The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, December 30, 1906, Page 6

N the midnight Christmas alr, cold, ine, wi twink- stars above and ten million below—the gray old village on one side of the silent wil- lage square, enshrouded by softly gleaning darkness and hush of the holy eve down church, The church door opened nolselessly nolselessly closed again. Down the rugged steps crept swiftly Fritz Bongers and after him his son, young Joop. Th ran across the deserted square and stood silent for a moment in the snow-touched twilight, under the beetling gables of the long drawn, sunken bullding that bears the name on & creaky ensign, “The Rampant Lion of Blitterswyk.” The hotel is old and out of date today. It was not so out of date, though scarcely much younger, and on that Christnight of the year of grace 1883, Even in Limburg, far away, forgot- ten Limburg, where nobody over comes, &nd mediaevally unlettered shepherds still shepherd mediaevally ignorant sheep, even in blackest I burg the new century has pierced a little way on telegraph and telephone. Of light from the outside world Frits Bongers, however, In his day knew knew nothing. He was interested in the little inclosed immenszity around him, his own village square. He stood gezing at his only son, Joop. “Joop,” he said. “Yes, father,” “How did I look as Burgomaster of Blitterswyk, at mi_night —ass?” “Imposing,” answered Joop. “Father?” “Yes, Joop.” ow did I look as the Burgomaster's where “Oh—middling.” “Just o,” replied Joop. While speak- ing he had dragged out two bandboxes from beneath a garden seat and placed them on a table. Along the old inn uns & covered veranda of the kind t has always been common in The Netherlands. Tables, benches and chalrs wére set out under and around it. The Burgomaster hastily yet care- fully took off his gold laced blue coat and deposited it with his tall hat In one of the bandboxes, from which he had previously extracted & white linen jacket and a gorgeously embroidered smoking cap. His son did the same. ‘Joop,” sald the Burgomaster, pos- ing in the dim night, “how do I look e&s the landlord of the Rampant Lion, eh—ready to receive his guests?” “Oh, middling,” replied Joop, lighting up dull ofl lamps In the veranda. The Burgomaster snatched at his silver- topped cane. “A Christmas benediction, my uncle,” said Anneke, as she came out from the inn doorway with a trayful of glasses and decanters and punch. “Im-pim-pim-posing called out Joop, while they snatched up the band- boxes and stdwed them out of sight. “Hurry up!” sald the landlord, him- self bustling to and fro; “they’ll all be coming out in another minut < hristmas benediction repeated Annek ith just a tinge of protest in her tone Bongers faced her. “That's very pretty, pretty niece,” he said, “but you know well enough what would be a benediotion to me If you ail yourself of the privilege ry girl in the village of Bit- possesses during this one Christmas night of the whole year and ask your coustn Joop to marry you!” Anneke arranged her glasses. “It'll never come off unless you ask him,” added Bongers, and shot a scorn- fully affectionate glance across at his busy son. “He's too shy.” “Oh, uncle, yog kno to come off,” sald Ann and a run. “Then it's very selfish of you,” re- plied Bongers, “and very ungrateful end wicked. And very unfllial,” he added, “for you know it was your father's dying wish that Joop should have ‘the Rampant Lion,’ and how can he unless you marry him, seeing it belongs to you?” “He can bave the Rampant Lion. T don't want it” sald Anneke, going on with her work as the others did. T don’t want anything, and especially I don't want Joop." “The punch smells good,” sald Joop. “Then don’t you talk to me of Christ- mes benedictions,” protested Bonger: “while your bringing my gray hair: he lifted his crimson smoking cap, d covering & perfectly bald skull— “with sorrow, through your willfulness, to the grave.” “A Christmas benediction to you, you booby,” cried the father. “’Il be that she marries this year without my con- sent and turns us out of house and home.” “¥ou need have no fear,” sald An- neke, gravely. “But I do have fear—every day of my life. Your new husband'll make short work of me as landlord of the Rampant Lion and—and—Burgo”—he turned away, hastily clattering his glesses. “Master of Blitterswyk!” sald Joop, coming forward. “Ob, I say, Anneke, if you didn’t marry me you would be & brute. Why, father"— The old man tyrned llke a flash. “Now., there, has asked you! Never mind about the Christmas priv- fiege; eimply say ves!” Joop had fled into house. He stood peering round the dark of the doorway. “I shell mever marry, Azneke. don’t want it ®, In a break uncle,” sald “No, I've not proposed to her!” cried Joop from bis vantage ground; ‘T've not proposed to her! I shall never propose to any girl, lest they'd be able to boast they'd id no!" Even as he spoke the church doors swung open and the midnight congre- gation came streeming out. The vil- lagers and neighboring peasantry scattered right and left, across the w, with lanterns; certain of the 11-to-do strolled, conversing, toward the lights of the veranda; the doctor and his wife, the notary, the -balliff and others, half a dozen richer farm- surrounded by their gawky sons nt womankind—a little buzz of cor iel recognition that sank back from the places of honor, the arm- chairs around a scarlet tablecloth against the farther wall. “Here they come!" cried Bongers, running to and fro. “Make way for the party from the manor house! Oh, Anneke!” as he passed her, “this may be my last Christmas! Today burgo- master and landlord! Tomorrow an outcast!” “I shall never marry,” she repeated under her breath. “I have told you so before, you and"—her pretty voice caught in the dark—“other men!” “You talk like 'em all,” he bit back, bitterly. In the deserted aperture of the church door the great people had appeared the squar: they moved solemnly across e loved one—man,” gasped indeed! And that man is—" “Dead,” breathed Anneke. “A Christmas benediction to you all" said the Baron ) .n Blitterswyk. He stood there in his many-caped, dark blue overcoat, with the shiny gilt but- tons, and swung in a half circle his wide cap of brown fur. His young wife softly echoed the words beside him; her enormous gray boa and muff shone out bright against the silk of her cloak. Two guests of the manor house were with them, the young Baron Ron- da, some connection, and his mother, a lady of the court. “My dear burgomaster,” said the Baron van Blitterswyk, “a glass of your excellent punch, I pray you, as usual, while they put to the horses. The Christmas punch of the Lion is fa- mous,” he added to the Baroness Ronda as the party sat down. The others fell back to farther tables and punch and gossip of thefr own. “You will enjoy it," sald the Baron to his ladlies, “be- fore your long drive through the snow:" “Anneke, hot stoves for the ladies!" cal Bongers, and Anneke came up’ with her little boxes of peat. “What a pretty girl!” declared the young officer (Ronda), twisting his neck under the lamp shade. “My dear, you wor't need to avail yourself of the Christmas eve privilege of Blitters- wyk.” “What is that?” queried his mother with a drawl. Baron Blitterswyk laughed. “Oh, we have a custom here that during the Christnight—the Christnight only—the females of the village may propose to the males.” “Married or unmarried?’ asked Ronda. ouls, for shame!” “Mother, you are town bred. You have no conception of the blessed sim- plicities of the country. Mme. de Blitterswyk, a pale and seemingly languld beauty, lifted her slumbrous eyes. “I think- the whole custom is a mistake,” she said. “I agree with you,” replied Mme. de Ronda. “I should call It most immod- est.” h, Baroness, modesty is my wife's forte, you know.” “Alas!” murmured Louts. Mme. de Blitterswyk frowned: “I was pot thinking so much of the immodesty,” she said, “but it seems to me if a woman asks as well as accepts, she is doubly responsible for any—mis- take she may commit. *“My dear!” sald Mme. de Ronda. Louis spoke eagerly: “But marriage is, fortunately, not an irretrieyable mistake. The woman who has written @ wrong name upon her heart can write another name across it.” “Louts!" cried Mme. de Ronda. Baron Blitterswyk had been ladling out the liquor. He looked up harshly. “The custom is a stupid one,” he said. “A Christmas benediction to you all!” He spoke the greeting loudly, with lift- ed glass. All present, on the veranda, on the squzre, behind the open win- dows of the hostelry, arose in respons: with applause that rang out in the clear stillness of the night. “And may many Christmases elapse,”” said the Baron, as he set down his empty glass, “before there's another landlord at the Lion.” Fritz Bongers stood beside him and heaved a portentous sigh. “Ah, Baron, you should say that to Anneke.” An- neke disappeared. “Your health, Joop,” said the Baron. “The stupld says he'll never propose to any girl, Baron, for fear she should refuse him.” “Then, on this one day in the year, in this village” put in Ronda, “he at l-:;l has a faint chance of getting a wife” Mme. de Ronda turned amiably to the innkeeper. “Have you any more such charming old customs here? she said. “We have one” struck in Blitters- wyk, uastily. “But, oh, do not let us speak of that! cried his wife, more hastily still He scowled. *“Well, perhaps better not,” he said, sullenly. “What now? You make ocurious, my dear Helen. And when a woman's curious—" he pointed to 'l‘;ln&nm:“t:l:ld-: ’I?lu ‘ua- desire.” 3 own “And when a woman really s ‘wants thing,” sald Blitterawyk, with ' “ehe wets 1t langaed Louta ¥ His mother lifts a reproachful hand. “I have never been able to cure Louis,” she complained, “of his ill bred habit of interrupting” but the Baron was gazing at his wife. “You hear what Ronda says, Helen! When a woman really wants a thing she gets it.” / Louis held out his empty beaker. “And when a man does,” he said, look- ing stralght ahead, “he doesn't.” His mother cackled. ‘“So much the better, for what the woman wants is mostly right.” “And what the man wants often " Mme. de Blitterswyk spoke but a film seemed to lift from , 28 their glance rose and fell across Louls. Her husband struck his fist on the table. “T at least want nothing wrong,” he cried. ;The last of my name and race, I desire an heir. As long as.my voung stepbrother lived I cared little, but now-—nay, Helen, let me speak!—Mme. de Ronda, since immemorial ages the married women of Blitterswyk who have some boon to ask of the Virgin Mother hang up their shoes on the Christnight in the porch yonder, and the Mother of God hears them.” “Hears them!” cried Louls. “And why not, pray?’ demanded his mother ‘sharply. “Silence, Louis; do not scoff!” said the older man sternly. “Within our own experience the Virgin has fulfilled a petition thrice. Three several times, You cannot deny it, Helen.” o “I do not,” said his wife. She played with her hitherto untouched glass. The Baron looked round and gave a shout. “Hi, Bongers. Recount to these strangers the wonderful deeds of our Lady of Blitterswyk!” The innkeeper drew near. ‘“Wonderful indeed!” he made an- swer. “Your nobleness remembers, when nothing weuld stop Johm of the Dyke from drinking, and Mary hung up her shoe”—— 1 “There the Virgin @14 you a bad turn,” sneered Louis, but the innkesper skipped away from the subjeot. “And Barbara who brought back her poacher husband’——— “That was hard upon you,” sald Louls to Blitterswyk. “I was thinking of childless wives,” declared the latter, almost 7, to Bongers. . Frits hands, “8 Helen in a voice hosrse with emetion, “we P “You bellever” z"', S -that ’ I-FFoQL . SEE WHAT | Dip > “I am certain it is six years since he ‘went to the Indles.” “It is five,” she remarked quickly. “How accurate!” he retorted, not dis- sembling his irritation. “I envy the stepmother,” muttered Louis, “unlike me, he has no cause to complain of your memory" \ “And he has never been heard since?” interposed Mme. de Ronda. ‘He is dead,” sald Blitterswyk. , “It only we knew,” whispered Helen. The old innkeeper, ynable to resist, had drawn closer again. In his hands he held a flaming bowl; the blue light played upward. “Craving your noble- ness' pardon,” he put in, . “nothing would be easier than to make sure to- night if the young Baron Oscar is liv- ing."” He advanced the great bow! toward the table. All save the old Baroness Ronda sprang to their feet. “Oh, no—not thati" oried Helen. All the other involuntarily cried: “Not that!” Baron Blitterswyk turned to Ronda: “Even you, then,” he sald, “belleve in that?” Louis frowned, shame-faced, “Every one but a Huguenot,” he said, “believes in that.” & 0ld Bongers had put down the bowl. “I drew out twenty-seven raisins la Christmas,” he:stated sententiously, “I shall live to be eighty-nine.” b “Try egaln,” suggested Louls, uncas- Y. } . “Why, surely, you know, sir, no man can try twl “You try,” sald Blitterswyk, abrupt- 1y, to his wife. “Spare ‘'me,” she made snswer, “T might live to be 83, “Ah, the young folks like that,” said the painted old woman from the Court. But the Baron, with face hard set, stood over the bowl ' “Comie, let try!™ he spake. _“The oracle of the apsent! For my brother; ‘for Oscar. Is _he alive? .Is he dead? God! I do not doubt that he ia dead!” - “He is dead!" screamed Helen, and flung her hands across the flames. With an exclamation, Louls dragged the bowl away. g Van Blitterswylk cast angry slances to right ang left. “Silencs!” he com- 3—':“"" wmugm-:: gone. We can try at o e Home Bengers siaget | Ce ‘ot ith Come, ; § ing 8 1 | L.ovE BaronOscar.l “Can any one try?” questioned Louls; “I fancied not.” “It must be a woman that doesn’t love him,” answered Bongers. “You, madam!” “I am his brother's wife,” repllied Helen. *“I was always very fond of him.” “Well, for the matter of that so was 1, so was everybody,” declared the old lady. Blitterswyk brushed them aside. “When the woman's personally Inter- ested in the answer it falls,” he sald. “Here, Anneke! Come here, child! You remember my stepbrother, Oscar? You must have been a child when he went away.” The girl Anneke came to the table. “s was eighteen, your nobleness,” she said. _“Ah, well, then of course you re- member him. That's right! You know ‘the test here, of course—an even num- ber, he's living! An uneven, he's—" “I know, your nobleness,” sald An- neke. “Now say the words! In your case it can’t fall, for you can't be inter- ested. How does it go, Helen?” Helen had sunk down by the table. She spoke behind her shrouding hand: “‘For those that love him answer givel Not for myselt—Doth Osear live? But Anneke hung back. ‘Not I, your nobleness! not I! One of the ladies!” “How can they, They love him.” “Quick, naughty one!” ers. ‘Quick, stupld!” followed Anneke. She closed her eyes and thrust her hand forward, trembling.! The blue and yellow flames rose behind it. .“For those that love him,” stammered An- neke. The others were all about her, gazing down eagerly on the little hang, tight clenched, slowly opening. Only Helen looked away. “Two, three, seven, thirteen!” the men hurriedly counted all together. “Thirteen, it is thirteen. How terrible! ‘The uneven number. He {s dead.” “I have never doubted it exclaimed Blitterswyk. Helen sat looking at An- neke. “It has never been known to fail,” 8214 the Innkeeper. ‘Don’t stand grin- ning=shere, Joop, you booby™ you silly child? urged Bon- ald Joop, who had 2= w‘g‘t grinning” pro:zud Joop ntly. The, color flushed in & 8ee to the carriage, sald, drew the' big cloak around her. band was at her ear. “You no longer hesitate,” he whis- will now t ’g‘i‘o T drew & woman's shoe from under his coat tails. She took it ge- a chanically. “If Oscar is dead,” s! will dull; 'BY MAARTEN against a pillar, disappearing in shad- From other shadows, round the corner, where the high road twists along the church, through the village, a man's fig in traveling dress, came forward and stopped. She rose and with steadfast hand, under the dim image of the Mother and Child, the Most Holy, she hung up the Christmas shoe. Then, quickly turning, she descended almost with a run, facing the way- tarer. 1 “Oscar!” Her shriek rang against the dull gray walls all around. The stars twinkled. The air seemed full of ‘sound. He bent over her hand and kissed it and led her to the lights and excite- ment already surging toward them. “My stepbrother!” cried Blitterswyk. “Yes, 1 have come back from the In- dles. I heard of your marriage only the other day.” “We have long thought you dead. You might have written.” “I am come to life again. T started abruptly; and then I decided to sur- prise you. T knew I should find you here at this hour on this night.” “You have surprised us, indeed,” said Louls Ronda. “Mother, shall we go into the house till the Baron is ready to start?” / Nothing loth, the old lady took the hint. She had barely disappeared aft- er Anneke into the entry when Joop came flying round in hot haste from the stables. “Your mnobleness!” he cried. ‘“Your nobleness, something's gone wrong with one of the horses! Fa- ther, old Plet says it looks like the staggers!” Already the Baron and Bongers were In the stable yard. The few belated guests of the hosteiry that had not already slipped away into the darkness hastened after them. Helen and the returned wanderer were left alone in the stariit square. To all appearances unaware that one man was still watching her, the young Batroness strode to the church portico and tore down the shoe she had hung up there a few moments ago. With movement of disgust she cast it from he! Oscar had followed her. “You en, the wife of my stepbrother,” he sald, “and a childless wife.” “Yes, thank God.” should speak thus.” No woman ‘“You 7 enough w! 4 :xnmhflp well gh why I do’ will not hush. Yo now one-half of what my huubx:d Wum—' the very house we live in—is yours. ‘When I married him three years s told me himself I did not know it. He —afterward. He old—he Is rot strong—God forgive me that I' should say {t—as long &s he has no son these possessions of yours we are wrongly retaining must revert to you at his death—oh, do not fear that I shall try to keep them! If you were dead, then the injustice had been removed. But you are not dead.” - “You speak as if you wish I were.” “Ah, 'm.:‘-m'fl say. Ah, what g0 ber hands. The ought,” he sald bitterly, “that & ew.la 'fl.vo been better if I had been. But in all my adventures in the In- dles, somehow, there was no killlng me.” The bitterness deepensd to & h. b‘l:- answered with a question. “Did you come back because you heard 1 had married your stepbrother? For a moment he made no reply. Then he sald— Dod't ask me It 't fair.” m“Olc' ar, I know why you went away. No, let me tell you quite calm- ly. It is so dark here and so still, T can tell you and I want to. You had found out my secret and—you did not share it” “Helen,” he cried. “Never mind; you ses I can tell you that I know. Now you have returned, it is Dbetter. and let us think you were dead that I might get over it and marry some one else. It was very noble of you, Oscar.” Vainly he protested. ‘T wh' *fle ough to get away from- o .-"Yo‘ur l(.‘pbromor?“ She had almost turned to fly from him; now she came close. “Of whose injustice you knew?" He was silent. “You knew? Still he was stlent, and she also grew suddenly still. At last she sald, Tooking away, “Well, you ses, I have got over it. T am married to somebody else.” Then he found rapid utterance, My step- brother!” “You had hardly bargained for that? Well, nor had I My mother was dying; We wWere Vvery pDOOr. I thought he was = religious man; Be was such & good Catholic. I was glad to think I was marrying so religious a man.” “But you love him? he cried wve- Jemently. “You love him?” “What do you know about lover™ she retorted. “I do not belleve you have ever loved any one. And, s Anneke came, moving to and fro among the empty chairs and clinking ‘l‘-nl.“ “Have you loved,” sald the young Baroness, dropping her voice, “a lot of dusky fative beauties under the palm trees and cocoanuts? ‘Helen, you misjudge me," said Oscar “I—I had other reasons for running away.” b “And what reasons. pray.” she asked increduiously, “for returning?™ “The same,” he replisd. She shook her head. “It is generous of you to spare me, Oscar,” she sald, “but I am too well aware how badly I had kept my secret. They say woman cannot keep a secret, and the only one of real Importan decent woman ever has to keep about herself.” . e 18 one other,” he answered. “That she does not love her hus- band? Ah, trust & decent woman to keep that, if ske can.” Louis Ronda, coming round from the stables, heard these last words and covered, as best he could, & laugh with & cough. “Your brother !s ssking for you,” he sald to Oscar, “the horse is actually dead!” There was annoyance in his tone at the animal's lack of con- sideration. Oscar, taking no further notice of him, moved toward the sta- ble yard so suddenly that he nearly collided with Anneke and her e tray. Not a word passed between them. Thatils certain. Not even s salute of recognition, not even a cry of apology or alarm. Baron Louls bowed low te his hostess, the Lady of Blitterswyk. “The Baron proposes.” he sald, Dedtc her arrsngement would please me better,” replied Helen. The young man had crossed to where the shoe lay cast upon the snow. He took it up. “Have you lost all faith” he asked, “In the Virgin of Blitterswyk because the ‘life test’ went hopelessly wrong? “Baron Ronda, I belleve you are an atheist! “On the contrary, I have always be) lleved In the ‘life test.” I dom't belleve in much, but, honestly, I've always belleved in that. And now I—I don't know what to think at all understand?’ he added as Anneke | passed them, clearing away more glasses. The Baroness’ eyes weres following Anneke. No,” she sald; “would you § mind telling my husband that I should * prefer to go in some closed convey- ance, whatever they can find, with your mother?" “Oh, of course, if you prefer my mother,” he answered, nettled. and he swept her a bow, leaving her alone with the girl. “Anneke! “Your noblenes: ishes?™ “Why did you ke so much try- Ing the ‘life test’ just now?™" “It looks llke deciding a man's fate, your nobleness—taking his I inte your hands, perhaps killing him “That is a strange way to consider ft. Why, vou see, the whola thing is mere foolishness. It means nothing.™ “Y-$-yes, your nobleness.” “You will never belleve in It See how ridiculously it flflv!" “Y-yes." “Such & fallure is enough to malk us doubt of all the things we beliew: in. See, I have torn down the Virgin' shoe!” ¥ The gir]l gave a cry of distress. “Ol you should never have done that!™ she exclaimed. “Oh, the danger o uch & deed to your nobleness! Th sin!™ “What folly!" replied the Baroness. “Why, you yourself have just prov: that these things are superstitions!™ “Have youw 8 No, “Oh, The Holy Virgin forgive your noble- no,” sald Anneke, shuddering. the blessed saints preserve usl ness'. They are true, the signs and wonders of the blessed Christnight— oh, you know they are!” She caught up the shoe; she ran forward to re- place it. The Baroness intercepted her. “Even the ‘life test'?” sald the Bar- oness. The girl did not answer, en- deavoring to pass. “Even the ‘life test'?” persisted the Baroness. The girl, thus arrested, shrank back. * “Yes, even the ‘life test’ " she answer« ed, and covering her face with her hands, spe: through them. Thes horrible ‘life test' most of all. “You should keep your secrots bet- ter, child,” sald the Baroness, with scornful pity. The ‘life test' falled in your case, because you—Iied while you spoke It.” “No—no!" “For those whe love him answer sivel” breath came and weat, “You are madl—mad!—mad! burst forth Helen. “You had not ssen him for five whole years—" Anneke fiang o'} “And you?” she cried. o o older woman mastered herself, speaking slowly. “I—had not seen—him for five years, either. I was quite pleased to see him again.” Anneke looked at her. Under the lamplight thelir eyes met. “T am not a fine lady,” sald Anneke, with a touch of discerning scorn. “You are mot,” retorted the other woman swiftly, “and the Baron Oscar van Blitterswyk, my husband's step- And so you went away \ Do you &