Christmas came while John Saltram was lying at death's door, feebly
fighting that awful battle, struggling unconsciously with the bony hand
that was trying to drag him across that fatal threshold; just able to
keep himself on this side of that dread portal beyond which there lies so
deep a mystery, so profound a darkness. Christmas came; and there were
bells ringing, and festive gatherings here and there about the great
dreary town, and Gilbert Fenton was besieged by friendly invitations from
Mrs. Lister, remonstrating with him for his want of common affection in
preferring to spend that season among his London friends rather than in
the bosom of his family.
Gilbert wrote: to his sister telling her that he had particular business
which detained him in town. But had it been otherwise, had he not been
bound prisoner to John Saltram's sick-room, he would scarcely have cared
to take his part in the conventional feastings and commonplace
jovialities of Lidford House. Had he not dreamed of a bright home which
was to be his at this time, a home beautified by the presence of the
woman he loved? Ah, what delight to have welcomed the sacred day in the
holy quiet of such a home, they two alone together, with all the world
shut out!
CHAPTER XXXI.
ELLEN CARLEY'S TRIALS.
Christmas came in the old farm-house near Crosber; and Ellen Carley, who
had no idea of making any troubled thoughts of her own an excuse for
neglect of her household duties, made the sombre panelled rooms bright
with holly and ivy, laurel and fir, and busied herself briskly in the
confection of such pies and puddings as Hampshire considered necessary to
the due honour of that pious festival.
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