Philip Revere's Xmas. By Mrs. E. Burke Collins.

Te Aroha News, Volume II, Issue 81, 20 December 1884, Page 5

Philip Reveres Xmas. By Mrs. E. Burke Collins.

Christmas Eve ! - 'How quiet everything •was ! The air seemed full of a holy silence, as though the noise anfl din of the great world had hushed itself to listen for a message from the unseen and visible. All at once upon the silence came a glad, wild burst of music, as the chimes of Christmas Eve pealed forth upon the air, " Peace on earth, good will toward men !" \ " ' Good uoill toward men ! * Humph 1" Philip Revere, sitting in the dim, fire-lit library at his own princely home, his eyes closed wearily, his handsome head resting against the purple velvet cushions of his chair, moved impatiently, as the words fell sneeringly from nis lips. Christmas chimes !" he repeated, coldly, " bah ! why should such follies annoy me ? Yet those chimes ring in the belfry of my brain like the bell of which Shelley sings— 'to call the maniacs to vespers.' It need not torment me, I who have lost everything on earth that was worth having ! I, who— mad and blind— had staked my all of happiness upon one cast of the die ; and might have known that I would have lost, since my fate lay in a woman's white hands. Deceitful, scheming, false, cruel ! I despise the whole sex !" And the graceful, dußky head fell back upon the cushions, and his hands— white and soft as a woman's — clenched each other so sharply that the delicate flesh grew purple. For the ghosts of the past were all about him in that dim, fire-lit room— that past which he had sought to kill arose boldly to-night, and confronted him. "I am a fanciful fool!" he panted, at length, springing to his feet and beginning to pace up and down the long room. "Why cannot I forget her ? That fair, false face, the innocent blue eyes, and that intangible something which made her like an angel in my sight. Oh, Muriel ! Muriel !" He paused, and his head dropped upon the low marble mantel before him, while his graceful figure shook with a storm of tearless sobs. " She was my wife !" he cried aloud, suddenly lifting his head with a haughty gesture, and tossing back the soft, dark hair from his white brow with a quick, impatient movement. "My own little wife— and I loved her ! Angels in heaven, how I loved her ! The Reveres never love lightly. I least of all. She was my first love, and the last. I can see her now as she looked when I asked her to be my wife. The sweet, downcast face, and the tender blue eyes drooping under my gaze; the very impersonation of a gentle sweetness and womanly purity ; yet at heart— a thing to be shrank from as from a pestilence ! But I, credulous fool, believed in her ; I made her my wife, and for six short months I lived in heaven. Ah, that brief space held all the happiness that can ever come to me. I never forget — never for a moment," he went on, his brow darkening, the two hands clasping each other upon the marble growing cold and clammy, " never for a moment the horror that shadowed my life when the awful truth came home to my heart. When I knew that he— Captain Gordon— curse him ! — handsome and fascinating — had won her heart ; my wife's heart— ah, the pride of the Reveres lies low enough now— and then came the dreadful awakening, the horrible morning when I awoke to my terrible desolation and despair. When I found that she— Muriel Revere, my wife— liad eloped with Captain Gordon ! " He ground his white teeth with impotent rage as he began to pace up and down the long room ; up and down, like a mad creature within an iron-barred cage. " It was Christmas morning," he sneered, " when the blow fell. Small wonder that I have learned to hate tho season ; and the day which brings happiness to other hearts is like a sword to mine.' "What do you want?" he demanded, sharply, as a faint tap sounded upon the panels of tho door. " Come in !" he added .harshly, "since I cannot be left undisturbed." There was a sound at the door without, like some one vainly striving to turn the knob ; slowly the great oaken door swung open, and the slender figure of a woman paused on the threshold. A woman in a plain black dress, with a heavy crape vail all about her. She trembled like one weak and worn, and the two ungloved hands were painfully thin and white. Philip Revere came to a halt in his nervous pacingup and down the library floor, and a sardonic smile touched his haughty lip under his sweeping, jetty mustache, as he confronted the intruder. " I have ordered my servants to admit no one !" His voice was smooth and even, but it cut like a steel blade. * ' But since lam disobeyed I receive you, madam, requesting you to be as expeditious as possible. What is your business with nae ?" No reply. One could, catch the sound of convulsive sobs which seemed to tear her slim figure asunder; but it was checked suddenly. The folds of her shabby black dress rose and fell over her heart tumultuously, as she stood there battling evidently with some strong emotion; then, with a sudden gesture, she swept the clinging folds of the vail aside, and moving nearer a few steps, sank at his feet. One glance into the pallid, childish face, and wild, beseeching blue eyes, and he fell back, with a groan of horror as though he had seen a ghost. "Heaven above !" he panted, hoarsely, putting up both hands, as though to keep her away. " You ! " (oh, the unutterable scorn and contempt in his voice !) " How dare you enter my presence— you who once were Muriel Revere ? You, who betrayed me, ruined me, dishonoured my home " "Stop!" She sprang to her feet and stood before him like an outraged empress. There was wonderful dignity in the slight form, which shook like a reed in the wind ; the pathetic face was full of scorn, the thin hands uplifted, stayed the torrent of mad words which trembled upon his lips. " Stop, Philip Revere ! " she repeated, sternly. " I know not of what vile thing you accuseme.— l, who havesuffered through your falseness ; but I have come here tonight, putting aside all my pride. Trampling my own self-respect under inyfeet, I have come to you for the sake of our child. My baby is dying ! Philip Revere, do you hear me ? My baby — your little son — lies in a wretched hovel just outside the city, dying for lack of proper nourishment, while you — his unnatural father — roll in wealth !" Philip Revere stood gazing silently into her pallid face and frantic eyes. He could not find any words j he could not understand — not yet. "My ohild ! " he repeated brokenly at last. " Your child ! Explain yourself, madam. Yes, I will listen to you, Muriel Revere, you who deserted home and husband one year ago, upon the holy Christmas morning, to fly to disdonour !" She could not yet grasp his meaning ; she stood there like a statue, gazing, gazing straight before her, with wide-open, horrordilated eyes. , At laat she turned slightly,' I and the words fell from her lips r in Jauit, yjxoken gawps t w lt '" l "• ""•'-

7/ Dishonour ! 't she repeated, ' buaiklf, f "Fled ! frommyhomel* Philip ReveMari , you a fiend incarnate to stand there and taunt me with my, own misery, an^dthe sufferirig'which yohr oin has entailed' upon me? you who basely deserted me^andleftme all alone, to die of shame and despair ! H „ Heaven must have let the light "into Kia darkened heart. With a sudden impulse he sprang forward, and taking her cold hand, led her to a seat. Pouring out a tiny glass of wine, he made her drink it; then he faced her calmly. "Explain! " he faltered, touched in spite of himself. She lifted her truthful eyes fearlessly to his face. There waa*no dishonour, no sin, J in their clear, pure depths. " You will remember," she began, slowly and impressively, "that you had gone to New York, on business, a short time before. Christmas Day of last year. I Was waiting and watching eagerly for your return home,, and on Christmas morning I received a lin# from you, saying that you had returned, and were on board the steamship Cambria, lying in the harbour, but that you were quite ill, and wished me to meet you ( on board the steamship, and to come alone. Of course I obeyed, and once on board I found not you. but a letter in your handwriting. Philip, that letter broke my heart. It told me plainly, cruelly, that you had grown tired of me and had left me— coolly deserted me ; that you wished to put the ocean between us; that my passage to England was arranged, and that you wished Ime to go there. It was your desire that I should remain abroad for a time, and on my return home you wisheda legal separation. Philip, when I awoke from the swoon which followed, the Cambbria was far out at aea, with me on board. " The second day out, to my amazement, I found that Captain Gordon was among the passengers. But he held aloof, scarcely recognising me, and I did not dream of hi real character, and what a villain he was, until I had arrived in port. But once on shore, away from the protection of the vessel, alone and friendless in a strange land, the cowardly •villain came to me and tola me that he loved me. Philip, you must believe me — I sent him from me with words of scorn. Heaven did not forsake me. I found an elderly woman who consented to care for me for a time— a kind, motherly old soul. I sold my jewels, and realised quite a considerable sum ; I went to Mrs. Martin's cottage, and there I remained. Aud there baby was born — our child, Philip. . I have named him for you. "Time passed, and the wolf starvation stood at my door. I was too proud to write to you for assistance, when you had cast me off; but at last, for baby's sake, I determined to come back here to ask you to acknowledge and provide for your child — not for myself, Philip Revere ! It took 'weeks and months of hard toil to collect a siim sufficient to defray my travelling expenses ; but at last we arrived in America safe. Philip, the child is very ill — dying, I fear : will you, will you Relieve my story, and come to your little' one .before it is too late?" •«..*- He had been standing .during her rapid recital, white and still' as marble, anemone hand clutched the carved back of* the 'chair, beside him until it snapped in his' grasp. His breath was coming and going like the panting gasps of some maddened creature. At length his pale lips parted, and he hissed between his set teeth — "May speedy punishment follow the wretch who has wrought this evil ! " Then a pause. "Muriel!" Philip Revere turned and fell upon his knees before her. "My poor, wronged, suffering love, can you ever, ever forgive me ? For, oh, Muriel larling, it was the work of that fiend, Captain Gordon, He wrote me a letter telling cne that you had fled with him on the CamDria. Doubtless he forged the letter which you believed to have come from jme. I can see it all now. Wretch that I was to ever dare to suspect you, my spotless angel ! Muriel, Muriel, speak to me ; tell me that I am not quite beyond forgiveness." She could not speak at once, but her tired head drooped upon his breast, and slowly the pale, parched lips framed the two words, " Thank God ! " ****** Morning dawned at the Revere mansion upon a united family — husband, wife, and child. And as Philip Revere knelt at the side of his wronged and suffering wife in the holy light of that Christmas dawn, the clear, sweet voices of the chimes rang out loud and full and triumphant, " Peace on earth ; good will toward men." And Philip Revere cried fervently, "Amen ! " while Muriel, with her soft eyes lifted to his loving face, and her arms about him as though she would never let him go, echoed softly, "Amen." And the bells chimed on, and the Christmas Day came and went ; but it had brought a peace to those troubled hearts which the world could not give, and which the world had no power to take away. Their child lived to be their pride and joy.