The Stourbridge Observer, Cradley Heath, Halesowen & District Chronicle.
Stourbridge, West Midlands, England, 1884-12-20 00:00:00

ONE CHRISTMAS NIGHT,

CHAPTER L

ILI the spring a young man's fancy lightly turns
to thoughts of love," Tennyson says; and it was in
she spring that my bonnie Hope made me the very
nappiest man that ever lived upon this great round
world. It was in the spring, too, that I first met
aer, just a year before our wedding day. She had
no relations, for she had been a foundling—a waif
of sorrow and sin; and a good lady, whose heart
had room in it for the love of little children, but
who. had only a tiny grave in a green churchyard
so remind her of the joy she had lost, had adopted
aer, and brought her up with as much care and
senderness as if she had been her own child.
If outward appearance may be taken as a proof
sf birth, Hope was a lady; she was graceful and
lelicate-looking, and if not strictly beautiful her
~ace was lovable and winning, even to strangers.
1,1 course she was the loveliest creature on earth to
e; but I know she was not strictly beautiful, from
an artist's point of view my loving darling. One
great beauty she had—her glorious eyes,—speaking
yes, they were—brown and lustrous, and shaded
y the longest and thickest lashes I over saw.
Her hair was beautiful, too—wavy and thick;
.nd when she let it loose it hung about her like a
ad]. For the rest, she was pale—envious folks said
,he was sallow—and rather petite in figure. She
„sad the dainty instincts and horror of anything like
.lirt or confusion which generally indicates refined
areeding and descent; but I never troubled myself
with conjecture about whom she might belong to.
.6he was to be my wife, and I thought of nothing
15e.
1. Her old-fashioned name of Hope had been given
-er in the chapel of the Foundling Hospital—Hope
Lestrange, a somewhat high-sounding name for a
soundling ; but a legacy had just been left to the
.nstitution by a gentleman of the name and it came
first amongst some that were set down for use. Hope
tnestrange ! I thought it the very prettiest name I
had ever heard when one day, in Mrs. Grainger's
irawing-room, a young lady was introduced to me
ay it. People talk of falling in love,—l went head-
JOng into its deepest depths; It was to be. From
she hour of our first meeting earth held nothing for
pe like that quiet girl, with the wonderful eyes and
she long dark lashes; and the time came before many
months had elapsed when she confessed that she too
knew now that there was only one person in the
world that she could ever marry, and that I, Henry
Westover, was the man.
"But you cannot marry me," she said to me when
I told her of any love, and asked her to be my wife.
am no fit wife for you."
• "And why not ?" I asked.
"Do you not know? Has no one told you P" she
said with a quiver in her voice. "I am not Mrs.
Grainger's daughter."
"I know—you are her adopted child. It is all
the same to me, my darling."
"No, not the same, Mr. Westover; I might be
an adopted child, and yet be a fitting wife for you. 1
lam not. lam only a foundling— a creature picked II
off the streets for anything I know; taken by that 1
good lady out of charity. Why, my very name was
bestowed on me in charity like a beggar's crust!
Leave me alone, and let me try to forget it if I
can.''
I didn't leave her alone. I took her in my arms
and whispered that I knew all about it; that it made
no difference to me, why should it, and that I
• wanted her for my wife. What did her pedigree or
the want of it signify to me? I loved her. Mrs.
Grainger was pleased. I could see that, though she
- too said that she thought perhaa sit would have been
letter if I had given the matter a litt'e more
thought. But the love that makes or mars the hap-
piness of a man's life is hardly ever a matter of
thought. It springs to life full-grown in a moment
.13 ours had done.
It was a good match for Hope, the good lady was
pleased to say; and so I suppose, in a worldly, sense,
- It was. My darling would never want for anything
that I could give her in reason, and if anything
happened to me, and she outlived me, I could leave
her well provided for. So we were to be married,
• and I set my house in order, and Mrs. Grainger
furnished my bride-elect out as a young lady should
be suppl:sed, and the sun shone on our union, and
. all the weald seemed to exult in our happiness and
rejoice with us.
Happy is the bride that the sun shines on," says
the old saw; and if sunshine meant anything, surely
our lives would be strewn with flowers. The
glorious light streamed in on us as we stood by the
altar, and covered Hope in her white dress/ with
• rays of colour from the 14. stained window.
"Till death do us part 1" How well I remember
speaking the words, and lifting my eyes with a
shiver as I saw a great red splotch on my darling's
dress like a huge blood stain. It was only from the
• window, of course; a saint and :martyr, attired
• in the deepest crimson, was casting his shadow upon
her. But it gave me a chill, and I was glad when
• her neat movement took her out of the sphere of his
favours, and I took her to my heart my own, my
wife, and sealed the compact with a kiss, and we
• went into the vestry and signed our names, and
came back through the church. The blood stain
followed Hope,—we were just in a line with it as .
we walked down the aisle, and it played about her—
now upon her head and now upon her dress—and I
w, s glad when were fairly out of the church and in
the carriage.
How Hope laughed at me when I told her of my
• queer feeling about the sunbeams!
"You dear, superstitious Harry," she said; "why,
I was admiring that same colour, and thinking what
a glorious red it was, and how lovely it looked on
my dress! They had better notions of colour in the
old ditys than they have now."
There was no shadow of any sort upon us as we
sat at our wedding-feast and listened to the good
wishes of our friends, and no sorrow over our bright
honeymoon spent in roaming over the vine-clad hills
about the Rhine, and wandering hither and thither
amongst the old-fashioned German towns as we
listed. Hope had never seen the Continent, and she
was charmed with everything she saw. I had been
over the ground often, but it developed fresh
beauties in the sunshine of her dear presence.
So did my old home when at length I took nay
darling; there. Beech Lawn had never looked so
lovely as on the day when I took her in my arms on
the threshold and welcomed her home. Oh, how
happy we were! I think no two people ever enjoyed
- life as we did; and yet our pleasures were not extra-
vagant. Our means were ample, and we had no
1.. need to stint ourselves of anything. One trial came
to us. in the second year of our quiet life. The
little child that had come to US like a gift from
Heaven When we had been married about a year
was taken from us —I think to teach us how much
the heart can bear without breaking.
At least, I thought so then. I 3 came to know
that there may be deeper sorrows than separation
12y death. It nearly killed Hope when we laid our
darling under the green turf of the churchyard, and
laid aside all the trifles that speak so eloquently to a
mother's heart of the child she has lost. But time
is a healer • and there came to us other troubles,
that called forth our energies, and gave us grave
matter to think about and hard work to do. One morn-
ing, about three months after our I al)y's funeral, I
woke to the knowlege that I was a ruined man. How
the ruin came about has nothing to do with our story.
It was partly my own negligence and reliability on
the honour and good faith of others, and partly
commercial revolutions of which I understood but
little. But the fact was there. My means of living
were swept away, all but a poor hundred pounds a
year, my mother's little fortune, which no one could
touch, and Beech Lawn. My money sufficed to
Pay all that I was liable for, and leave me that. The
old home was still mine, and when the first shock
-of the blow was over, there was comfort in that.
In the crash that had come more than one person
had lost home and fortune and everything, and was
beggared. Surely Hope and I had something still
to be thankful for.
"We have each other, dear," she said to me
when I would have broken down under the blow,
and cursed the evil destiny that had wrought us
this evil—" ourselves and our health, dear Harry,
and more to live upon now than thousands of other
people. It is only giving up little things after all."
" Latle things," I said, echoing her. "Do you
.call Beech Lawn a little thing? To me it is like
giving up a piece of my heart."
" Must we give it up, Harry ?"
"We cannot keep it, dear. It costs more than our
whole income to keep up, without allowing anything
-for food or clothes."
"We must do something," Hope said, decidedly.
"We must put our heads together, you and I, and
find out how we can earn some money. I should
break my heart to have to leave this dear old
place."
She was always the stronger and the wiser of us
two, my dataing little wife, and her words seemed
to give me courage and hope. What had seemed so
black before took a sunshiny turn now, and her
loving words, "We have each other," echoed
through my heart, and gave me new life. We had
each other, and what could the world do to hurt us
as long as we had health and strength and a will to
face the difficulties of our new position.
As Hope said we were richer now than thousands
of other ;peoplp, it was only taking a step down-
ward in the world giving up our luxuries and our
pretty home; but this last my energetic little wife
resolved we should not do.
"We mast keep Beech Lawn," elle said, and we
cast about for some means by which we could do so.
.was to take a situation, of course, when I could
get one, and Hope proposed all sorts of things by
'Which she declared she could earn something. We
Were puzzled for come time, but after awhile matters
arranged themselves—or rather Hope arrange I them
—with a little help frem her old friend, Mrs.
Grainger.
"'Why not let part of the house ?" that lady said
to US when we were considering what was to be done.
!` You two peop'e don't want all Beech Lawn to live
Ha, and there are a great many would only be too
Riad to take part of the responsibility of it off your
shoulders."
It did not sound pleasant. The idea of having
other people in our snug
_home, to have only half
the house -where we had been xea-stetued to.ltsairee
of the whole, seemed like being banished or going

to prison. But the choice lay between that and.
le tying the place altogether, and to both of us any-
thing was better than that. So p. esently an adver-
tisement wen into the papers, setting forth that
we were prepared to take a lady and gentleman into
our house, either as boarders or lodgers, whichever
seemed good when we should come to terms; and in
a very few days we had p'enty to choose from.
Rippleton, as our village was called, was so prettily
situated, and within such an easy distance from
town, that there were many who would have taken
the three rooms we were able to set asi le for our
lodgers; and Mrs. Gninger and Hope were soon
deep in consultation as to which of the many letters
should be responded to with a view of taking the
writers.

Several were thrown aside at once as not suitable,
but the ladies to whom I left all the arrangements
selected two, and proceeded to make the necessary
inquiries. They resulted in our choo,ing a Mr. and
Mrs. Canyon—a young couple without children—
and communicating with them anent the proposed
arrangement. I think something in our circum-
stances drew:us together. They had boon much
better off, and had had to retrench, through losses,
as we had done.

Their references were unexceptionable, and their
income, though very much less than it had been,
was secured to them in a fashion that left us nothing
to fear about the regularity of th ir payments. Tney
would come at first merely as lodgers occupying the
rooms we had to let furnished. If the arrangement
answered, and we liked each other, and Hope could
find it convenient, Mrs. Carlyon thought she
should like to board as well after awhile. Sh,3 dis-
liked the trouble of housekeeping and the details of
providing; whereas they were no worry to my
darling—she was a born housekeeper, and liked
nothing so well as :superintending her household
affairs, and considering how best to atrange and
beautify her home. Fortune was surely smiling on
us, I thought, forgetting the axiom of Shakespeare:
"When fortua means to men most ~00d,
She loAs upon tLem with Ft threatening eye"
She didn't threaten me, and I thought the sun hid
shone out again on my life,,and that the brightness
was to last forever.
"Yes, dear, I think they, are very nice," Mrs.
Grainger said to Hope :in answer to that young
lady. "But don't be too cager to rush into fri, nd-
ship with them. Look after your rent, and don't take
excuses instead of money. They will come sometime
I fancy."
"Oh, how you do croak ! " Hope said, caressing
her friend. "They are the dearest, nicest people I
have ever seen."

"I don't want to eroak, dear; but very nTce
people can't piy their way sometimes.. I wouldn't
go too far with thcm if I web e you."
There wr.s certainly nothing to verify her words;
the rent was raid to the day, and Mr. Canyon went
regularly to his business as I did after a very little
-while. I managed to get a situation, though it was
sorely against the grain at first to go and el, udge
away my days in an otfice and ta e my share of the
world's business instead of havirg all the enjoyment
and nothing else.
In three months from the time of the Canyons
coming to ! eeeh Lawn we were all like one family,
having our own rooms, it is true. but taking our
meals together and haying one another's it7Cerests at
heart in every way. Thcre did not seem anything
to make a hitch in our pleasant intercourse. I
found Carlyon a very nice intelectu .1 fellow, and
capital company, and Hope declared that she could
understand now what having a sister meant; Mrs.
Canyon had grown so like one to her.

CHAPTER 11.
TIME went by very pleasantly with us in our new
arrangement. Happy in the love of my darling
wife r came to be quite content, and never regretted
my lost fortune. We managed to keep up Beech
Lawn amongst us in all its beauty. Mr. Canyon
was very fond of the garden—a greater enthusiast
ev,n than I was—and would spend all his leisure
time in it digging and planting and keeping things
straight.
"Tell me if I interf re too much," he said one
day, when I was helping him to trim the hedges of
the grass and tidy the flower-beds. "I have no
business to touch your flowers, I know, but it is
second nature with me to love them and attend to
them."

" Interfere !," I repeated, laughing. "I can
hardly call it interference when you save me almost
all the expenses of a gardener. I am only too
grateful to you. You make the place look
splendid."
And indeed he did, for his tlste was perfect. He
seemed to have the knack of making the things
grow as he wished.
"I like it to look like home," he said; "Clara
and I have come to feel it home. You and Mrs.
Westover seem like brother and sister to us."

"I am glad to think it," I said; and indeed Hope
and I had come to feel the same towards our agree-
able lodgers; they were so charming in every way.
Mr. Canyon was handsome and intolectual, fond of
music, and with a voice.that might have made his
fortune had he chosen to study as a public singer.
He had not nerve enough, he used to say when we
wondered he had never been heard except in draw-
ing-rooms, and we found he was singularly nervous
when asked to sing.
Mrs. Canyon was simply lovely; nn other word
sufficiently expresses the sweet charm of her perfect
face. Every feature was a study for a painter, and
her eyes, with their long fringes, had expression and
soul in them as well as beauty of form and colour.
Hope used to rave about her figure, and I have
heard others, and perhaps more competent judges,
declare that in form as well as face she was fault-
less. My darling would have thought a hump-
backed dwarf graceful if she had learned to love it,
and I am afraid I was rather given to letting my
feelings sway my judgment in the matter of beauty,
and to think every woman charming who was
lovable ; but in the matter of Mr. Canyon, our
opinion was that of everybody.
She was well read and intelligent, and excellent
company. Hope was never dull when I was absent,
and;her lodger said the same of herself when her
hushand was away. The two came to be like sisters
ma very lit le time, and I felt more than a common
liking for Carlyon!:as I fancied he did for me. We
suited each other in spite of a word or two from
Mrs. Grainger, who could not be brought to like
him.

"She is a charming creature," that lady said,
speaking of our ledgers; "but be on your guard with
hi ."

" Why ?" I asl;ed.
"I cannot tell you," was her answer. "I have
thought and thought till I am tired to find out
why Ido not like him. I can only say that I do
not. It is a case of Dr. Fell, I suppose. He is
most gentlemanly arid agreeable, hut --"
I could not find Ihe "but," and I came to think
my wife's old friend harsh and uncharitable in her
judgment. As the time wore on, and everybody
seemed to like Mr, nd Mrs. Canyon better and
better, I re oiced daily in the chance that had
brought them to my house. My darling—my nut-
brown maid as I used to call her when f saw her
contrasted with our lodger's delicate fairness—had
never seemed so blithe or happy since their arrival,
and our worldly affairs were prospering to our
hearts', content. Altogether our new .arrangement
had been a grand success. Summer was upon us in
all its beauty when Mrs. Grainger fell ill—not with
any serious complaint we thought at first. She was
out of sorts. She could not get about as-usual.
She was lazy, she declared—nothing else, and we did
not think anything particular about it. Hope went
to and fro, and we tried to persuade her to get away
from Rippleton for awhile and try the sea side. I
even offered to lend her my darling for a few weeks
for her companion, but she would not hear of it.
"No, I will not go away," she replied. "I know
what that would mean. You would be like Mahomet'st
coffin hanging between earth and heaven—that is,
between wherever your wife might happen to be
and your home. I shall do well enough. I don'
like changing." •
She had her way, as she generally had, but she did
not get better. Weeks passed away, and she grew
lazier and lazier, and it began to dawn upon Hope
and me that she was " wearin' awa," as Burns has
it. Hope grieved passionately. She loved her like
a mother, but it was evident the fiat had gone forth,
and at last the doctors spoke, "She might live through
the winter." It was doubtful, but in any case it
could not be many months; an insidious complaint
had been doing its work for a long time, and no
human skill could save her.

She would not live to see our baby. The spring
was to tiring us another little one to take the place
of the one that lay in the shadow of the white cross
in the churchyard, and our hearts would have been
full of unalloyed gratitude and joy but for her
illness. With the auttann she seemed to get a little
better, and Hope began to believe that she would
rally again. I remember how hopefully we were all
talking about it on that bright evening, when—ah,
I can hardly think of it—hardly bear to speak or
write of it now; the night when my darling—
But I must tell the story as it happened, or I shall
break down and get unintelligible.
We had been very busy in the garden, Canyon
and I; we had made up our minds to alter it a little
—take the lawn farther back' and make a rose arch-
way on either side of it. We were in the very
midst of it, and the two ladies had laughed at our
proceedings, which, to say the least of them, had
not resulte(lt as yet in anything but a glorious
muddle. We had thrown up a bank of earth as the
foundation of a raised bed for flowers, and dug a
huge trench for the reception of certain trees. which
were to be placed there with some fresh earth and a
due allowance of manure, and we had tired our-
selves and made our backs ache, for which Hope
declared she did not pity us one bit. It would have
been cheaper and quicker to have had a labourer in
to do all that rough work. So it would •, we '
admitted that, but we should not have had the
honour and glory of doing it all ourselves in that
case, and we were rather proud of our handiwork.
I said the ladies laughed at us, so they did; but
Hope was not herself that day; she did laugh, but
her merriment was forced. She said I was fanciful
when I told her that she did not seem herself.
There was nothing the matter with her, but there
I was. I caught a frightened look upon_ her sweet.
I,face more than once--a look I had never seen there
before. I would get at the bottom of it when we
were alone. We alwavo had a quiet gossip in OUr

own room the last thing at night, on which the'
Canyons never intruded.
I was afraid that Hope was not well, but I would
find it all out them- Perhaps she had been exerting
herself too much; she was such an imlefatigable
little housekeeper and caretaker. I had managed to
graze my ankle with a spade in the course of our
gardening, and when we came in to tea Canyon
insisted that I should sit still and do no more.

"I will go and tidy the path up," he said. "You
just sit still and put some cold water on that scratch,
Or you will have it inflame."
1 sat down and did as he bade me; indeed, I was
almost done up, and Hope made me a cup of tea and
brought it to me.
"Mr. Carlyon will not have his till he has done,"
she said. "Mrs. Carlyon will give it him; lam
going to run in to The Willows.'"
"The IVillows " was Mts. Grainger's house, and
was scarcely a stone's throw from our place.
"Don't stay long," I returned. I could not bear
to have Hope away from home without me.
"No, only long enough to se , how Mamrnie is
and bid her good night," she replied. "And, oh
I have forgotten my doves."
She ha I some of those melancholy pets in an
aviary t the bottom of the garden, and she was very
careful in fastening them up every night herself,
protesting that they would miss her if she didn't go
down. I was drowsy and heavy from the unwonted
exercise in the opentair, and I only imperfectly
heard what she said. She bent over me as she ran
out, and pressed her lips to my forehead; and I
mils have fallen into a doze, staring at the fire.
Though the days were bright and hot, the evenings
were sufficiently chilly to make a fire enjoyable, and
we always had one lighted for tea.
I was quite alone. Mrs. Carlyon was in her own
room, and her husband in the garden; the servant
was upstairs attending to the bedrooms. I remember
always when I think on that night how 'plainly I
heard her footstep overhead before I lost myself in
that nap. The first thing I heard was "Allow me,
Mrs. Westover," in Canyon's voice in the passage,
and then the opening of the front door, and Hope's
voice saying "Thank you," as she passed out. Then
Carlyon came into the dining-room, the flickering of
the fire showing him very pale and weary looking.
"Was that Hope?" I asked.
"-Yes, she is gone to 'lhe Willows '—at least, I
understood her to say so."
"You are done up, rarlyon ; I am afraid it was
a foolish thing of us to do. Here, I have scratched
my leg; and you—you look as if you had seen a
ghost. Why, your hand is shaking as if you had
Bt. Vitus' dance."

"I feel as if I had. Handling a spade is apt to
make the hand shake; that's it.' He hal succeeded
in lighting his cigar after a good many efforts, in
which he did not seem to see the end of it, or the
paper, or anything. "I don't suppose we shall
either of us be fit for much to-morrow. It takes
a long apprenticeship to make navvies work come

You are not going hack again
"Only to put the tools away. I left my spade
lying right across the path, and a fork about too I
shall not be a minute gone."
He was a good while gone—half an hour, I think.
7he moon was up now, and he Ind sat smoking and
thinking. He was rather given to sitting out in the
moonlight, and the garden generally looked like a
bit cut of a fairy tale when the moon was full and
the lovely landscape below us flooded with the
silvery radiance. Beech Lawn was charmingly
situated on high ground, as was all Rippleton. We
looked downwards towards London, and could see
St. Paul's on a clear day, and many other land-
marks among the more prominent buildings.
A lovely expanse of country lay between us and
the London fogs and smoke, which sometimes came
rolling in our direction in heavy masses, looking as
if there was a fire in the immediate neighbourhood,
and passing over us like a blight, making us think
ourselves fortunate in that we were out of the
constant neighbourhood of their contaminating
influences. We were so completely private in our
garden—no one could overlook us; and in summer
we almost lived out of doors. No wonder Canyon
liked it; he had been cooped up in a T ondon lodging,
he told me, for more than a year before he came to
Rippleton. Circumstances had made it necessary
that he should remain in town.
I was thoroughly tired with my proceedings
amongst the mould, and I fell fast asleep after I
had spoken to Carlyon. I was dimly conscious of
his coming in again and his wife corning downstairs
and giving him some tea, saying something about
his loo' s and his having overdone himself. My
easy chair was soft and comfortable, and I was.
weary, and I slept as a man sleeps who has a weary
body and a contented mind. I had nothing to
worry me, I had done a good day's work, and the
fire was nice. . _

That was when I went to sleep. The last thing
in my waking thoughts was the red glow of the
bright coals, and Hope —Hope who had gone to "1 he
Willows," and would be back directly almost. Ugh!
how cold it was! I woke with a start and a shiver,
wondering where I was, and what had happened to
me. The lamp was burning low, almost at its last
gasp, and the fire was quite gone. What did it
mean? I looked at my watch—eleven o'clock! I
bad been asleep more than three hours. Where was
Hope? She surely had not come in and gone up-
stairs without waking me. I heard no sound any-
where, and I rang the bell. The servant came up
from the kitchen, looking very sleepy and cross, but
evidently relieved to find me awake.
"There's a fire in the breakfast parlour, sir," she
said. " Misais told me to lay the supper there for
the future; she thought it would be more comfort-
able."

The Canyons did not as a rule take sup er. To
Hope and me it was the most cosy meal of the day.
I looked at the girl, feeling quite stupid.
"Where is your mistress ? " I asked.
" Please, sir, she hasn't come back," was the
answer; and a cold chill seemed to take me from
head to foot as I heard it.

(To be concluded in our next.)