In almost the same moment all three had become aware that the rattle of
talk and laughter outside the little room had entirely died away. There
had fallen upon the house of gaiety a strange silence, in which a
pin-fall might almost have been heard, and the slow speaking of a single
voice, the length of the house away, was heard most distinctly.
To neither of the two girls was this proceeding a mystery. They were
familiar with the New Year's Eve rites, and Mattie, after a number of
pretty _Sh-h-h_ gestures, whispered the explanation to Mr. Canning:
"They're reading out the Old Year. We must all go see it. It's so
cunning and quaint...."
So conversation of all sorts was summarily suspended. Even whispers
sounded loud in the sudden hush. The four young people moved toward the
door. For a moment they had almost the air of a company of friends.
Young Dr. Vivian, who was nobody's friend, stood back for Miss Heth to
pass out; but, seeing that she lingered beside her gallant, he turned
again silently after Miss Allen, who beckoned to him _sh-h_ingly, whose
property he seemed mysteriously to have become....
The alien passed out of sight, limping. If his only party that year had
gone rather badly with him, it was not less so with another. Behind him
in the firelit den, Carlisle looked up at Canning, color coming back
into her cheek, her breast rising and falling. The sight of him, all to
herself again, was more than balm to a wound, more than harbors to
storm-swept mariners.
"Is there _any_ rest for the weary!" she whispered. "Oh, me! Let's _go
home,_ right after this!"
Canning, who also wore a faint air of persecution for righteousness'
sake, took her gloved hand, and she did not withdraw it.
"Do you know," he answered, with a little smile, "that's the cleverest
thing I've heard said to-night...."
"We can have a little party all to ourselves," said Carlisle, rather
tremulously. "It's been so _horrid_ to-night...."
* * * * *
They opened the back door to let the Old Year out. They flung wide the
front doors to let the New Year in. They lowered all lights to the
dimness of obsequies. The gay company, standing, ranged the long room in
a ghostly half-light, and old Mr. Beirne, from his immemorial post
between the tall windows, read from a great book "The Dying Year," in a
voice as slow and solemn as he could make it. The stately lines brought
home with a certain force, rather emphasized by the festive contrast,
the certain passing of all mundane things. Here was another milestone
left behind, and you and I would pass this way no more. Over the long
loose dim ring, your eye fell upon a familiar and friendly face, fallen
suddenly a little sad; and memory stirred of the many times you had
looked at that face, and with it wonder of what another year might bring
to you two. Would you stand here like this, friends good and true, with
hearts tuned to the same feeling, a twelvemonth from to-night? There was
felt a quick, childlike impulse for hands all round and such a singing
of "Auld Lang Syne" as would have brought the police on the run.
By long practice and the most accurate chronometric reckoning, old Mr.
Beirne timed his proceedings to a decimal. The last line of the
slow-read poem died in a deafening uproar without. Every bell in the
city, it seemed, every whistle and chime, every firecracker and
penny-trumpet and cannon (there was but one), to say nothing of many an
inebriated human voice, hailed in a roaring diapason the birth of a new
year. At Mr. Beirne's the outer tumult was echoed in the manner of the
well-bred. The doors were shut, with the infant inside; the lights flew
up; glasses clinked, merry healths were pledged, new fealties sworn by
look alone. Gaiety overcame silence. All talked with one voice.
Carlisle Heth descended the stairs in a carriage-robe of blue-and-fur,
giving and taking lively good-nights. Canning, already mufflered and
overcoated, stood awaiting her near the door: over many heads she caught
sight of his splendid figure and her heart leapt a little. If it had
been horrid for her to-night so far, no one would have guessed it,
looking at her. Her shining loveliness upon the stairs attracted
considerable attention; even her best girl-friend Mattie Allen noticed
it, spoke of it to Evey McVey....
And then at the foot of the steps, she ran right into Jack Dalhousie's
friend once more, the lame stranger whom she had just finally
disposed of.
Encountering the man's eyes by mischance, she would of course have
looked away at once, but her glance was trapped by the expression on his
face. He was smiling; smiling straight at her. An odd smile it was, and
complicated; not without diffidence, but certainly not without hope;
quite an eager smile, confiding somehow, by the gift he had. It was as
if he was saying that of course he knew she hadn't really meant what she
said back there; and that he, for one, would never let a hasty word or
two cut him off from the hope of being good friends yet.
Having thus by a trick captured her attention, he made a pleased sort of
gesture toward the breast-pocket of his fat-man's coat, and, while she
passed silent within a foot of him, said quite eagerly:
"_I--I got the marrons!_"