Ladies’ Edinburgh Magazine > Volume 4

Mixing the Christmas Pudding. 37
so well pleased to be waited on, a mingled pang of sorrow
and anger rose to his heart, shutting out all gentler Christmas
thoughts. There rose sad memories of a May morning last
year, when ^he walked out to meet the girl who had laid
her hand in his, with the look that tells a woman's sweetest
secret—that she loved, and knew that she was beloved. He
recollected each step taken down that Devonshire lane, not
that he had been conscious of the silvery mists rolling off
Dartmoor, the music of the torrent, or the whispering of the
young leaves. His thoughts had all been hers, and, in his
foolish ardour, he had asked her to share his exile, and she
had shrunk from its hardships. He was poor, and had yet
his up-hiU way to make; but, with the dogged determination
of the Scot, he knew that nought but death should stay his
career. But she—she loved luxury, society; she would have
taken him rich and well-to-do, but not now, with his heart
a well of unfathomed love for her, and his frame in its
youthful pride of manhood. Could it be true that she was
not worthy of him ? that she would let him wait on, and
return, rich, perhaps, but young and fresh no longer, to find
her worn and worldly, perhaps married for money, a tribe of
children round her, and sordid cares and anxieties filling her
heart ? Could it be ? And in spite of all, would come
surging up thoughts of that May morning, and the spring¬
tide of her beauty, and his own youth—and he must love
her still.
' Who in the world can this be ?' said Vivyan, standing at
the window.
' Visitors !' cried his wife.
Forsyth joined them, and exclaimed, ' Why, its Aasen!
but who can he have brought with him ?'
They all turned out to welcome the captain. ' A merry
Christmas !' he shouted, flourishing a package he held. In
the bustle no one noticed the deadly paleness of Forsyth, as
he leaned against the door-post. With Captain Aasen was
a lady, so muffled up that no one could see whether she were
old or young, tiU, throwing back her bashlik, the rosy face
and brilliant eyes, framed in soft furs, revealed that not only
had Miss Brent found out the captain, but that she had
brought the pudding herself.
A little by-play ensued. From pale, Forsyth turned red,
and seemed debating with himself whether to rush into the
house, or run down and meet the new-comers. He grasped
his collar, smoothed his long, light beard, and the two
reached the threshold. The Vivyans greeted the captain.