Produced by Al Haines
[Illustration: Cover art]
[Frontispiece: "Bearing her awful cross in the footprints of the
Nazarene."]
THE MOTHER OF ST. NICHOLAS.
(SANTA CLAUS)
A Story of Duty and Peril.
BY
GRANT BALFOUR,
Author of "The Fairy School of Castle Frank."
TORONTO:
THE POOLE PRINTING COMPANY, LIMITED,
PUBLISHERS.
Entered, according to Act of the Parliament of Canada, in the year one
thousand eight hundred and ninety-nine by A. BALFOUR GRANT, in the
office of the Minister of Agriculture.
CONTENTS
Chapter
I. Watching for the Prey
II. A Ministering Angel
III. Still on the Watch
IV. The Amphitheatre
V. The Influence Working
VI. The Indignation of Tharsos
VII. The Perplexity of Carnion
VIII. Waiting for the Victim
IX. In the Arena
X. The Lion
XI. The Man with the Dagger
XII. Discipline
XIII. Night
XIV. Day
XV. Saint Nicholas
THE MOTHER OF ST. NICHOLAS
(SANTA CLAUS).
CHAPTER I.
WATCHING FOR THE PREY.
Go back into the third century after Christ, travel east into the
famous Mediterranean Sea, survey the beautiful south-west coast of Asia
Minor, and let your eyes rest on the city of Patara. Look at it well.
Full of life then, dead and desolate now, the city has wonderful
associations in sacred and legendary lore--it saw the great reformer of
the Gentiles, and gave birth to the white-haired man of Christmas joy.
Persecution had beforetime visited Patara, in common with other parts
of the Roman Empire; and there were ominous signs, like the first
mutterings of an earthquake, that a similar calamity might come again.
The prejudice and malice of the common people were dangerously stirred
up to fight the quiet, persistent inroads of aggressive Christianity.
The authorities, perplexed and exasperated, were disposed to wink at
assault upon individual Christians, to try them on any plausible
pretext, and to shew them little quarter. If they could arrest the
ringleaders, especially people of rank or wealth, whether men or women,
in anything wrong or strongly suspicious, that they might apply
exemplary punishment, then the irritated majority might be satisfied,
and peace in the city restored.
In a recess at the corner of a busy street, leading towards the market
place, two men stood, waiting and watching for some particular person
to pass by. They were Demonicus and Timon, whose office or duty was
something like that of a modern detective.
Demonicus, clad in a brown _chiton_ or tunic reaching down to the
knees, was a powerfully built, dark man, with great bison-like
shoulders and thick neck, bristling eyebrows, and fierce, covetous
eyes. To him nothing was too perilous or too mean where there was
strife or the chance of gold. He was a wrestler and mighty swordsman,
he had often fought in the stadium or circus, and his fame had
travelled as far as Rome, to which he went at last, and greatly
distinguished himself for a time.
Timon, similarly clad, was only a man of ordinary strength; but he was
lithe, self-willed and shrewd, with a streak of courtesy and sympathy.
Camels, bullocks, horses, mules and wagons were passing by--a
picturesque train of noisy, dusty movement on an unpaved street--while
now and again a carriage or a litter appeared, whose occupants were
considered either arrogant, or effeminate.
"Her carriage must have passed," said Demonicus savagely.
"It cannot be," replied Timon civilly; "the lady, though unfettered by
custom, rarely takes her carriage; she usually passes on foot shortly
after the morning meal, and I came here to watch in ample time."
"We must arrest her to-day on some pretext or other," muttered
Demonicus. "I shall dog her steps everywhere, and if I cannot get a
good excuse I shall invent one. The bribe," added he with an impatient
gesture, "is too tempting for more delay."
Timon, though also grasping, was not heart and soul with Demonicus.
When on the watch alone he had had time to reflect, and his better
nature would now and again assert itself, as there stole over his
vision a beautiful figure with a noble work in hand. He wanted the
prize but was not in hot haste to win it, and while it seemed judicious
it also felt agreeable to suggest delay. After a brief silence he
remarked--
"There is to be a special gathering of the Christians in the Church of
the Triple Arch to-night. The bishop is away at Myra. But Orestes,
the shepherd, is to be present, and I promise thee something will be
said that will give us a plausible backing; his words are plain, ay
even bold as the cliffs of Mount Taurus, where he dwells. Should we
not wait till then, Demonicus?"
"I shall not," answered he, stamping his heavy, sandalled foot
viciously; "it would be our last chance, and the woman might not be
there."
"The lady is sure to be," rejoined Timon, "she is the spirit of the
whole movement."
Demonicus paced about reflecting, and having cooled down, he
mumbled,--"I shall see, but I shall miss no chance before."
Timon now stepped out and looked along the street, then turning
immediately round to his companion with a hesitating, half-regretful
look, he whispered--
"She is coming!"
The face of Demonicus glowed with an evil flame, as he went forward
quickly to assure himself. The lady with her attendant, a liberated
female slave, was seen approaching on foot, and both men retreated into
the recess and waited.