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Page 56
It was still snowing, and every thing was white; but the atmosphere of a
quiet, happy Christmas was in the house. There were smiling faces and
good wishes at the breakfast-table, and the shifting lustres of blazing
fires upon the dark walls and evergreens and wax-white mistletoe. And
the wind brought a Christmas greeting from the bells of Furness and
Torver, and Sandal-Side peal sent it on to Earlstower and Coniston.
After breakfast they all went to church; and Harry saw, as in a dream,
the sacred table spread with spotless cloth and silver cups and
flagons, and the dim place decked with holly, and the smiling glance of
welcome from his old acquaintances in the village. And he fell into a
reverie which was not a Christmas reverie, and had it suddenly broken by
his sister singing high and clear the carol the angels sung on the hills
of Bethlehem,--"Glory be to God on high!" And the tears sprang into his
eyes, and he looked stealthily at his father and mother, who were
reverently listening; and said softly to himself, "I wish that I had
never been born."
For he had come to tell his father news which he knew would shake the
foundations of love and life; and he felt like a coward and a thief in
delaying the explanation. "What right have I to this one day's more
love?" he asked himself; and yet he could not endure to mar the holy,
unselfish festival with the revelation of his own selfishness. As the
day wore on, a sense of weariness and even gloom came with it. Rich food
and wine are by no means conducive to cheerfulness. The squire sloomed
and slept in his chair; and finally, after a cup of tea, went to bed.
The servants had a party in their own hall, and Mrs. Sandal and
Charlotte were occupied an hour or two in its ordering. Then the mother
was thoroughly weary; and before it was quite nine o'clock, Harry and
Charlotte were left alone by the parlor fire. Charlotte was a little
dull also; for Steve had found it impossible to get down the mountain
during the storm, and she missed him, and was constantly inclined to
fall into short silences.
After one of them, she raised her eyes to Harry's face, and was shocked
by its expression. "Harry," she said, leaning forward to take his hand,
"I am sure you are in trouble. What is it?"
"If I durst tell you, Charlotte!"
"Whatever you have dared to do, you may dare to tell me, Harry, I
think."
"I have got married."
"Well, where is the harm? Is it to the lady whose picture you showed
me?"
"Yes. I told you she was poor."
"It is a great pity she is poor. I am afraid we are getting poor too.
Father was saying last week that he had been talking with Squire
Beverley. Emily is to have fifteen thousand pounds. Father is feverishly
anxious about you and Emily. Her fortune would be a great thing at
Sandal, and father likes her."
"What is the use of talking about Emily? I have been married to Beatrice
Lanza since last September."
"Such a strange name! Is it a Scotch name?"
"She is an Italian."
"Harry Sandal! What a shame!"
"Don't you think God made Italians as well as Englishmen?"
"That is not the question. God made Indians and negroes and all sorts of
people. But he set the world in races, as he set races in families. He
told the Jews to keep to themselves. He was angry when they intermarried
with others. It always brought harm. What kind of a person is an
Italian? They are papists, I know. The Pope of Rome is an Italian. O
Harry, Harry, Harry! It will kill father and mother. But perhaps, as you
met her in Edinburgh, she is a Protestant. The Scotch are all
Protestants."
"Beatrice is a Roman Catholic, a very strict Roman Catholic. I had to
marry her in a Romish church." He said the words rather defiantly, for
Charlotte's attitude offended him; and he had reached that point when it
was a reckless pleasure to put things at their worst.
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