The San Francisco call., 1896-12-25

must be made at one. Can you spare me
two minutes2n
1--WE know tive know it." said the
Squire, shaking his head. And Eleanor
put her hand upon the little doctors
arm.
docs it concern my husband2" she
asked. "Have you news of him-a mes
sage. perhaps-for me?"
| ali you are anxious for message from
him, Mrs. HerYey, j am treasured" said
| the doctor.
"Reassured?"
Listen for moment, and let me tell
you what happened to me last night. l
was driving up the lane past your gates,
Squire, and going slowly enough on ac-
count or the heavy snow, when l caught
sight OF a figure lying in the drift JUSTIN
side your gates. l knew that to be there
was certain death, SO got down and went
to look at him, and found"
''That he was Dead" the Squire inter
rupted, hoarsely. II knew it; 1 was just
telling my daughter when you came in"
INC such thing" said Mr.. Thorpe, very
briskly. "He was not dead at all. He
had fallen backward in curious cataIep-
sionally subject"
SIT was Lancelot! Lancelot!" cried
Eleanor, with clasped hands.
cit was Mr.. Lancelot Hervey, cer-
tainly. I got him into my trap with
some difficulty, and drove him to my
house, where he very soon recovered con-
sciousness. He told me"-with keen
glance at the Squire-''his whole story;
and | have come tonight to plead-if l
may say so-his cause"
You mean-that he-that he-is still
livfng?" said Mr.. Cartaret, tremulously.
Certainly, and much better. He was
afraid some rumor of his appearance and
illness might come to Mrs. Hervey's ears,
and he asked me to see you both tonight,
and to ask you-well, don't know exactly
what | was to ask you, but 1 think / may
venture to remind you, Squire, as an old
friend, that tomorrow is Christmas day,
when our parsons tell US that feuds should
end and enmities be buried, and some
thing of the nature of love and peace
should enter our hearts, eh?'
"a White Christmas" said the Squire
almost inaudibly; then, as Mr.. Thorpe
looked at him curiously, he added, with
emphasis: 81 am only TOO glad, sir, TO
know that l was mistaken when 1 thought
Mr.. Hervey dead should like to see
him myself as soon as possible; but as tor
my daughter, she must speak for herself
and for him.
"Oh, take me to my husband" Eleanor
cried, and it was plain from her words
that her love for Lancelot Hervey had
been sleeping only and was not destroyed.
| A nd ha,, @k,o
very gently, that although he was living
he was very ill, and would require great
care if he was to survive the winter. she
only became doubly anxious to see him
and to assure him of her undying love-
As for the Squire he was so repentant and
so much relieved that he would have been
willing to take his son-in-law to his arms
and heart without any explanation of the
| past at all.
But Lancelot insisted upon telling his
story IN his own way, and it soon became
plain to every one concerned that he had
been maligned by his enemies and mis-
| judged. He had quarreled with Eleanor,
but he had not been false to her; and al
| though he had found it difficult to con-
quer mis- wounded pride sufficiently to ask
| her TO forgive him for his carelessness of
| her feelings, he had at last set out upon
search for her which serious illness
alone had precluded from an earlier
success. There was nothing for husband
and wife to do but mutually to forgive
each other, and to rest content in the
knowledge that whether their lives were
! long or short nothing but death could
part them again.
Little Molly awoke to new world on
Christmas day--a white world within and
without, for the snow lay thick and white
over field and void, and the hearts of
those who were dearest to her were white
with the mantle OF forgiveness and
charity.
So, as the Squire said, with new
gleam in his eye and new tenderness in
his genial smile, it was the best white
Christmas that he had ever known.
Copyright, 1896.