Cheerfulness reigned once more in the model lodgings. As Frithiof opened
the door of the parlor he heard such talking and laughter as there had
not been for some time past, despite Sigrid’s laudable endeavors.
Swanhild came dancing to meet him.
“Look! look!” she cried, “we have got the very dearest little Christmas
tree that ever was seen. And Madame Lechertier has promised to come to
tea to-morrow afternoon, and we are going out presently to buy the
candles for it.”
“Unheard-of extravagance,” he said, looking at the little fir tree upon
which Sigrid was fastening the candle-holders.
“Only a shilling,” she said apologetically. “And this year we really
couldn’t do without one. But you have brought some good news—I can see
it in your face. Oh, tell me, Frithiof—tell me quickly just what
happened.”
“Well, Darnell has made a full confession for one thing,” he replied.
“So the last vestige of the cloud has disappeared. You can’t think how
nice the other men were when they heard about it. Old Foster gave me
such a hand-shake that my arm aches still.”
“And Mr. Boniface?”
“You can fancy just what he would be as far as kindness and all that
goes. But you will never guess what he has done. How would you like to
count our savings toward the debt-fund by hundreds instead of by units?”
“What do you mean?” she cried.
“I mean that he has offered me the junior partnership,” said Frithiof,
watching her face with keen delight, and rewarded for all he had been
through by her rapture of happiness and her glad surprise.
As for Swanhild, in the reaction after the long strain of secret anxiety
which had tried her so much all the autumn, she was like a wild thing;
she laughed and sang, danced and chattered, and would certainly never
have eaten any supper had she not set her heart on going out to buy
Christmas presents at a certain shop in Buckingham Palace Road, which
she was sure would still be open.
“For it is just the sort of shop for people like us,” she explained,
“people who are busy all day and can only do their shopping in the
evening.”
So presently they locked up the rooms and all three went out together on
the merriest shopping expedition that ever was known. There was a
feeling of Yule-tide in the very air, and the contentment and relief in
their own hearts seemed to be reflected on every one with whom they came
in contact. The shops seemed more enticing than usual, the presents more
fascinating, the servers more obliging and ready to enter into the
spirit of the thing. Swanhild, with five shillings of her own earning to
lay out on Christmas gifts, was in the seventh heaven of happiness;
Sigrid, with her own secret now once more a joy and not a care, moved
like one in a happy dream; while Frithiof, free from the miserable cloud
of suspicion, freed, moreover, by all that he had lived through from the
hopelessness of the struggle, was the most perfectly happy of all.
Sometimes he forced himself to remember that it was through these very
streets that he had wandered in utter misery when he first came to
London; and recollecting from what depths Sigrid had saved him, he
thought of her with a new and strange reverence—there was nothing he
would not have done for her.
His reflections were interrupted by Swanhild’s voice.
“We will have every one from Rowan Tree House, wont we?” she said.
“And Herr Sivertsen,” added Sigrid. “He must certainly come, because he
is all alone.”
“And whatever happens, we must have old Miss Charlotte,” said Frithiof;
“but it strikes me we shall have to ask people to bring their own mugs,
like children at a school-treat.”
But Sigrid scouted this suggestion, and declared that the blue and white
china would just go round, while, as to chairs, they could borrow two or
three from the neighbors.
Then came the return home, and the dressing of the tree, amid much fun
and laughter, and the writing of the invitations, which must be posted
that night. In all London there could not have been found a merrier
household. All the past cares were forgotten; even the sorrows which
could not be healed had lost their sting, and the Christmas promised to
be indeed full of peace and goodwill.
How ten people—to say nothing of Lance and Gwen—managed to stow
themselves away in the little parlor was a mystery to Frithiof. But
Sigrid was a person of resources, and while he was out the next day she
made all sorts of cunning arrangements, decorated the room with ivy and
holly, and so disposed the furniture that there was a place for every
one.
At half-past four the guests began to arrive. First Mrs. Boniface and
Cecil with the children, who helped to light the tree; then Madame
Lechertier, laden with boxes of the most delicious _bonbons_ for every
one of the party, and soon after there came an abrupt knock, which they
felt sure could only have been given by Herr Sivertsen. Swanhild ran to
open the door and to take his hat and coat from him. Her eager welcome
seemed to please the old man, for his great massive forehead was
unusually free from wrinkles as he entered and shook hands with Sigrid,
and he bowed and smiled quite graciously as she introduced him to the
other guests. Then he walked round the Christmas tree with an air of
satisfaction, and even stooped forward and smelled it.
“So,” he said contentedly, “you keep up the old customs, I see! I’m glad
of it—I’m glad of it. It’s years since I saw a properly dressed tree.
And the smell of it! Great heavens! it makes me feel like a boy again!
I’m glad you don’t follow with the multitude, but keep to the good old
Yule ceremonies.”
In the mean time Cecil was pouring out tea and coffee in the kitchen,
where, for greater convenience, the table had been placed.
“Sigrid has allowed me to be lady-help and not visitor,” she said
laughingly to Frithiof. “I told her she must be in the other room to
talk to every one after the English fashion, for you and Swanhild will
be too busy fetching and carrying.”
“I am glad to have a chance of saying one word alone to you,” said
Frithiof. “Are you sure that Mrs. Boniface does not object to this new
plan as to the partnership?”
“Why, she is delighted about it,” said Cecil. “And she will tell you so
when she has you to herself. I am so glad—so very glad that your trouble
is over at last, and everything cleared up.”
“I can hardly believe it yet,” said Frithiof. “I’m afraid of waking and
finding that all this is a dream. Yet it feels real while I talk to you,
for you were the only outsider who believed in me and cheered me up last
summer. I shall never forget your trust in me.”
Her eyes sank beneath his frank look of gratitude. She was horribly
afraid lest she should betray herself, and to hide the burning color
which surged up into her face, she turned away and busied herself with
the teapot, which did not at all want refilling.
“You have forgotten Signor Donati,” she said, recovering her
self-possession.
“Ah! I must write to him,” said Frithiof. “I more and more wonder how he
could possibly have had such insight into the truth. Here come Mr.
Boniface and Roy.”
He returned to the parlor, while Cecil from the background watched the
greetings with some curiosity. In honor of Herr Sivertsen, and to please
Frithiof, both Sigrid and Swanhild wore their Hardanger peasant dress,
and Cecil thought she had never seen Sigrid look prettier than now, as
she shook hands with Roy, welcoming him with all the charm of manner,
with all the vivacity which was characteristic of her.
“Tea for Mr. Boniface, and coffee for Roy,” announced Swanhild, dancing
in. “Lance, you can hand the crumpets, and mind you don’t drop them
all.”
She pioneered him safely through the little crowd, and Frithiof returned
to Cecil. They had a comfortable little _tête-à-tête_ over the
tea-table.
“I dare to think now,” he said, “of the actual amount of the debts, for
at last there is a certainty that in time I can pay them.”
“How glad I am!” said Cecil. “It will be a great relief to you.”
“Yes, it will be like getting rid of a haunting demon,” said Frithiof.
“And to see a real prospect of being free once more is enough to make
this the happiest Christmas I have ever known—to say nothing of getting
rid of the other cloud. I sometimes wonder what would have become of me
if I had never met you and your brother.”
“If you had never sheltered us from the rain in your house,” she said,
smiling.
“It is in some ways dreadful to see how much depends on quite a small
thing,” said Frithiof thoughtfully.
And perhaps, could he have seen into Cecil’s heart, he would have been
more than ever impressed with this idea.
Before long they rejoined the rest of the party, and then, all standing
round the tree, they sang _Glädelig Jul_, and an English carol, after
which the presents were distributed, amid much laughter and quite a
babel of talk. The whole entertainment had been given for a few
shillings, but it was probably one of the most successful parties of the
season, for all seemed full of real enjoyment, and all were ready to
echo Lance’s outspoken verdict, that Christmas trees in model lodgings
were much nicer than anywhere else.
“But it isn’t fair that the model lodgings should have both Christmas
Eve and Christmas Day,” said Mrs. Boniface, “so you will come down to
Rowan Tree House this evening, and stay with us for a few days, will you
not?”
There was no resisting the general entreaty, and indeed, now that all
was cleared up, Frithiof looked forward very much to staying once more
in the household which had grown so home-like to him. It was arranged
that they should go down to Brixton later in the evening; and when their
guests had left, Sigrid began, a little sadly, to make the necessary
preparations. She was eager to go, and yet something told her that never
again under the same circumstances, would the little household be under
her care.
“I will take in the tree to the Hallifields,” she said; “the children
will be pleased with it. And, Frithiof, don’t you think that before we
leave you had better just call and thank Mr. Osmond for his help, and
for having been so kind to Swanhild? He will like to know that all is
cleared up.”
Frithiof agreed and set off for Guilford Square. The night was frosty,
and the stars shone out bright and clear. He walked briskly through the
streets, not exactly liking the prospect of his interview with the
clergyman, yet anxious to get it over, and really grateful for what had
been done by him.
Charles Osmond received him so kindly that his prejudices vanished at
once, and he told him just how the five-pound note had affected his
life, and how all had been satisfactorily explained.
“Such coincidences are very strange,” said Charles Osmond, “but it is
not the first time that I have come across something of the sort.
Indeed, I know of a case very similar to yours.”
“If Lady Romiaux is still with you,” said Frithiof, flushing a little,
“perhaps you will tell her that all is set straight, and thank her for
having released Swanhild from her promise.”
“She is still here,” said Charles Osmond, “and I will certainly tell
her. I think when she gave the money to your sister she yielded to a
kind impulse, not at all realizing how foolish and useless such a plan
was. After all, though she has lived through so much, she is still in
some ways a mere child.”
He looked at the Norwegian, wondering what lay beneath that handsome
face, with its Grecian outline and northern coloring.
As if in answer to the thought, Frithiof raised his frank blue eyes, and
met the searching gaze of his companion.
“Will not Lord Romiaux remember her youth?” he said. “Do you not think
there is at least a hope that he will forgive her?”
Then Charles Osmond felt a strange gladness at his heart, and over his
face there came a look of indescribable content, for the words revealed
to him the noble nature of the man before him; he knew that not one in a
thousand would have so spoken under the circumstances. The interest he
had felt in this man, whose story had accidentally become known to him,
changed to actual love.
“I am not without a strong hope that those two may be atoned,” he
replied. “But as yet I do not know enough of Lord Romiaux to feel sure.
It would probably involve the sacrifice of his public life. I do not
know whether his love is equal to such a sacrifice, or whether he has
strength and courage enough to offend the world, or whether he in the
least understands the law of forgiveness.”
“If you could only get to know him,” said Frithiof.
“I quite hope to do so, and that before long,” said Charles Osmond. “I
think I can get at him through a mutual friend—the member for
Greyshot—but we must not be in too great a hurry. Depend upon it, the
right time will come if we are only ready and waiting. Do you know the
old Scotch proverb, ‘Where twa are seeking they’re sure to find?’ There
is a deep truth beneath those words, a whole parable, it seems to me.”
“I must not keep you,” said Frithiof, rising. “But I couldn’t rest till
I had thanked you for your help, and let you know what had happened.”
“The affair has made us something more than mere acquaintances,” said
Charles Osmond. “I hope we may learn to know each other well in the
future. A happy Christmas to you.”
He had opened the study door, they were in the passage outside, and he
grasped the Norwegian’s hand. At that moment it happened that Blanche
passed from the dining-room to the staircase; she just glanced round to
see who Charles Osmond was addressing so heartily, and, perceiving
Frithiof, colored painfully and caught at the banisters for support.
Having realized what was the Norseman’s character, Charles Osmond did
not regret the meeting; he stood by in silence, glancing first at his
companion’s startled face, then at Blanche’s attitude of downcast
confusion.
As for Frithiof, in that moment he realized that his early passion was
indeed dead. Its fierce fire had utterly burned out; the weary pain was
over, the terrible battle which he had fought so long was at an end, all
that was now left was a chivalrous regard for the woman who had made him
suffer so fearfully, a selfless desire for her future safety.
He strode toward her with outstretched hand. It was the first time he
had actually touched her since they had parted long ago on the steamer
at Balholm, but he did not think of that; the past which had lingered
with him so long and with such cruel clearness seemed now to have
withered like the raiment of a Viking whose buried ship is suddenly
exposed to the air.
“I have just been telling Mr. Osmond,” he said, “that, thanks to your
note to Swanhild, a curious mystery has been explained; he will tell you
the details.”
“And you forgive me?” faltered Blanche.
“Yes, with all my heart,” he said.
For a moment her sorrowful eyes looked into his; she knew then that he
had entirely freed himself from his old devotion to her, for they met
her gaze frankly, fearlessly, and in their blue depths there was nothing
but kindly forgiveness.
“Thank you,” she said, once more taking his hand. “Good-by.”
“Good-by,” he replied.
She turned away and went upstairs without another word. And thus, on
this Christmas eve, the two whose lives had been so strangely woven
together parted, never to meet again till the clearer light of some
other world had revealed to them the full meaning of their early love.