The North Wales Express

On lALL RIGHTS RBSERVEH.] HILDA'S CHRISTMAS ESCORT BT MARTIN J. McHUGH. I. Christmastide had come in a manner only too familiar to Londoners. Instead of the traditional snow, lending picturesqueness to roof and roadway, and covering the briskly- moving wayfarers with quaint wrappings of white, a damp fog had fallen over the citv. It was not a fog of the worst description, but it was intensely disagreeable for all that. It was heavy enough to steep even the prin- cipal streets in a yellow gloom, through which the most powerful electric lamps shone u mere specks of blurred coppery light; it was thick enough to taste most unpleasantly, to muffle mysteriously the sounds of traffic, and to magnify and give distorted shapes to all objects visible through it. And with the fog had come a drop in the temperature which made t'uo damp air very <keea and chilling. Cecil Newell felt very sensible of the cold as he proceeded on his way to Victoria Station. Even his gloved fingers tingled, though he had put his hands in his pockets. And, despite th,e fog and the greasy pave- ments, he walked rapidly. Strangely enough, he actually enjoyed the weather, bad as it was. For he had only been a few days back from the pouth of Spain, where he had been absent a year and a half. engaged in railway engineering. And he was glad at heart to return from his exile in that beautiful yet somewhat desolate region. It was good, he thought, to be home again it was even good to be half stifled by a London fog after a sur- feit of foreign rtinsh Ine. Such were Newell's thoiyiits as he walked. But it should be added that behind thia strange optimism lay something more than the joy of a returned exiLe. Perhaps the home-coming would have been slightly less exhilarating had there been no Hilda Baxter to see again, or had Hilda Baxter misunder- stood his patient reticence, and in his ab- sence listened to the suit of one of her many other admirers. He turned a corner at a swinging pace, ob- livious of fog and everything else. Crash His impact with another pedestrian had been sudden and severe. Newell, tall and athletic, had suffered nothing but a slight jajr; but the individual with whom he had collided lay sprawling, while the brittle con- tents of a parcel he carried had evidently been shattered on the pavement. Oh, a thousand apologies exclaimed Newell, in some dismay. I am very sorry indeed." And then he added. quickly: I hope you are not injured, sir? The other sprang to his feet with an alac- rity that instantlv dispelled Newell's fears. He was a short, elderly gentleman, and as, he rose his face expressed extreme shock, de- spair, and anger in rapid succession. Sorry be dashed, sir he retorted, somewhat unexpectedly. See what you have done, air? Look!" And with a hand that trembled with anger he pointed to the frag- ments of some kind of pottery that strewed the footpath. "It must seem very careless of me, I know," said Newell, repentantly; "but I was hurrying for my train. I assure you You and your train be hanged, sir! re- turned the old gentleman, furiously. "Just look at what you've done Oh. my casket! This altercation had occupied only half a minute, but already the nucleus of a crowd had gathered. Several officious hands as- sisted the old gentleman in collecting the fragments of his casket, and these he placed in his top-hat. Meanwhile he glared fiercely at Newell, who stood by irresolutely. I shall make all the reparation in my power, sir," said the young man, humbly, be- coming conscious of the gravity of his fault. But my train-whew! I shall certainly miss it. I must be off, but you can refer to me again. Here is my card." "Reparation indeeci fairly shouted the old gentleman at the culprit, as the hasty collection was just finished. Reparation «hat casket was priceless, sir! It was a nique and irreplaceable Christmas gift. It was too precious to be entrusted to anybody, so I myself- Reparation, sir Are you an escaped lunatic. 6ir, Ao talk liike that? Then it is futile further to discuss the un- fortunate mishap, sii," said Newell, rather exasperated. "At any rate. we need not do it now, in public. You can find me when you wish." And with that he angrily threw his card into the top-hat, where it stuck up on the shattered remains of the precious casket. 1 Sir, you will answer for this—you will pay for this, I assure you rather incon- sistently shouted the old gentleman. Newell in desperation hailed a hansom, which at that moment loomed out of the fog, and told the driver to get to Victoria at his best possible pace. He started, followed by the old gentleman's denunciations, which were chorussed by the mockery of a now con- siderable crowd. Newell caught hie train somehow. He would have missed it badly had it not been Christmas-time, with a thronged station full of travellers escaping for the holidays, and causing endless confusion with their luggage. What a fuss to make about the breaking of a bit of crockery!" he soliloquised, wedged into a corner of an overcrowded com- partment, as the train glided out of the station. Then he laughed to himself at the recollection, particularly as he recalled the picture of the angry old gentleman collecting those precious fragments in his top-hat. But for all that he felt uncomfortable over the saishap, and severely blamed himself for it, feeling a considerable amount of sympathy for the owner of the broken treasure. But at length he dismissed the subject from hia mind with the plosophical reflection that it would be time enough to bother more about it when he was communicated with on the matter, which w as pretty certain to hap- pen. He then turned his thoughts to the Christmas visit which he was about to pay to Barry Long. at that country home of his of which Newell had received such glowing de- scriptions. The prospect of renewing his friendship with his old chum was pleasant indeed. Long had married a mutual friend fIOOn after Newell left England, and his had been a happy one. He had in his frequently admitted his good luck, and expressed his determination that the fate or confirmed bachelorhood should be averted from his friend. Hence to his wife's letter of invitation on this visit he had added his own postocript, telling Newell that that fine girl, Hilda Baxter, who had been such a favourite of Newell's in the past, would also be staying with them at Yule tide. II. u Sorry, old man, but I must disappoint u, after all," said Harry Long, bustling to the smoking-room, where Newell sat en- JOYing his afternoon cigar on Christmas Eve. That's too bad," returned his guest. I Thanks for the compliment," said Long, but have this hour at mv disposal, I have been commandeered by my B'e;4wvge and nieces, and I don't know what tb» ^ristmas tasks I may have to do for y°"ng»ters. And when they're done with ine tny wife has a lot of work for me. You see, a domestie man is an out-and-out so take warning." f laughed. Despite all your for- a jf Tvi0e to the contrary," be commented. ^atter myself that vou are really aisappointed at losing my esteemed com- ? rattled on Long, gaily, I am not so *8,, ^lieve that my second piece of mews won tcauae you a great deal more dis- it alreadT? 1 Per^iaP8 y°u have heard Neweii "and x cannot im- agine what it is." Well," said his host, more seriously, Hilda Baxter is actually going to ve us. ago she received a peremptory letter rfather telling her to return home at woe, as was not very well and wanted her Joa don t know tbe old chap— y' lf thin88 g° on as they seem yon that 90011 will-*>ut I may tell he M a g0^ sort on the whole, s a regularrasper when he gets one of hits tehety fitg." o That'* bad newB in- linc u face falling. f^gnificantly. I knew you'd W'wctijtiuVUswinttd. "Wkfiep up your heart. Perhaps we may make her stay. We won't let her go to-night—that's certain. To-morrow there will be no trains running, but we won t tell her that until to- morrow comes. Papa is no more unwell than I am, and by the day after to-morrow his fuss will have evaporated. Hullo Who's that? Long had been fidgeting about the room as he talked, and now he had stopped at the window. Newell jumped up and joined him. The window commanded the lawn, which .i -is becoming silvered with a shower of snow, which had suddenly come on, nnd which un- expected touch of reasonableness was. the two could hear. being greeted with delight by young voices. But what attracted Newell's attention, as it had already his host'.?, was the slight, dark figure which tripped lightly over the snow. Why not join her?" suggested Long, slyly. The very thing promptly assented Newell. He put on a coat and cap. and slipped out of the house unobserved, skirting the grounds bv a side path. He calculated to intercept llitss Baxter when she would arrive at a turn just out of view of the house. And he had only come to the spot in question when she, too, had gained it. I saw you just now from the i pg- room window," he said. and could not re- sist the temptation of trying to obtain our first really undisturbed chat since we came here." She greeted him with a.: expression of pleasure on her face. Sh." wss not handsome, her features being irregular, but her face. in which goodness, intelligence, candour, and refinement .mingled, was a very attractive one, while she was tall and graceful. With an impulse of playfulness, he stooped as if to gather a snowball from the yet scantily whitened ground, at which she laughed brightly. Then, with a sudden seri- ousness, he approached her and said I have only now heard that your father Ins called you home. I ani told that he com- plains of being ill, but hope there is nothing in the news to cause you uneasiness." Oh, no, for hcii lot ill in :he ordinary sense," she i,,oplic(l, with a change to gravity but his letter makes me anxious to be with him. It would not be at all pos- sible for me to go this evening; but I shall undoubtedly start to-morrow, sorry as I shall be to part from my (kind friends at such a time." Newell was on the point of telling her that she could not travel on the morrow, but, frank as he was by nature, he checked his im- pulse. To say that would not, he felt. he quite fair to his host, after the latter's de- claration. They walked side by tide for some time. chatting gaily, while the snowflakes fell around them. The keen air and tha exercise had brought to Miss Baxter's cheeks a bright colour, which increased her attractiveness. Newell, even while lie talked, was pre- occupied; and soon lapsed almost into silence. Suddenly he turned to his companion and said We are quite alone now, and no time could be so good as this for a question I would ak." She looked at him with parted lips, but made no reply. Then he caught her hand in his, and said: You know well what I have thought of you since first we met, and that is now three years ago. I have not avowed my sentiments up to tne present, in fairness to you. But now I think the time has come for me to ask, Do you love me as I vow I love you? Despite its un pre pa redness, he had put his question with anxious diffidence;" 'out one glance at her half-averted face made Ins heart beat gladly; and eke mode no effc: t whatever to release lnr hand. "Then." lie added, quietly, "will you be my wife? Unaffectedly she turned her blushing face to hie, and answered, simply: Yes. my d2aro«t, for I love you as much as you could possibly love nw." At that he put his arm round !;er and kissed her rapturously. It was a strange iw- trothal, made there under the leaden willter's "sky, with the falling snow besprinkling them as they stood hand in hand. Then they walked on again, their iiind-s still clasped. I "I might have stayed in Spain much IOllger," he said, "but patience has its limits. For I was beginning to fear—yes, I was, mv dear—that von might not understand that I was waiting for the proper time to speak, and that somebody else—perhaps somebody more worthy—would successfully claim your affections." "That was impossible, because I had already given you my heart." she said, with pretty candour. If you had not claimed it, nobody else would ever get it." He pressed her hand tenderly. Then lip said, after a silent pause: If you believe you really must go to your father, 1 shall escort you. You could not go this evening, and to-morrow there will be no trains run- ning from here. But Harry's motor-car can be requisitioned. We shall not want his man —it would not be considerate to tn,ke him away on Christmas Day—for I can drive. I know it will seem rather hard on Harry and his wife for both of us to run away like that but if you must go, that is the only way in which the journey can be accomplished to- morrow. Even if the snow continues and the roads are bad, we can't take more than a couple of hours on the journey." I must go," she answered; and, from what you say, there is nothing for it but to take the motor-car to-morrow. There is a garage near our house, and father will be de- lighted to see you. You can give him much new information about Spain, in which he takes a great interest, and your company will effectually f,1!»ke him forget any little tem- porary indisposition or trouble he may have. After all, fond as I am of Mary Long, and Harrv, too.. and delightful as is their hoa. pitality, f must leave here gladly. For it is a trulv happy prospect that we three—father, you, and myself—may have our Christmas diuner all to our ow n selves III. Early on the following afternoon Newell and Hilda departed in the motor-car, despite the indignant protests of their host and the entreaties of their hostess. However, they were given an enthusiastic send-off, for the news of their engagemeat had quickly become known to all. They made an er eel lent journey, although the roads were snow-covered, and extra risk was incurred on those rather frequent occa- sions when Newell's hand would reach out to clasp Hilda s, much to the detriment of the steering. But to the lovers, absorbed in one another, and oblivious to the chilly air and the bad roads, it was truly a delightful jour- ney. Newell spake about the appointment he had obtained in Loudon, and they made glowing plans for the future. It was only when the car entered London, whose streets had an unwontedly desolate aspect on such a day. that Newell grew silent, and began to rehearse in mind his impending inter- view with Mr. Baxter. For he meant to make a clear declaration of the state of affairs to Hilda's father at once un being introduced to him. At length he stopped the car at a house in a street off Eaton-square. Hilda got out, and, lightly running up the steps, was ad- mitted, while Newell was settling the car for a short wait. Then be followed her and went into the hall. While taking off his overcoat there h8 heard conversation in a room beyond. That is too bad, father," Hilda was say- ing. "But don't let us talk of this trouble now. Only imagine, I had to motor from the Longs', and I came with a good friend, who must be presented to you at once. There, he is in the hall now." At that the heavy curtains screening the lower end of the hall parted, and Hilda and her father appeared. "This is Mr. Newell, father." then said Hilda, with nervous rapidity. He has been a considerable traveller, and has recently been in Spain, so that he can tell you much to interest you. Now I must change my things, but I shall rejoin you very soon." Newell st;epped forward, and then stood ae though rooted to the spot. For the gentleman confronting him was the very person with whom he had had the recent embarrassing collision! Mr. Baxter fully shared his surprise, but he was the first to find his voice. Then he said, with grim suavity Dear me! So you're Mr. Newell' now t Well, that's 4 detail, 9 since we have the pleasure of being already known to one another. But pray come in." Newell mechanically followed him into a sitting-room, his astonishment increased by the incomprehensible greeting. Newell mechanically followed him into a sitting-room, his astonishment increased by the incomprehensible greeting. I "Please be seated," said Mr. Baxter, in- dicating a chair. So you're the gentleman who escorted my daughter home? Very kind of you. But perhaps you came also to explain your extraordinary letter." "My letter?" said Newell. "I do not understand you. I never wrote to you in my life." "What!" exclaimed Mr. Baxter. And then, with a sudden dropping of his ironical politeness, he said, angrily: "Whatever can you mean, sir. by such a statement? Why, I have here in my pocket the grossly imperti- nent letter I received from you yesterday." I really do not understand you at all, sir." retorted the young man, heatedly. "Such language sounds quite insane to me." Insane Oh. is that so? snorted Mr. Baxter. So you repeat to my face your written insult. Here's your letter in blsck and white. You can't get over that evidence. As you know, I wrote to you-and a very rea- sonable letter in the circumstances—about a your unpardonable breaking of that casket.. In reply, you wrote jocosely, saying that you really forgot whether you broke one casket or twenty colliding with careless people in the streets when you were rushed by sick calls—you returned my letter, sir, with that impertinence written on it." I assure you I never wrote anything of the kind." protested the astounded Newell. You never wrote—you never almost choked the old gentleman. And then, re- covering somewhat, lie continued Ye.s, yon did, adding—as you well know—the insulting remark that you were a mental specialist, and that your hours of consultation were such and such, if I wished to consult von. Do you actually deny that you wrote this letter, Dr. Hoe?—for I must give you your real name." The young man started. A sudden light illuminated his mind. and the mistake was in- stantly explained. But he groaned in spirit as he said; So you think I am Dr. Hoe? I am not. I see how the mistake arose. Dr. Hoe is a friend of mine. and I remember now that I put one of his cards into my pocket the other day. By mischance I must have given you that card instead of my own after that un- fortunate mishap." Mr. Baxter stared hard at him for a few moments, while Newell sat there with a dis- mal sinking of heart at the sudden and ut- terly unforeseen blasting of his prospect of becoming a son-in-law to this irate old gentleman. "'Well—well, sir," said Mr. Baxter o-t length, "suppose I admit that alleged mis- take about the card, still your conduct was atrocious. I remember well with what levitv you threw that card at me and then ran away. And the fact remains that by your careless- ness you have done me a most grievous in- jury." "I accidentally broke what I understand was a valuable article," replied Newell, some- what wearily. But although I am not a rich man. perhaps I could replace it to some de- gree. At any rate, I am willing-" "Tut! tut interrupted the old gentle- man, irritably. Have I not already told you that the article was priceless? But its intrinsic value is by no means the only point —it was an irreplaceable thing. You will UIl- derstand matters by what I shall now tell you. That casket had-it seemed very happily to me—gained the intense admiration of a certain lady whose husband is forming a business syndicate into which I desire to be admitted. I half promised that lady the cas- ket as a Christmas gift, and I was taking it to I her wh:a But. air, I cannot, maintain n,y patience when I think of that outrage of yours—I can call it nothing Now note The promised gift 113.8 beoonie uttei'ly worth- less. The lady not receiving it, as she ex- pected to do, will not exercise on her husband that influence hinted at by her. and I shall not be admitted into the syndicate. And 60. sir, I lose a chance which would have assured me « handsome provision for my old age." Newell had nothing to reply, and sat silent. Prominent in his thoughts was the bitter re- flection that Hilda was lost indeed to him. He gazed vacantly about the room. Oh, I see you are looking at it." said Mr. Baxter, scornfully, pointing towards the man- telpiece. You may look as long as you please, but you will see only a worthless wreck of my property." The young man had not even seen the ob- ject referred to. and he now saw it for the first time on the mantelpiece. He rose and walked towards it. And then he examined it with suddenly-aroused interest. It was a Moorish casket of pottery, inlaid with and gems. It had been badly patched together, many fragments being missing. "Dear me he exclaimed, after along and close scrutiny. "Is this thing really the oaii'ie of all our trouble?" Yes. sir, if by thing yon mean the cas- ket vou broke. It is utterly worthless now." It was always worthless." replied Newell, slowly. Or. at any rate, it was never worth more than a few shillings." Eh—what? gasped Mr. Baxter. "A few shillings What ignorant nonsense are you talking now? Why, it is not genuine." answered Newell. it is merely imitation, and not very good at that." Mr. Baxter grunted fiercely, but was evi- dently too astonished to speak. He got red in t-he face, and stared hard. You see," went on the young man, with a certain tone of triumph. I chance to know something about these things, for an old and intimate friend of mine is a great connoisseur of them. And then I gaw many genuine ex- amples in Spain. And so this is really the article I broke, and which you value so highly?" Of course. And have I not already told you that not alone its intrinsic value, but- Why, then,, it is easily replaced," said Newell, with wonderful cheerfulness. Repl'ac-ed-re placed Pray, how?" stam- mered Mr. Baxter. Nothing easier." replied Newell, quite gaily. "The one valuable article which I happen to possess is a genuine Moorish cas- ket not unlike this, but really a priceless an- tique. It was robbed from the Alhambra when the French sacked Granada, and it came into my father's possession through a wealthy French nobleman. My friend the connoisseur positively raves about it." Newell paused, but Mr. Baxter made no comment. He was rigid with astonished at- tention. "That casket." continued Newell, "has been of no value to me up to the present, but it now assumes a sudden worth in my eyes, as with it I may make reparation for the late un- fortunate mishap. It is in my lodgings, which are not far distant. I shall now go there in the motor-car and procure it. and you can at once send a servant with it to the lady you mentioned. She will then get her promised Christmas gift, not too late, and you. I trust, will obtain thereby the advantage you de- sire." Oh. no-no protested Mr. Baxter, but very weakly, while his face was a study of incredulous joy. I am going now." said Newell, after a pause, "but I shall soon be back. And then," he added, "perhaps I may mention that which I hoped was to be the subject of our first interview-my suit for the hand of your daughter." Mr. Baxter gazed at him for a couple of moments, his thoughts evidently fully occu- pied with the casket, for his expression was vacuously ecstatic. Then he all at once roused himself, and replied with great hearti- ness My dear young friend. I am not the father to go against my girl's wishes, par- ticularly at Christinas-time. And I really think she has chosen wisely and well." (THB END.]