All at once the quiet of the morning was disturbed. In the distance
a bell rang out, sending a joyous paean to the heavens. Another took
up the word, and then another, and another. Westminster caught the
message from Bartholomew the son of Thunder, and flung it to Giles
Without, who gave it gently to Andrew by the Wardrobe. Suddenly the
air was filled with bells, all chanting together of peace and
happiness, mirth and jollity--a frenzy of bells.
The Duke, father of four fine children, waking in his Highland
castle, heard and smiled as he thought of his little ones....
The Merchant Prince, turning over in his Streatham residence, heard,
and turned again to sleep, with love for all mankind in his
heart....
The Pauper in his workhouse, up betimes, heard, and chuckled at the
prospect of his Christmas dinner....
And, on the Embankment, Robert Hardrow, with a cynical smile on his
lips, listened to the splendid irony of it.
[EDITOR. We really are getting to the story now, are we not? AUTHOR.
That was all local colour. I want to make it quite clear that it was
Christmas. EDITOR. Yes, yes, quite so. This is certainly a Christmas
story. I think I shall like Robert, do you know?]
It was Christmas day, so much at least was clear to him. With that
same cynical smile on his lips, he pulled his shivering rags about
him, and half unconsciously felt at the growth of beard about his
chin. Nobody would recognize him now. His friends (as he had thought
them) would pass by without a glance for the poor outcast near them.
The women that he had known would draw their skirts away from him in
horror. Even Lady Alice--
Lady Alice! The cause of it all!
His thoughts flew back to that last scene, but twenty-four hours
ago, when they had parted for ever. As he had entered the hall he
had half wondered to himself if there could be anybody in the world
that day happier than himself. Tall, well-connected, a
vice-president of the Tariff Reform League, and engaged to the
sweetest girl in England, he had been the envy of all. Little did he
think that that very night he was to receive his conge! What
mattered it now how or why they had quarrelled? A few hasty words, a
bitter taunt, tears, and then the end.