The Portland daily press., 1888-12-25

succumb, Dick added "Come, Elfrida; we
must keep walking up and down, or you win
take bad cold for Christmas day."
He drew his sisters arm through his own
and together they passed back and forth,
through alternate spaces Of shadow and of
| illumination from the electric lights Rich
ard Marlowe resembled his sister, but with a
difference; his face was more serious. his
| eyes were clear hazel; his mouth was sensi-
tive to fault and not much hidden by a
blonde mustache.
us my father-is he well?" inquired Rich
ard.
Yes He is well, except little rheuma-
tism such as he always has in winter" an
swered Elfrida. "But It is no use, Dick. He
asked about my letter l tried, indeed dear.
l tried to say the right thing and not make
him angry. But 1t is no use. He iSharder
than ever, he oh /! how can tell you, Dick
he says he never willingly shsll see you
again and he has made his will-but he
couldn't force me to sign it as WITHSTAND
has disinherited you"
Il do rot want his money" declared her
brother
my darling boy, that isn't all. He de-
spises you, because you can't sell grain and
flo ur and double entries, whatever they may
be; and he has said such dreadful things of
you in the will Things, Dick, that you and
shall have to hear, when poor daddy will
not be on earth to unsay them" She sobbed
against her brothers coat-sleeve.
Dick heard her sadly; then he spoke in a
changed voice. mo use for me to hang
around hC;e; / came on the o'clock tain,
can leave with the 6.40 Goodbye, Elfrida,
stay with father; we can write often, and
sometimes can come for a few minutes
meeting with you-heaven forgive him-as if
we had no right to any but meetings by
stealth. Goodbye there comes the carl
have just time for my train, Take care of
yourself, little sister, and write often"
Another sudden thrill experienced by the
feathered chaperons of the occasion. Dick
entered the car, and Elfrida walked sadly
homeward.
Christmas Eve and Home are words which
have heart of holy poetry. But Christmas
Eve to lonely girl whose brother is ban
ished and whose father has shut himself up
in his own rooms, is neithera festive nor
hopeful time. Mr.. Marlowe would not hear
Jenny's discreet tap to announce tea. FL
frida was her own hostess and company at
the meal; and drank her cup of tea, crumb-
ling some bread into her apron pocket in the
vain hope to delude Mrs. Briggs.
Then she sought her own room, and con-
ISOLATION that never failed-her violin. What
allied the instrument or the player? The
Sicilian litany for Christmas, with its curious
phrases in pastoral 6-S movement. changed
almost imperceptibly to the Elegie of Ernst,
one OF the most heartbreaking laments that
ever violin is charged to express. Elfrida's
playing was remarkable for so young an
artist; the deeper griefs of the Elegie were
not In her scope; but there was in her rendi-
ton tender and frank pathos, that prom
lsed we'll for her heart of woman. She
stopped to repeat cGdeszG which had not
satisfied her; and then laughed softly. 'Yes
yes," she whispered. She struck up a lively
gigue from one of Bach's suites; curious
little singing, high and shrlll as a microscop-
lc fife was heard. and a patter as of the
lightest rain. The Christmas eve party was
begun. From crevices of the wainscnt came
forth company of mice dancing like sprites
on the floor; one of their number was that
oddly, singing mouse, who lent her voice
to Elfrida's violin. The little creature
seemed to enjoy the music; they lso found
very acceptable the crumbs from Elfrida's
apron pocket. A beautiful girl, gigue of
old Sebastian Bach, dozen mice-was ever
such queerly assorted fes tivall In the
midst of the mirth. something small and
hard sfruaL fba ind f~o,
whisking of tails, and Elfrida IS guests were
gone. E
She went to the window, her feminine
courage was above vague alarms, as above
the common fear of mice, and, having opened
1t, she looked out. Under the window stood
her brother Richard. "Hush," he warned
her. Let me in, If You can; and we will at
least say goodbye between the walls of this
house."
Elfrida ran down the dark stairway. 1t
was eight o'clock; Mr.. Marlowe had given no
sign, and his door was still closed. Far off,
in the kitchen, Mrs. Briggs, who had the
plum-pudding on her conscience, was seed
ing raisins for the same; and Jenny, beside
her, was shcing citron and candied orange
peel, deeply interested in one of the cooks
stories of Christmas in England. So Rich
ard and Elfrida might hope to be undis-
turbed for little while. He had missed his
train, he toldsher; and there had possessed
him great wish to enter once more the
house that had been his home, sweet with
memories of his beautiful mother, bright
with the presence of his little sister, dear
even for sake of the honest, hard, arbitrary
father-surely a jewel, however in the
rough. Richards Welt was reprieve to
himself and equally to Elfrida. The next
train would go at an hour after midnight;
the journalist (who-let justice be done him
in parenthesis-was no mere twanger of an
esthetic Lutte to which to sing triolets, william
eles, Malayan pantoums and the rest of that
race of fantastic nomenclature, but hard
working reporter as we'll as an easy rhymes
ter the newspaper man. then, could arrive
in Boston and report himself in the morning
at his office with no delay caused by this last
passionate farewell to home and sister.
They had so much to say to each other
this poor boy and girl, in their early TWEEN
ties-so much that they said little. They
sat on the parlor hearth-rug, as they used to
sit when children, clinging to each other in
the first inexperienced despair of youth
which will admit no possible hope or COM
fort. At last tired Elfrida had fallen into q
troubled sleep; and her brother, holding her
against his shoulder, resolved that, come
what might, he would not move until she
awoke of herself. II he were obliged to
miss another train SOFT was for the last
time. His eyes turned slowly around the
room, to impress every detail upon his mem
ory. They rested longest on the portrait of
his mother-all white muslin, blue ribbons
and roses, as portraits were thirty years ago.
Mamma" he cried to her In the silence of
his heart, you understand me, you know l
would have contented my father if l could.
But was not made so, for business. can
never come here again, but you will be as
near me, wherever may 60. But stay here,
mamma, most Of all here, to take care of
Elfri DAP
Without entering into speculation upon
the occult things in heaven and earth which
are not yet dreamed Of in our philosophers
or only in such dreams as form the night
mares OF science-it may be said that while
this passionate prayer was sent forth from
Richards mind, his father, upstairs, started
from the armchair where he was doing, un-
conscious of the lapse Of time, or of the adj
0f tho fnrhiddo,,