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6 mrnoß of cnßisims pigta/res etc. CHAPTER I— THE ARREST. The firm of Messrs. Cranmer & Duff was renowned in the commercial world for its-- excellent business prestige. Ev erybody trusted it, believing it to be a sound affair. And so it was. Cranmer £. Duff were good business men. and since they had put their money and their heads together they had made their piles of gold. They had implicit faith in each other's honesty and capa bility, and consequently they agreed on most points, a thing which is in itself essential to success in any company's undertakings. And what was more natural or fitting than that, when they met, as they often did in connection with business mat ters, in their private room at the head offices, they should congratulate each other on the lucrativeness of their joint speculations? Mr. Duff was the managing partner, and was the less affluent of the two. Mr. Cranmer was the founder of the great shipping business and was styled the senior partner, not in point of age. but because he had the most capital in the firm and drew a correspondingly larger profit yearly than Mr. Duff. It was Christmas eve. Preparations for the annual meeting of outside per sons interested in the firm, a small in terest, indeed, had just been concluded on the previous day. It was a limited company. So much the better for Cran mer and Duff. So they thought, and the fabulous profits that accrued shov d that their logic in this respect was very accurate. "By the bye, Cranmer," remarked Duff in the course of their conversation, "what about that suggestion I made the other day concerning James Philmore, you know? Have you considered it?" "Oh, yes. But I leave it in your hands. You may do as you like in the mat ter." "Yes, you leave everything to me ; Mr. Cranmer. It is very complimentary, I know, but the question is, Will you agree to make him a gift of a small share in our business? Of course, I am c,uite willing. You know, he cannot possibly have sufficient capital to buy a share, and his indispensable services in our behalf deserve some recognition." '"Well, maybe they do, Duff, maybe they do," was the reflection of Mr. Cranmer. "He has done well for us, I dare say. How long has he been in our employ?" "Twenty years." "Really, so long?" "Twenty years this very month," re peated Mr. Duff. "Well, had we not better have an in terview with him?" asked Cranmer. "Call him in and acquaint him of our intention. It is a most fitting time, Christmas eve, for giving a fellow a lift in the world." "We had better decide the matter more fully first. In the first place, I would like to be relieved of the post of manager— at least, in part— for I think we could do better if I were free to travel about," said Duff, with a know ing wink, which Cranmer perfectly un derstood. "I know no other man," he added sincerely, "whom I would like to see step into my shoes than James Philmore, for we owe him a great deal. He has great ability and tact. He has been at his work early and late; always at his post, too, and he is most reliable. I could trust him with a bank. I sug 6CS i uiat we present him with a small chare. That will insure him working jn our interest, for in helping us he will be helping himself too. Let us ap point him manager at, say, a salary of £400 a year, and no doubt we will be the gainers in the long run. for he's a ehrewd man— a business man In every sense of the term." "So be it, then," assented Cranmer. "Of course I see your meaning is that in helping Philmore we shall be really helping ourselves," he added after a ehort pause. He was rather parsimo nious. "Exactly." A very few moments had elapsed when James Philmore was ushered into the presence of his superiors, whose changed manner toward him mystified him at first. "Sit down, Philmore," said Cranmer, at the same time offering the astonish ed cashier a cigar, a very unusual pro ceeding indeed. James Philmore complied, and he found himself seated between the two heads of the firm. "Ah. that is your position exactly," remarked Duff pleasantly, addressing James Philmore, at the same time nod ding significantly at Cranmer. "I do not understand," said James in a confused manner. "I will tell you, James," said Duff. "You are seated between us. That is to be your position in future. If you will, you are to serve us in a closer capacity in the future than you have for these last 20 years. We are going to reward your perseverance and industry with a chare in the firm and the post of man ager. Yo\i will henceforth be one of us, and I hope we shall get on well to gether." "I hope," added Mr. Cranmer, "that you -will follow as closely as you can the methods of business adopted by Mr. Duff in your managerial capacity and that in your hands the reputation of Ihe firm will suffer no damage." "We have every confidence in you, Mr. Philmcie," added Mr. Duff. "We CHRISTMAS CHIMES. In hundreds of Swedish homes today the newcomer from distant America tells his kindred of the great republic of tho west, the activities of which he will enjoy in a few weeks. Meanwhile he will make tho most of the feast he has gone home to enjoy. He will be present at tho distribution of presents on Christmas eve, when American pros perity will find affectionate and gener expression. The song and dance an und "k j Christmas tree will revive the lecolieeiions and pleasures of his THOMAS J.IVESIDN COf yr^IGHT. JQ97 have considered everything bearing on the mattei and have come to the con clusion that the business will be safe in your hands. If you care to take j such a responsibility on your shoulders, j you may commence your duties on the first week in January. But things will be arranged more definitely before that time arrives." "I thank you, sirs, from the bottom of my heart," said James gratefully. "I hope I shall prove myself worthy of your great kindness and consideration." While matters were progressing in the room marked "private" the clerk, John Sinclair, who worked in the room adjoining, was eavesdropping. Duff had incautiously left the room door quite ajar, and Sinclair, taking advan tage of that circumstance, had heard all and had gone home with a mad, jealous pang in his soul before Phil more returned to his accustomed place. Sinclair had never liked Philmore. but after what he had heard that night he hated him with a perfect hatred and had determined to thwart the benevo lent intentions of Cranmer and Duff as regards their cashier and straightway committed one of the most dastardly, outrageous and cowardly acts that it is possible to conceive. The office clock was just striking the hour of 4 when James emerged from the manager's room, and he noticed that Sinclair had already gone. He was sorry for that, because he wished to communicate to his fellow worker the good fortune which had overtaken him. All the employees in the first office had gone also, for he could not hear the customary sound of their treading feet, which at any other time was quite audible in his room. He hurriedly threw off his office coat and donned another, and, filled with pleasurable excitement, he wended his way homeward with mere elasticity of step than usual. When James Philmore sat down to dinner he looked paler than usual, and his wife was quick to detect the change in his looks. Of course it was caused by the excitement over the good for tune that had come to him. But Mrs. Philmore was as yet entirely ignorant of the turn which affairs had taken and therefore attributed his altered manner to illness. "You are ill, James," she said. "You must drink a glass of wine; it will do you a world of good. You have been working too hard lately," and she gazed into his honest face with a look of mingled fear and admiration— fear on account of what she thought were symptoms of illness; admiration be cause she loved James Philmore with all her soul. "Tell me, Mary, am I dreaming? Shake me. It is too good to be true!" he exclaimed in an almost abstracted manner and with a faint smile on his lips. "What do you say, James? You fill me with alarm. Are you ill? Tell me, is there anything wrong? Dreaming, you say, dreaming"— and she shud dered as an awful thought flitted across her mind. Could his mind be deranged through overwork? She had heard before of such cases. "You want a rest, James. You are overworked" — "Fiddle-de-dee!" blurted James. "1 am all right— never was better in all my life. But I can hardly believe my senses. The first week in January is to find me a partner in the great firm of Cranmer & Duff. It will be Messrs. Cranmer, Duff & Philmore then— that sounds well, doesn't it?" Mrs. Philmore now felt absolutely certain that her husband had "gone wrong," as he was pleased to term it, when she heard this declaration, and the manner in which he told it seemed to confirm her incorrect suspicions. She could not believe it was anything but the result of an unstrung mind, caused by overwork. And, poor thing, a tear drop started In her eye. James Philmore was surprised at the manner in which the news of his good fortune had been received by his wife. "Really, Mary," he began, in a much calmer tone, "are you really sorry that such good fortune has fallen to my lot?" "No, James. I, too, thought you were dreaming, or"— "Demented, I suppose you are going to say?" he interjected. "Well, you certainly gave me cause for anxiety. I'm glad I'm mistaken. You did seem agitated, though, James." He laughed outright, and the color came back to his face, and she smiled through her tears. "I swear It is true, Mary. Mr. Duff and Mr. Cranmer called me into their room this afternoon and formally ac quainted me with their intention to ap point me manager and to give me a J small share in the firm as a reward for my long services." Mrs. Philmore's sad forebodings were now somewhat dispelled by his reassur ing manner. She kissed him and told him she was supremely happy. And she was. It was Christmas morning. James Philmore, on looking out of the sitting room window, perceived that the ground and trees and housetops were powder ed with snow. He admired the scene presented to his gaze; to him it was picturesque. A robin redbreast hopped youth. On Christmas morning he will be seen at the 6 o'clock service in the church, which everybody attends who possibly can. Special music— the Luth erans love singing and the organ — deco rations and brilliant illumination give distinction to this service, perhaps above all in the year. A well equipped writer describes the Christmas music in Spanish cathedrals and churches as fair, excelling that of Italy. He says no service in Italy can compare with the solemn bursts of mv- THE SAINT PAIL GLOBE: SATURDAY, DECEMBER 25, 1897. ay upon the window sill and gave a cheer ful chirp as it eagerly picked up the crumbs which some kind hand had placed there fc* the birds. James Phil more's soul was swelling with gladness. Everything seemed to have changed be fore his eyes. Instead of the drudgery and small pay, he was to enjoy a prince ly income and have fewer cares. The air was vocal with song. James Philmore and his wife are go ing to church, too. Mrs. Philmore no tices that his features no longer bear symptoms of illness, but are really healthy looking, and she has just begun to realize the fact that there is no man in existence more sane than her James, and she feels a little more pride in her heart as she steps over the threshold of the Elms when she thinks of the higher position her husband is going to occupy in society. "Well, I declare. Here's a telegraph boy with a telegram, for me, perhaps," exclaimed Mr. Philmore. They had just got outside the garden gate, and they stood still. "Telegram for you, sir," said the lad, as he approached them. Mr. Philmore took the telegram and placed a silver coin in the boy's hand. It read as follows: "Come to the office at once. Impor tant." "Very brief," he remarked, as he showed his wife the missive. "All telegrams are," she answered, jokingly. "Well, I suppose I must go as quickly as possible. Therefore you will be obliged to enjoy the service without me," saying which he hailed a passing cab, which soon conveyed him to the office. Having divested himself of his over coat, James Philmore entered the room marked "Private," where he found Mr. Cranmer and his partner and another and a strange gentleman in eager con versation, which came to an abrupt termination as soon as his presence was known. James Philmore thought their con duct strange. "Good morning," remarked the strange gentleman. "Good morning, sir. But I have not had the honor of your acquaintance be fore that I am aware of." "No. But you might have," he re marked in an insinuating tone. "Is this gentleman your cashier?" he asked Mr. Duff, and he eyed the astonished cash ier from head to foot. "Mr. Cranmer has business with me, I presume," said James, trying to treat the strange gentleman with contempt. "I just got the telegram as I was leav ing the house for church." "Ahem!" Mr. Cranmer began. "Pray be seated, Mr. Philmore. Something unusual has happened. Perhaps you will answer any questions that this gen tleman may put to you. The matter is in the hands of the police now. It is a very grave affair." "What does all this mean?" said Phil more, turning to the manager, who was maintaining strict silence. But all that Mr. Duff said was: "A very serious occurrence has taken place. You will, I have no doubt, an swer the questions that Mr. Sleek will put to you satisfactorily and thus clear your character." The poor cashier was bewildered. "Now, Mr. Philmore," said the strange gentleman, "will you be good enough to tell me the exact time it was when you left the office last night?" "Oh, certainly, if it will explain this mysterious 'serious occurrence' that has sic which follow the thrilling solos sung in those old Spanish churches, where every possible instrument is pressed in to the service of the orchestra. Not less striking is the effect of the multitude of veiled figures who kneel between the choir and the altar. As has been said very often by Amer icans who have learned the secret, the strength and joy of England are in its homes. The doors are wide open in Christmastide, social restraints are bro ken down largely, and every caller is welcome to eat and drink at the houses to which he has access. Children's par ties, young people's parties, parties of good neighborhood, continued in pro- taken place, although I know nothing about it." <l 4 a | "It is necessary, sir, or I should not ask it," remarked the detective point edly. I "The office clock had just struck the hour of 4 when I came in from an inter view with Mr. Cranmer and Mr. Duff." "Ah!" said the little man as he jotted this important detail on a leaf of his pocketbook. Then looking again stead fastly into Philmore's face he said: "That coat you are wearing now," pointing to the article. "Were you wearing that coat when you left the of fice?" "Yes, sir. It is the same coat. I wear another when at my work." "Where is the other?" "Hanging up behind my desk." "Were you the last person to leave?" "Yes." "Are you sure?" "Yes, quite sure." "Now, Mr. Phiimore, tell me did you lock the safe and the drawers of your desk before you left?" James Philmore hesitated, and his face turned pallid. Cranmer and Duff turned their eyes to him anxiously. He saw their agonized looks, and he felt he was undergoing a very severe trial. He hesitated, because at first his mem ory was at fault. "Why do you hesitate, Mr. Philmore? Surely you know whether or no you locked the safe and the drawers which contained certain things which are now missed. Where did you place the keys? Perhaps that will enable you to remem ber." "I really— l am afraid I neglected to lock the safe and the drawers. I think I was so overcome with the good news imparted to me that I forgot to lock the safe and the drawers. I don't remem ber handling the keys since I placed those notes in yesterday afternoon, Mr. Duff. I am very sorry for this neg lect." "A very plausible tale, Mr. Philmore," remarked Mr. Sleek, sarcastically. "It is the truth, sir, plausible or not. But what is the meaning of all this JAMES PHILMORE STOOD TRANSFIXED AS ONE IN A TRANCE. cross examination of myself? Has there been a robbery, and am I suspected?" "I am afraid you have spoken truly," answered the detective, in an assumed tone of regret, "unless you can explain away the circumstantial evidence which has arisen in regard to yourself in this affair." "I — I suspected of robbery! Mr. Duff, I implore you, tell me all about this mysterious affair. Protect me from the veiled insults of this stranger. If you suspect me, your suspicions can never be justified by truth. I have never so much as taken a halfpenny piece be longing to you during ail the 20 years I have served you." "I beg your pardon, Mr. Philmore," said the detective in a more civil tone. "I have no wish to insult you, but I must do my duty, and, if it is necessary, question other people about the place. Now, whom did you leave in the ad joining room here while you were clos eted with your employers last night?" "Mr. Sinclair." "Had he gone when the interview with your employers was concluded?" "Yes. The hour for closing is 4 o'clock. It was after 4 when I came out." "And you were the last to leave?" "Yes, sir. I am always the last." "Now, if you. please," continued Mr. Sleek, "will you' telf us where you were going to spend your Christmas holi days?" "Really, sir," said Philmore indig nantly, "I must protest. Your questions are getting too* personal. If Mr. Cran mer and Mr. Duff think that I have committed any theft, or yourself, for that matter, I give 'them full liberty to investigate in 'a proper manner. You can search me, man horne — anything — anywhere!" "Very good," remarked the sharp lit- longed interchanges, igive immeasurable domestic happiness. Happy the Christ mas home of from palace to cottage! , The research of the antiquary has proved unequal to the discovery when the mistletoe was first used for orna mental and festival purposes. It was thus employed by the Greeks and Ro mans in the antique days and by the Druids and Celtic nations, who attach ed religious importance to the plant. The eastern church, that of holy Russia and modern Greeks, agreed with the western, about 380 A. D., that Christmas day should be on Dec. 25. Its observance is associated chiefly with tie detective, whose eyes were like the eyes of a hawk, and he seemed to be trying to penetrate Philmore's very soul with them. He was quite used to such indignant protests, and more especially from persons who had been subsequent ly found guilty of and committed for various offenses, and the declaration of innocence on the part of the cashier on ly hardened him in his work. "After that, you perhaps won't object to my searching that coat of yours? Mind, it is your challenge I'm accepting. You said we could search your clothes, your horne — anything — anywhere!" "Certainly not. Come on, sir. Shall I take it off for you — there!" said James, only too eager to get the disagreeable business to an end. Now Cranmer and Duff, although they had not interposed and had kept silent for the sake of allowing the de tective to pursue his work in a thor ough manner, did not believe Philmore to be guilty of the theft which had been committed. But, as shrewd and cute men, they allowed the investigation to proceed without the least obstacle be ing placed in the way of the "minion of the law" whom they had called in to solve the mystery of the sudden dis appearance of their property. Imagine their great surprise, which found vent in exclamations of a com pletely indescribable character, when the little sharp man extricated from among other papers in the inside pock et of Philmore's coat a bundle of bank notes. James Philmore stood transfixed as one in a trance. He was dum founded and horror stricken. A blush of shame mounted his cheeks, and he sank on a chair, for his heart palpitated wildly be neath his vest, and the excitement of the moment rendered him powerless. "Gentlemen," said Philmore, with all the energy at his command, "I swear I am innocent. I know not how these notes came to be in my pocket. Some one will have to answer for this. I did not even know they were in my pock et." Mr. Duff, in the most nonchalant manner, began to count the notes and found that there were five £10 notes still wanting, which fact he communi cated to the detective in an undertone. •'Mr. James Philmore, £200 in notes have been stolen from the safe, and there are still five £10 notes missing. If you can do the necessary and hand them back, it might be well for you," remarked Mr. Sleek. "I know nothing about them. I tell you again it is all a mystery to me." The detective requested Mr. Philmore to put on his coat and assured him that, although he would be compelled to take him into custody, he would see that he got fair play and that he would institute further inquiries. James Philmore felt a pair of hand cuffs being clasped on his wrists, and heard a voice, "Come with me," and with a feeling of only half conscious ness he obeyed. That Christmas day, which in face of his grand prospects in the future ought to have been the most happy day of his life, the poor cashier was lodged in one of her majesty's prisons. CHAPTER II— ADVERSITY. Seven years have elapsed. October had come with its yellow leaves, dusky evenings and cold weather. The poor dread the cold season quite as much as they do a depression in trade. They regard cold as the twin sister of famine. In the slum district of the same town which was the scene of the foregoing portion of his narrative Mrs. Philmore and her daughter had taken up their abode since misfortune had gathered them into her cruel lap. Mrs. Philmore had suffered a hard ex perience, a long, tough battle with life betwixt despair and hope, having had to labor hard to keep the wolf from her door, but she was now almost worn out and undone. She could no longer see the silver lining in the cloud which had overshadowed her life for nearly seven long years. She felt that she could not battle any longer. Mother and daughter were sitting in their room, with no light but the fitful gleams which started now and again from the scanty embers in the fire grate. Emily— for that was the name of James Philmore's daughter.— was unac customed to sit in the dark, as hei mother had hitherto managed to pro vide candles. "Oh, mother, can't we have a light? It is so horrid to have to sit in dark ness," said Emily. "There is not a candle left, my child. services at church, special and splendid in character. Ages before the birth of Christ a mid winter festival was celebrated in vari ous countries. A quaint writer speaks of this festival as carrying the mind back to the golden age "until we stum bled against the tower of Babel or are stopped by the prow of the ark and then decline going any farther." Comfortable little Denmark shares no less in the wise forethought of Martin Luther, whose ideas of reform were suf ficiently liberal to enable him to see thac departure from the faith of his ancestors in what he regarded as essen tial points of doctrine, need not include I have no money with which to buy one, either. So you will have to bear the in convenience, my dear." And the poor girl thought she heard her mother sob bing. "Don't weep, mother! You will make yourself worse," said the little girl, and she flew to her mother and placed her arms endearingly round her neck. "I don't know whatever will become of us, child, now that I am so ill and weak. " "I can work," said the heroic maiden of six years. But Mrs. Philmore made no answer, unless the deep, painful sigh she drew was answer enough. "When is father coming home?" que ried little Emily for the thousandth time. "Ah, child, I do not know. Don't speak of it. I'm afraid I shall not live to see him again." "But, mother, you said he was com ing soon. I have never seen my fa ther," said the girl sorrowfully. "I would like him to kiss me and call me his own pretty little girl." "Would you, my pet?' said the fond mother as she tearfully kissed her child's golden locks. Emily knew nothing of the disgrace which had come to them through the apparent indiscretion of her father. Her mother had wisely kept the disagreea ble facts from the knowledge of her child, although she had to concoct oth er stories to satisfy the reasoning pow ers of Emily with regard to Mr. Phil more's absence. James Philmore had robbed his em ployers of £200 and had disposed of £50 of it before he was apprehended; so said the court which tried the case. James Philmore protested his inno cence, but in vain. The court thought it would be very unnatural for a guilty man to do otherwise, and he was sen tenced to ten years' imprisonment. Mrs. Philmore 1 id found that to earn her own living was a hard task, but she had learned to rely on the strength of her own arm, and had succeeded in earning enough for her daughter and herself of modest fare. The hope had always been cherished by her that she would continue to keep her strength to work for her child until the demands of English justice were satisfied and her husband free. She had never look ed beyond that hope — a hope which seemed to shed a luminous ray on the future and to cast its light also on the present to sustain her. To know her husband's character, to be justified in ) the light of all criticism and in the shadows of all uncharitable suspicion, was her one aim, her one aspiration. She had prayed that the interminable windings in the whole affair might be unraveled, and she had faith to believe that her prayer would be realized. But now in her weakness of body her mind was in a channel of despair. With intense agony of soul she cried out: "O God, give me strength until the end! Let me not die until I see his face — the face of an honest man in the sight of heaven, but in the eye of the world a thief!" Poor Emily was startled by these cries of anguish repeated again and again, and feeling sure that something was radically wrong called in a neigh bor. "Cheer up." said the kindly neighbor. "God will not leave you comfortless. Remember, our extremity is God's op portunity." "You are a kind, good woman, Mrs. Smith," said Mrs. Philmore in feeble tones. "You have always been a com fort to me. If it had not been for your cheery presence ami counsel I would have despaired long ago. But it is hard— the cross is too heavy to bear— the relieving officer— the workhouse — dead!" shrieked the poor woman in de lirium. "She is wandering," murmured Mrs. Smith. Then, turning to Emily. Bhe said: "Your mother is ill. Have you no candle?" "No. Mrs. Smith. Mother cannot buy any." •Tnor thing." sho sighed. "I cannot afford it, but I'll fetch one." Mrs. Smith brought a liaht, and that light revealed to her a sudden and mel ancholy change in the woman who had borne her trouble with such fortitude. "Poor woman! She has worked her self to death." said Mrs. Smith sympa thetically. Mrs. Philmore was put to bed, and Dr. Montrose— popular with both rich and poor— was sent for, and he pronounced Mrs. Philmore, in usual medical phraseology, to be "seriously ill indeed." CHAPTER III— THE CONFESSION. In a villa on the outskirts of the town there lay languishing upon what was to prove his deathbed an elderly gentle man. He had been suffering for some months, but now he felt his life to be ebbing away fast and had given up all hope of restoration to health. He began to think of things other than those of time, and his mind natu rally reverted to the deeds of his past life. He was experiencing somewhat the bitter feelings of a remorse which ever attend the end of a misspent life, and he was heard to groan aloud in his anguish of soul. It was morning, and the October sun was forcing its way through the green blind and white shades in the bedcham ber window. The doctor had just entered the cham ber and had taken hold of the patient's wrist. "Had a bad night, I hear." "Yes, doctor," he said, as Dr. Mon trose looked him full in the face and shook his head sadly. "You are fretting. Sinclair, I believe you are in great trouble. Tell me, is there anything preying on your mind?" The poor man turned in his bed and groaned. "Ah! I could see it In your face. Get it off your mind. Trouble sends a man to his grave quicker than anything else." Another groan escaped from the suf ferer's lips, and after a short pause, during which he seemed to be thinking, the perspiration gathering on his brow, he looked up into the doctor's face, and in his countenance was pictured a con centration of misery. "You will not spurn me altogether," Sinclair said feebly and in broken speech. "You will let me die in peace, if that is possible. It was an evil hour. I must have been possessed of a thousand devils! Jealousy! Jealousy! I felt the bitter pangs of jealousy quite as much as I now feel the punishment of remorse which I richly deserve! When we are jealous, doctor, we are devils incarnate, and there is no telling what we will not do! I now declare to you that James Philmore is innocent. I stole the notes. the abolition of a festival which is the most effective comment possible on the song of the angels, "Peace and good will to men." One of the great churches in Rome has a wooden image of the Saviour of the world, brought by an angel from heaven. This is an object of devout at tention at Christmas, and many won derful consequences are said to have been due to its appearance at the proper festival. The stranger In a Russian church at Christmas time is struck with the ab sence of instrumental music, the merits of the vocal music, which is compre hensive and eminent, the magnificent I was mad with envy at him being mad* partner. I heard all that was said by Cranmer and Duff to James Philmcre— how they flattered him and said no kind thing of mo. 1 put £lf<o in notes in the cashier's pocket and appropriated £."0 t.i myself, which I got char,pt d into; cash thi' same afternoon, having . sonated Philmore. I spent that "n mj 1 Christmas holidays. I did the cowardly act to prevent Philmor< V promotion, foi I knew no one could blame me if I wai careful!" Another groan escaped the sufferer's lips. Tli.- doctor started violently and bit his lips. It was a shock to him. The strongest friendship had isi tween him and Jam-.-- Philmore until that fearful charge \ - erred against him. The- doctor had al 1 believed him to be guilty. "You purloined the iintes!" he claimed, when he could recover his er of speech. "Yes," paid the poor wretch. "I wanl to make amends." "Ay, ay," said the doctor sadly. "You will have to he very quick, sir. Hla wife is at death's door— starving, you villain — you"— "Spare me." he groaned. "Listen. 1 am worth £50.000. I have no heir. My wife is dead, as you know. I have no relatives that I know of, except one vagabond in America. I will leave James Philmore all!" "It is the least you should do." "I have made a written confession, but I have not yet signed it. By my will I make you my sole executor. I leave you my property. Will you sea my wishes carried out? James Phil more will take my share in the firm, which is his by right." "Rest now awhile," said the doctor. "You are completely exhausted. Oh, • why did I believe James to be guilty?" he added, distracted, turning from the bedside. "But he will soon be released, thank heaven! "You would do well to make you* peace with your God, Sinclair. Seek forgiveness for the wrong you have done James Philmore. Your money Is no reparation for the misery you have caused. Money cannot buy happiness. I may as well tell you that your life i» now very short. You had better tell me where that confession is, and I want you to sign it." The dying man directed him to a drawer which opened with a secret spring. The confession was lying there, lie picked it up and read it and then propped the wretched man up while he signed the statement. "You intended to play your part to the end, Sinclair, it seems, or else you would have signed this when you wroto it. However, it is well that the grave will not possess your secret." And he left the house, feeling a pe culiar mixture of sorrow and joy. But it was the last he saw of Sinclair, for when the sun was gliding gradually behind the distant hills, bathing the earth with a flood of glory, his spirit was called hence to judgment. CHAPTER IV— REUNITED. Christmas has dawned. Oh, what a t joyous Buspense Mrs. Philmore had ex perienced since she had been notified, of the fact that negotiations were pend* ing for the release of her husband. Sh.( was now convalescent, yel still i >;; i « ■ and weak. She had removed to the Elms, which residi nee she had been forced ta quit .seven years ago. This was the day on which it was expected her Jametf would arrive, and the thought of tin strange coincidence entered her mind that her husband had been taken from her on Christmas day and was to be re stored to her on Christmas day. , The change was uulic as Budden at that change which took place ■■!! tha day of her husband's arrest; but this change was mon acceptable, of course God had verily met her In her extrenv ity, as her kind, poor neighbor bad pre dicted. Her hopes had been crowned with a bli : •■•■' d realization. The interior of the house was taste fully decorated. Her own deft fingen had arranged the mistletoe In the hall suspended from the ceiling, She would mccl her husband there. Presently Dr. Montrose railed. "A merry Christmas to you! Ah. you ara almost well I see," he said, cheerily. "But my medicine has not wrought th< change," he added, with a merry twin kle in bi« eyes. "Sinclair's confession was the healer." "How can I sufficiently thank you, Dr. Montrose! My little girl has never ae< n hei father." and she took her daughter in her arms and kissed her passionately. "But, Emily— only think, your father will be at home today. Yes, the dear old home. Won't it lie a merry j Christmas? And you must kiss him un- " der the mist lei "Oh, I am so glad!" exclaimed Emily, clapping her hands in girlish glee. "Oh, those years of misery. iJr. Mont rose, cherishing an ever deferred hope! It was a living death. I do not know how I have borne all this trouble. Bui I knew James was innocent." "I shall never forgive myself for be lieving him to be guilty," said the doc tor, in a tone of regret. "But you'll admit the evidence was incombatable." "Yes, the evidence was strong. It was fortunate that you secured Sin clair's signature. We owe all this to ! you. And I was at church when Jamea was put in prison. Ugh! It was awful to contemplate." "Yes, and Sinclair was clever; ha was never suspected," said the doctor, buttoning up his coat. "But I must be going," he added. "Here I am talking to you, and the train is due in a quarter of an hour. I am going to meet your husband." • *••*♦« By and bye the sound of a vehicle was heard rolling over the frozen snow on the carriageway, and it stopped at the main entrance of the Elms, which had been enlarged since Philmore last saw it. Mrs. Philmore uttered an exclama tion of joy and burst into tears as she caught a glimpse of her husband, while Emily ran to the doorway and leaped into her father's arms, who bestowed - on her rose colored cheeks a hundred kisses as he carried her along the great hall, at the end of which he set her down and inquired for his wife. Then a sweet voice, in tender, lov ing tones, arrested the ears of James Philmor,e. It was his wife's. It was the old voice, and it had the same mu sic. He burst into tears at the sound of it and wept like a child, but they were tears of joy. Dr. Montrose was much affected by the scene that was being enacted. These two faithful souls met on their knees under the mistletoe and poured out thanksgiving to God for the timely deliverance that had been wrought. appearance of the priests in their gold embroidered robes, and the devoutness of the people. Christmas is the festival combining most successfully the indulgence of the social with the religious impulses of hu man nature. Its observance continues to gain on the ultra protestantism which aimed at blotting it out of the church calendar. That archbishop of York who In the thirteenth century on the occasion of the marriage at Christmas of a Scottish princess gave fiOO fat oxen and 4,000 marks as his contribution to tho feast was surely the Jolllest of church men*