University of Virginia Library

13. CHAPTER XIII.
CHRISTMAS DAY.

THE worshippers at St. Mark's on Christmas
morning heard the music of the bells as the
Hetherton sleigh dashed by, but none of them
knew whither it was bound or dreamed of the scene
which awaited the rector when after the services were over
he started towards home. Lucy had kept to her resolution,
and just as Mrs. Brown was looking at the clock to see
if it was time to put her fowls to bake, she heard the
hall door open softly, and almost dropped her dripping-pan
in her surprise at the sight of Lucy Harcourt, who
looked so mournfully at her as she said:

“I want to go to Arthur's room,—the library, I
mean.”

“Why, child, what is the matter? I heard you was
sick, but did not s'spose 'twas anything very bad. You
are paler than a ghost,” Mrs. Brown exclaimed, as she
tried to unfasten Lucy's hood and cloak and lead her to
the fire.

But Lucy was not cold, and would rather go at once
to Arthur's room. So Mrs. Brown made no objection,

though she wondered if the girl was crazy as she went
back to her fowls and Christmas pudding, and left Lucy
to find her way alone to Arthur's study, which looked so
like its owner, with his dressing-gown across the lounge
just where he had thrown it, his slippers on the rug, and
his arm-chair standing near the table, where he had sat
when he asked Lucy to be his wife, and where she now
sat down, panting heavily for breath and gazing drearily
around with the look of a frightened bird when seeking
for some avenue of escape from an appalling danger.
There was no escape, and with a moan she laid her head
upon the writing-table, and prayed that Arthur might
come quickly while she had sense and strength to tell
him. She heard his step at last, and rose up to meet
him, smiling a little at his sudden start when he saw her
there.

“It's only I,” she said, shedding back the curls from
her pallid face and grasping the chair to steady herself
and keep from falling. “I am not here to frighten or
worry you. I've come to do you good,—to set you free.
O Arthur, you do not know how terribly you have
been wronged, and I did not know it either till a few
days ago! She never received your letter,—Anna never
did. If she had she would have answered yes and been
in my place now; but she is going to be there. I give
you up to Anna. I'm here to tell you so. But O
Arthur, it hurts,—it hurts—”

He knew it hurt by the agonized expression of her
face, but he could not go near her for a moment, so great
was his surprise at what he saw and heard. But when
the first shock for them both was past, and he could
listen to her more rational account of what she knew and
what she was there to do, he refused to listen. He
knew it all before, and he would not be free; he would
keep his word, he said. Matters had gone too far to be
so suddenly ended; he held her to her promise, and she
must be his wife.

“Can you tell me truly that you love me more than
Anna?” Lucy asked, a ray of hope dawning for an instant
upon her heart, but fading into utter darkness as
Arthur hesitated to answer her.

He did love Anna best, though never had Lucy been
so near supplanting her as at that moment when she
stood before him and told him he was free. There was
something in the magnitude of her generosity which
touched him closely, and made her dearer to him than
she had ever been.

“I can make you very happy,” he said at last, and
Lucy replied, “Yes, but how with yourself? Would you
be happy too? No, Arthur, you would not, and neither
should I, knowing what I do. It is best that we should
part, though it almost breaks my heart, for I have loved
you so much.”

She stopped for breath, and Arthur was wondering

what he should say next, when a cheery whistle sounded
near, and Thornton Hastings appeared in the door. He
had just returned from the post-office, whither he had
gone after church, and not knowing any one but Arthur
was in the library, had come there at once.

“I beg your pardon,” he said, when he saw Lucy; and
he was hurrying away, but Lucy called him back, feeling
that in him she would find a powerful ally to aid her in
her task.

Appealing to him as Arthur's friend, she repeated
Valencia's story rapidly, and then went on: “Anna
never knew of that letter,—or she would have answered
yes. I know she loves him, for I can remember a thou
sand things which prove it, and I know he has loved her
best all the time, even when trying so hard to love me.
Oh, how it hurts me to think he had to try to love me
who loved him so much. But that is all past now. I
give him up to Anna, and you must help me as if I were
your sister. Tell him it is best. He must not argue
against me, for I feel myself giving way through my
great love for him, and I know it is not right. Tell him,
Mr. Hastings; plead my cause for me; say what a true
woman ought to say, for, believe me, I am in earnest in
giving him to Anna.”

There was a ghastly hue upon her face, and her features
looked pinched and rigid, but the terrible heartbeats
were not there. God in His great mercy kept them

back, else she had surely died under that strong excitement.
Thornton thought she was fainting, and going
hastily to her side, passed his arm around her and put
her in the chair; then standing by her, he said just what
first came into his mind to say. It was a delicate matter
in which to interfere, but he handled it carefully, telling
frankly what had passed between himself and Anna, and
giving as his opinion, that she loved Arthur to-day just
as well as before she left Hanover.

“Then it is surely right for Arthur to marry her, and
he must!” Lucy exclaimed vehemently, while Thornton
laid his hand pityingly upon her head, and said, “And
only you be sacrificed.”

There was something wonderfully tender in the tone
of Thornton's voice, and Lucy glanced quickly at him
while her eyes filled with the first tears she had shed
since she came into the room.

“I am willing; I am ready; I have made up my
mind, and I shall never unmake it,” she answered, while
Arthur put in a feeble remonstrance.

But Thornton was on Lucy's side, and did with his
cooler judgment what she could not; and when at last the
interview was ended, there was no ring on Lucy's forefinger,
for Arthur held it in his hand, and their engagement was
at an end. Stunned with what he had passed through,
he stood motionless while Thornton drew Lucy's cloak
about her shoulders, fastened her fur, tied on her satin

hood, and took such care of her as a mother would take
of a suffering child.

“It is hardly safe to send her home alone,” he thought,
as he looked into her face and saw how weak she was.
“As a friend of both I ought to accompany her.”

She was indeed so weak that she could scarcely stand,
and Thornton took her in his arms and carried her to the
sleigh; then springing in beside her, he made her lean her
tired head upon his shoulder as they drove to Prospect
Hill. She did not seem frivolous to him now, but rather
the noblest type of womanhood he had ever met. Few
could have done what she had, and there was much of
warmth and fervor in the clasp of his hand as he bade
her good-by, and went back to the rectory.

Great was the consternation and surprise in Hanover
when it was known that there was to be but one bride
at Prospect Hill on the night of the 15th, and various
were the surmises as to the cause of the sudden change;
but strive as they might, the good people of the village
could not get at the truth, for Valencia held her peace,
while the Hethertons were far too proud to admit of
their being questioned, and Thornton Hastings stood a
bulwark of defence between the people and the clergyman,
and managed to have the pulpit at St. Mark's supplied for
a few weeks, while he took Arthur away, saying that his
health required the change.

“You have done nobly, darling,” Fanny Hetherton
had said to Lucy when she received her from Thornton's
hands and heard that all was over. Then, leading her
half-fainting cousin to her own cheerful room, she made
her lie down while she told her of the plan she had
formed when first she heard what Lucy's intentions were.
“I wrote to Mr. Bellamy asking if he would take a trip
to Europe, so that you could go with us, for I knew you
would not wish to stay here. To-day I have his answer
saying he will go; and what is better yet, father and
mother are going, too.”

“Oh I am so glad! I could not stay here now,” Lucy
replied, sobbing herself to sleep, while Fanny sat by and
watched, wondering at the strength which had upheld her
weak little cousin in the struggle she had been through,
and feeling, too, that it was just as well, for after all it
was a mésalliance for an heiress like her cousin to marry
a poor clergyman.

There was a great wedding at Prospect Hill on the
night of the 15th, but neither Lucy nor Arthur were
there. He lay sick again at the St. Denis, in New York,
and she was alone in her chamber fighting back her tears,
and praying that now the worst was over she might be
withheld from looking back and wishing the work undone.
She went with the bridal party to New York, where she
tarried for a few days, but saw no one but Anna, for

whom she sent at once. The interview lasted more than
an hour, and Anna's eyes were swollen with weeping
when at last it ended; but Lucy's face, though white as
snow, was very calm and quiet, and wore a peaceful, placid
look which made it like the face of an angel. Two weeks
later, and the steamer Java bore her away across the
water, where she hoped to outlive the storm which had
beaten so piteously upon her. Thornton Hastings and
Anna went with her on board the ship, and for their sakes
she tried to appear natural, succeeding so well that it was
a very pleasant picture, which Thornton kept in his mind,
of a frail little figure standing upon the deck, holding its
water-proof together with one hand, and with the other
waving a smiling adieu to Anna and himself.

More than a year later Thornton Hastings followed
that figure across the sea, and found it in beautiful
Venice, sailing again through the moonlit streets, and
listening to the music which came so oft from the passing
gondolas. It had recovered its former roundness, and
the face was even more beautiful than it had been before,
for the light frivolity was gone, and there was in its stead
a peaceful, subdued expression which made Lucy Harcourt
more attractive than she had ever been. At least
so Thornton Hastings thought, and he lingered at her
side, and felt glad that she gave no outward token of agitation
when he said to her:

“There was a wedding at St. Mark's in Hanover just

before I left. Can you guess who the happy couple
were?”

“Yes, Arthur and Anna. She wrote me they were to
be married on Christmas eve. I am so glad it has come
around at last.”

Then she questioned him of the bridal,—of Arthur,—
and even of Anna's dress, her manner evincing that the
old wound had healed, or was healing very fast, and that
soon only a scar would remain to tell where it had
been.

And so the days went on beneath the sunny Italian
skies, until one glorious night in Rome, when they sat together
amid the ruins of the Colosseum, and Thornton
spoke his mind, alluding to the time when each had loved
another, expressing himself as glad that in his case the
matter had ended as it did, and then asking Lucy if she
could conscientiously be his wife.

“What! You marry a frivolous plaything like me?”
Lucy asked, her woman's pride flashing up once more,
but this time playfully, as Thornton knew by the joyous
light in her eye.

She told him what she meant, and how she had hated
him for it, and then they laughed together, but Thornton's
kiss smothered the laugh on Lucy's lips, for he guessed
what her answer was, and that this, his second wooing,
was more successful than his first had been.

“Married, in Rome, on Thursday, April 10th, Thornton
Hastings, Esq., of New York City, to Miss Lucy
Harcourt, also of New York, and niece of Colonel
James Hetherton.”

Anna was out in the rectory garden bending over a
bed of hyacinths when Arthur brought her the paper
and pointed to the notice.

“Oh, I am so glad, so glad, so GLAD!” she exclaimed,
emphasizing each successive glad a little more, and setting
down her foot as if to give it force. “I have never
dared be quite as happy with you as I might,” she continued,
leaning lovingly against her husband, “for there
was always a thought of Lucy, and what a fearful price
she paid for our happiness. But now it is all as it should
be, and, Arthur, am I very vain in thinking that she is
better suited to Thornton Hastings than I ever was, and
that I do better as your wife than Lucy would have
done?”

A kiss was Arthur's only answer, but Anna was satisfied,
and there rested upon her face a look of perfect content
as all that warm spring afternoon she walked in
her pleasant garden, thinking of the newly married pair
in Rome, and glancing occasionally at the open window
of the library where Arthur was, busy with his sermon,
his pen moving all the faster for the knowing that Anna
was just within his call,—that by turning his head he
could see her dear face, and that by and by, when his

work was done, she would come in to him, and with her
loving words and winsome ways make him forget how
tired he was, and thank Heaven again for the great gift
bestowed when it gave him Anna Ruthven.