Around
the tree, placed between the two front windows, were piled countless
packages, each marked, and from the mantelpiece hung a row of bulging
stockings, reinforced by huge mounds of the same on the floor,
guarded already by old Fetch-It. Holly and cedar gave color and
fragrance, and at the uncurtained windows wreaths, hung by crimson
ribbons, sent a welcome to the waiting crowd outside.
If he were not here he would be alone, with nothing to do. And
Christmas eve alone! He drew in his breath and looked at Frances. In
her face was warm, rich color, and her eyes were gay and bright, but
she was tired. She would deny it if asked. He did not have to ask. If
only he could take her away and let her rest!
She was going up-stairs to change her dress. Half-way up the steps he
called her, and, leaning against the rail of the banisters, he looked
up at her.
"When you come down I must see you, Frances--and alone. I shall wait
here for you."
"I cannot see you alone. There will be no time."
"Then we must make time. I tell you I must see you." Something in her
eyes made him hesitate.
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