friend. Finally she re- d to be confidential. Gertrude was arted little woman, if a trifie She would be sympathetic And after all these weary rs of lonely thought it was a relief the sad story. On the impuise of ment Ellen leant her arms on Trail’s knees and burst into tears. It all comes back to me,” she sobbed. wonde hiding her face. “In the great hall Sir Harry had : as tree for the vil- lage chilé then that he ae- « 1 Wi Is that the man’s name?” Y He the only man I ever were to have been married twenty years ago, but on Christmas eve—oh!” id Mrs. Trail. opening And the other woman?"” was no other woman!” cried arting indignantly to her feet. loved me and 1 loved him. But uld I marry a thief—a forger—a—" ous me, how dreadful! Do pacing the room in the fire- shed into the story, and told , as though she feared her vould give way before she ed the bitter end. Mrs. Trail lis- ed with all her ears, and did not in- runt You ather know died,” e were poor after my eaid Miss Manners. “We ved in a little Bloomsbury house, and though my brother Frank was the heir to the estate Sir Harry would do little for him. last he procured him a sit- uation in the city. There Frank met Will and they became great friends. My brother brought Will home with him—"" “And you fell in love,” interposed Mrs, Tra: Y cried Ellen, passionately. “I loved m with all my heart and soul— with every fiber of my being did I love him! Will was clever and kind and had a future ways together. ke Wil But it w not. when came er He and Frank were al- Sir Harry chose to dis- and said he led Frank wrong. s not true. I am sure it was Iy mother loved Will also, but 1¢ heard Sir Harry talk she be- distant. You know how my moth- adored Frank.” “He was the apple of her eye,” said Mrs. Trail. - “The idol of her heart,” went on Miss :\l_anm-r.~. pacing the room hurriedly. “She would have died had anything happened to him, and therefore she was afraid lest Will should lead him astray. I was engaged to Will then, and mother wanted me to give him up; but I refused. I believed in Will—al- ways—till that night.” The Christmas eve?” And even then I should have trusted him,” continued Ellen, without heed- ing. “I should have come to him and married him. If he was innocent he wag treated vilely; if guilty he needed me more then than at any time. Oh, Gertrude! if Christ left us when sin most, what would become of us?"” ‘My dear, don’t talk like that,” said WMrs. Trail, unéasily. But Ellen talked on rapidly. “I should have forgiven Will, but I did not. On that night—it was in the great hall on Christmas eve. I and Frank and mother were here. Will had been asked also. The village children danced around the tree and every one was bright. Sir Harry was jst giving the presents from the tree when he was called out. A special messenger had arrived from his bank. He re- turned to accuse Will of having forged his name to a check for a large amount. I put my arms around Will's neck, but my mother drew me away. And there, with all the people round, under the glory of the Christmas tree, stood Will, being accused by my . cousin, Sir Harry.” “What 2 shame to accuse him in pub- Me.” “I think that was done o0 as to make it impossible for me' to him,” said Ellen, slowly. “Only Frank stood up for Wiil, and insisted that he was innocent. But the check had been pre- sented by Will, so there could be no \( THE SAN -FRANCISCO SUNDAY CALL. Vo St N O ) \ "HE RETURNED TO ASSUSE WILL OF HAVING FORGEP 15 NAME TO A SRECQUE"” dvubt of his wickedness. I tried to be- lieve that he was innocent, but I could not.” “Did he not defend himself?” asked Mrs, Trail, curiously and indignantly. “No,” cried Ellen, throwing out her hand with a gesture of despair; “if only he had—but he said nothing. Once he was about to speak, but when he looked at mother with her arms around Frank as though to guard him from harm he held his tongue and walked out of the hall. Sir Harry did not pros- ecute him, at Frank’s request, but Wil left the office, and I never heard of him again.” “What is the man’s other name?” asked Mrs, Trail, rising. “Hanbury—Willilam Hanbury,” said Ellen, in a stified voice.. “‘Hark! The child is eoming. 1 can't lcok on her now. 1 should have been a mother my- self, Gertrude. It wrings my heart to see Dorothy's face. I will go to my room. Stay here and play with the child.” She hastened away with her face quivering, and her eyes fllled with tears. In her hurry she did not see the startled look in Mrs. Trail’s eyes. “Good heavens!” that gocd lady was thinking. “How can I tell her that Mr. Hanbury is Dorothy's father?” and she stared at the pretty child with blue eyes and golden halr who danced gayly into the room. But this additional pang was spared to the lonely, heartbroken woman. Eilen retired to her chamber, and there lay down to calm her nerves. By dinner time she was completely herself, and when Mrs. Trail desired to resume the conversation she refused. ‘‘No, dear,” she said, decidedly, “my meniories of the past are too painful. We will have as happy a Christmas as pessible, but even for the sake of that sweet little child I cannot have a Christmas tree,” and with this Mrs. Trail was fain to be content. For the moment she was al- most inclined to tell her friend the truth, but a‘sense of pity for the miser- able woman restrained her. b en was restless that evening. Af- ter the child retired to bed she left Mrs, Trail knitting in the drawing-room, and wandered about the house, think- ing over the bitter past, Chance—or some kind Providence—led her weary feet to the sreat hall. It was a vast room in the center of the mansion, which in the old time had held many a gallapt company. Now all was dark, and the fire on the hospitable hearth had long, since been extinguished. EIl- len rarely went into the place by reason of its cruel associations. As she stood hesitating with her hand on the door she heard the sound of faint music. The villagg children, taking time by the forelock, although' it was not yet Christmas, were singing carols outside. The music and words came softly to the ears of the lonely woman, and she wept fn the darkness: Angels in the skles are singing “Peace and goodwill unto men.”* Hark! the glorious message ringing, Sweeter now than it was then. Anguish files and sorrows cease, : Peace comes With the Prince of Peace. “Not - to me—not to me!” she moaned, weeping. peace for me. Alas! Alas!"” " -and a thrill passed through her. had known. “There can,be no. As the music died away she opened the door and stepped into the silent dark hall. In the darkness she again heard a low-breathed melody, but it sounded as though within the hall. Many voices, fresh and sweet, were singing an old carol. Ellen utar};’c‘l. e carol was one she remembered as hav- ing been sung by the village children on it ‘terrible Christmas eve twenty Ye ago—the night upon which her life'had been ruined. Then a strange and startling sight met her weary eyes. In the huge fireplace burned a ghostly flame. - It -grew. bright and shone on pictures wreathed with holly, red-berried and glossy green.. It illu- minated mistletoe hanging from many . lamps, which likewise began to glim- mer with pale light. But the radiance of fire and lamp faded before the glory 0f a tall Christmas tree which rose al- most to'the roof of the hall. There it stood, ,.a mighty fir,- with drooping br: s bending still more under gay Bfittering gifts. Bonbons, bril- tly colored crackers, toy horses, bright-hued picture-books, jumping- .jacks, gayly dressed dolls, tin trum- pets and all the fragile toys loved by childhood dangled from its mighty ‘branches. A silver star shone on the summit, cotton wool and glittering dust made mimic snow and frost, and every bréanch gleamed with colored candles. Around thls radiant tree stood & crowd of children singing with ghistening eyes ana outstretchea hands anxious for the gifts of the Child- Christ. But the whole scene was faint, like the far-drawn_vision of a morning dream. Then a breath passed over the pic- ture—for it seemed like ‘a picture drawn upon the darkness of the hall. A stranger entered and with him Her dead cousin. Sir Harry. Again she saw. his angry face spoiling all the lovely peace of the season; shé saw the | children shrink together, afraid and tearful.. Her mother was there with her arms around Will. But El- len did not see the form -of herself. And her brother Frank, “where was he? She looked around in agony and saw him at last. His now was the place of the culprit—he stood before Sir Harry's form shrinking and dowp- cast. It was Frank wWho was being ac- cused, and in her dead mother's arms nestled Will, with gray hair and a worn face, not the happy lover she Ellen sobbed aloud. At the sound of her voice another movement shook the ghostly throng: the fairy lights on the gleaming tree grew dim, the lamps went out, the fire vanished and, swallowed up by the gloom, the Christmas tree séemed to . recede into darkness. Those surround- ing it also vanished, and the last thing Ellen saw was her brother’s agonized face as he lifted up appealing hands to heaven. Then he, too, disappeared and she sprang to her feet with a be- wildered air, knowing that she had seen a vision. “But it is false—false!” she cried. “For Will sinned, and not my dear Frank.” There came a soft touch on her shoulder. She turned and saw her brother as she had known him in the flesh. - With one_hand pointing to the door and with a finger on his pale lips ‘he gazed sadly at her. With an impulse she tried to disobey, but could not. Ellen moved toward the .door. Before her glided the appearance sur- rounded by a dim radiance which made the darkness visible. Ellen tried to speak, but was unable. Her tongue clove to the roof of her mouth and her limbs almost refused.to carry her along. But a supernatural strength seemed to make her able to follow on. Through the door, down the' long passage, through the many deserted rooms moved the phantom, and the terrified mortal followed. At length the ghostly visitor glided into a room which had long since been left to dust and gloom. It had been Frank's study. And there the specter pointed to an old desk, where in life it had been accustomed to sit. With a si- lent look, imploring and imperative, it _pointed to the upper range of the pig- eonholes. Ellen, moved again by tnat mysterious impulse,. approached the desk. She strétched out her hand and touched a little door. It flew open. Still the ghostly finger pointed. At the back of.a'small cavity, disclosed by the opening of the door, Ellen found a pro- jecting veint, which she pressed. There was a cracking sound and a secre: panel flew open. Out tumbled an e velope. She found herself—she knew not how—standing in the middle of the room with this in her hand. Then the figure appeared to fade .into nothing. She was alone—alone in that ghastly room in the darkness and silence. An outburst of carol singing aroused her from her trance. On the desk stood a candle in a tarnished candlestick. Be- side it was a box of matches left lately by some careless housemaid who had been cleaning the room sacred to the dead. Ellen lighted the «candle and opened the envelope. Several sheets in her brother’s handwriting fell out. With a beating heart she read them by that dim light, and when she fin- ished the last sheet the papers fluttered to the ground. “Oh, great heavens, Will is innocent after all!” And he was, as the confession proved. Frank had forged the check and had induced Will, ignorant of his friend's wickedness, to present it at the bank. For the sake of the mother heart, whicly would have broken had the truth come to Hght, Will, her noble, brave lover, had borne the sin and shame of another. Sobbing with mingled sorrow Ellen Manners sank on her And again rose the verse of the carol she had heard. But this time it scunded like the fulfillment of a prc ise. The Child-Christ had, indeed, given her the gift of peac: “Angels in the skies are singing, ‘Peace and good will unto men.” Hark! the glorious message rin Sweeter now than it was then. Anguish flies and sorrows ceas Peace comes with the Prince of Peace.” Christmas Will in his London On the day befc Hanbury was Writing garret. It was a bare, bleak room on the top of a o house, containing nothing but a a table, and two chairs. In one corner was an ill-fur- nished cupboard, and a small fire olderad in the rusty grate. Han- by was a man of over 40, tall and once, no doubt, had been good-looking. But_sorrow and i{llness and want had aged him before his time. The man was not without talents. At one time he had done fairly well as a writer on the press. Owing to the rumor of his supposed crime he had been unable to obtain employment in the city, and so had taken to journal- ism, PBor a time he prospered, but bad luck followed him, and he fell ill. Now he was rarely out of the hospital, and only managed to keep the bread n his mouth by incessant work. His body being starved, his brain suffered, and the tales and articles he produced were lacking in originality, whereby he made but a small income. But he worked bravely on, knowing his inno- cence and feeling sure thet n his own good time Gad would give him a happy issue out of all his troubles. On' this day he was asking himself whether the time had come. Before him lay a letter which he had that morning recefved from Mrs. Trail. She i bed mentioned that with Dorothy she was stopping at Laybourne Hall, in Essex, and asked him (o come down that Christmas eve on a visit. With con- siderable astuteness Mrs. Trail did not mention that Ellen Manners was the mistress of the house to which she invited Dorothy’s father, thinking that Hanbury would not come did he know the woman he loved was there. But it was probable, as Mrs. Trail thought, that Hanbury had forgotten all about the hall. In this she was wrong. Will remembered the scene of his disgrac® only too well, although twenty years haf passed since he had left it a ruined man.. At the present moment he was wondering if he should obey the com~ mand, which, so unexpected it was, seemed to be a qall of Providence. A wrpstling with thoughts and feel- ings followed. “I will go,” he decided at length, and there was a shining light in his eyes. “I am sure this unexpected message means that the time of sor- row is over. ‘Ellen, no doubt, means to take me back to her heart. But dare I tell her that I am innocent > e smote his hands together in perpléxity. “Neo! To do so'I should have to betray Frank. He is dead, and dear Mrs. Manners has passed away, but Ellen would grieve bitterly did she know the truth. I have borne much, and I shall hear in silence to the end. If Ellen welcomes me I will spend a happy Christmas, and when we part again more kindly feelings will be left behind. I will go.” : And he did go. Late that afterncom he walked to Liverpool-street statiom dressed in his best clothes, which were poor _ enough, and carrying a small valise containing a change of linen. He did not know if Ellen would invite hicm to stop at the hall, but he had enough money to precure a night's lodging. As he trudged hetween the leafless hedges and over the frozen snow, his heart grew light and swelled in hiS breast with joy. He would see dear little Dorothy, whom he loved so well; he would see again the old hall, where he had spent so many happy hours, and above all he would gaze again on that dear face which had haunted his sleepless pillow thrcuigh many weary years. Sad as had been the past, um= certain as was the future, the man's faith made him happy. So merrily he trudged along, and onee found himself ging under his breath a carol of joy d hope. Everywhere voices seerffed to be hymning the sea- he walked be- son. On the common, a tween the gorse and fern. crunching the hard snow with swift steps, he beard snatches of scng from belated peasants homeward bound. Will knew many of the faces of those who passed: but what struck h most was the absence of children se should cer- tainly be everywhere on Christmas eve. But he did not see one within sight of the pa a child peered into the wan as he came within the circle of light cast by the lamp over the gate. This sentinel raised a shout. and out of the gate poured a crowd of children of all ages—bgys and girls. These took riotous ‘possession of his valise and.ef his stout staff. A number threw chains of woven evergreens around him, and gayly, waved branches of hoily bright with crimson , berries. And laughing, dancing, singing, racing, the happy band led thesastonished man up the snowy avenue between the frozen, leaf- 1 while the lodgeke shout~ s tre per ed a “Godspeed and Merry Christmas™ after the playful throng. “What do you mean? What s 2" asked Will, as he was borne within sisht of the great building by his laughing captors. But the children only sasg, and laughed and danced. They pulled Wil up the terrace steps with glee, and hurried hir to’ the largé entrance hall. Here s. Trail was walting with Dorothy by her side. The child ran to be clasped im the ‘arms of Will, and the lady advanced with a smile. In & moment all the children had raced away into the interior of the house and were heard laughing and singing with fresh, youthful voices. ‘What does it all mean?" asked Han- bury, releasing Dorothy. “You wiil know that soon,” said Mrs. Trail, smiling. ‘“Take Dorothy’'s hand. She has supreme command here this evening.” . Will looked round anx- and with a rather pale face, Mrs. Trail understood, and laid a kind hand on his shoulder. “Wait,” she said, softly ‘Christmas is here, Snfl Seun foy Wil AL RIS, - “My joy He looked inquiringly at her, to see that her eyes were filed with tears. “Cenic along, father,” cried Dorothy, preventi further speech, “there's the loveli Christmas tree in the Bhail “The hall!” Will hung back. He could not bear to enter the room where he had been disgraced. Besides, he did not_see Ellen. “Dolls and cakes and fairy gifts for good children,” cried ‘Dorothy in the superior voice of 10 years old. “There are no grown-ups, father, so you must help me t¢ give out the presents. I can't reach some.” Falling in with the child’s humer, and wondering what it all meant, Will aided her to dispense the gifts. One child got a doll, another a brave cam- non, a third received a ship, and so on, until the was stripped as bare as those in the snowy park. But one gift remained on the topmest bough, and Hanbury_ lifted up Dorothy that she might pluck this last fruit of the tree. It proved to be a good-sized envelope addressed to himseif. When he had it in’ his thand the child, who was evi- dently carrying out instructions, de- parted with the rest of the children, and they scampered cut of the room, waking the grave echoes of the old mansion with delighted laughter. Still wondering and surprised that he should obtain such an unexpected, Will opened the en- velope. Within was the confession of Frank Manners. What does this mean?” murmuged Will to himself and sat down to master the contents of the paper. When he had finished it fell from his shaking hand. He never expected that his innocence would be made clear in this way. “Poor Frank!™ he thought, covering his eyes. “He was sorry, after all. Perhaps Ellen may know the truth aiso. God be thanked for his great mercies.” A band on his shoulder made him look up. Before him stood Ellen, not now arrayed in dark garments. Her time of mourning for the ruined lives of herself and her lover was past. Dressed as she had been on that fatal Christmas eve twenty years ago, she beat over the broken man, her eyes shining with love, and shining through tears that would fall. In her oid-fash- ioned dress she locked quaint, bug Will's eyes she appeared lovely beyond words. He rose silently to his feet and opened his arms. Without a word Ellen threw herself on his breast, and years of sorrow were swallowed up in that loving embrace. After a time she spoke. “My poor darling, why did you not speak?” How could 17" replied Wil softiy. You loved Frank, and it would have been sad news for you to hear of his folly."” “Folly! It was—" . “No, dearest,” he said, placing his hand on her mouth; “say no against the dead. Frank was weak. I might have cleared myself on that evening when I knew that my silence meant losing you, but when I turned and saw Frank in the arms of his mother I could not speak. How could I break that warm mother-heart that beat-only for her son? No, Ellen, I saw my duty in a flash, and therefors 1 kept silent. For your mother's sake 1 saerificed myself and you. Did I net do what was right, love?” “Yes,” ghe said. spdly; “and yet— the wasted years.” “We shall make up for them now. God is very good. You will marry me now, my darling?” “T sent for you on that account,” she replied, hiding her happy face on his breast: and then in a low voice she related her vision, and how the phan- tom of her brother hadl led to the secret drawer. “1 expect Frank wished to [Concluded on next page.}