CHAPTER XXXII

CHRISTMAS IN THE OLD HALL

"Lo, now is come the Christmas feast Let every man be jolly, Each room with yvie leaves is dress'd And every post with holly; Now all our neighbours' chimneys smoke And Christmas blocks are burning, Their ovens, they with baked meats choke, And all their spits are turning; Without the door let sorrow lie, And if for cold it hap to die, We'll bury un in a Christmas pie, And evermore be merry."

--_Withers_.

"Ah, this is like Christmas," said the old Major as he wended his way with his wife and Ande to Trembath Manor on Christmas eve. The Manor was to be reopened that night and the strange owner, through his secretary, had sent out invitations to the country around, and among those receiving invitations were the Major and his wife and son.

They passed through the gates, the old Major pausing a moment to scan the Trembath arms and remarking, "I am glad the new owner has not seen fit to remove our coat-of-arms from the gates."

"The drive-way is in better shape than it was in the days of Squire Vivian," said Ande, as the gravel crunched under their advancing steps.

"A careful and neat owner; it will do me good to meet him," said the Major.

Forth through the trees ahead gleamed the twinkling lights of many windows, only obstructed by the passing of forms within and the figures of many great holly wreaths. The great lantern in front of the double doors was gleaming brilliantly through its festoons of evergreen, and from the hall could be heard the sound of ringing festivity and jollification. The door was opened widely at the sound of the great knocker, and the butler footman, bowing low, ushered them into the great hall. Groups of elderly people were engaged at their favourite game, whist, at different tables, and down the long room were others engaged in sundry amusements. The panelled walls had been rewaxed and were glistening with holly and mistletoe. The large picture of Squire Vivian's father still smiled friendly at the picture of King George II on the other wall, and in the great open fireplace roared, cracked, leaped, danced and shouted with all the ecstacy of Christmas jollity the flames of the great yule log.

"Where's the new squire?" whispered the old Major to his son. He had hardly asked the question, before he started back in amazement at a sight he saw over the great, panelled fireplace. Two great oil-paintings, heavy in their rich framings, riveted his attention. He stared at them and then at the crowd of Christmas revellers, who, though now thoroughly quieted, yet had gleams of suppressed merriment on their countenances. What could it mean? Those pictures? Where had they obtained them? Was his mind affected? He knew that he was growing old, and as he dazedly thought of this, he hurriedly passed his hand through his whitened hair, a gnarled, brown bough in the midst of a snowdrift. The folding doors, separating the servants' hall from the apartment they were in, were thrown open, revealing the merry faces of group after group of servants. It was a tableau of suppressed excitement, broken at length by the voice of Parson Trant.

"My friends, we have gathered here not only for Christmas festivity, but to do honour to the dead and to the living." Pointing to the picture on the right, he continued: "Behold the picture of Captain Andrew Trembath. You are all aware of the terrible injustice done his memory. He was the most patriotic and loyal of Cornish gentlemen. His long war record amply testifies the fact. He was wounded at Prestonpans, and at Culloden, and did worthy service under Braddock in America. After that deplorable battle, he was captured by the Indians, escaped from them, slew a French officer, garbed himself in his uniform and for greater security in the enemy's country inserted his name in the dead officer's commission papers. He was accidentally shot by the troops of General Armstrong, the thought of treason penetrated the public mind and the estate of Trembath was confiscated. Yet, after all these years truth prevails. An old snuff-box, found in the wilds of America, reveals the secret, and though dead, Captain Andrew Trembath is once more honoured by the people as a faithful soldier and loyal subject of the King." Then, turning to the other picture, he continued:

"Behold the picture of Major Thomas Trembath, who served the King nobly in the Peninsular campaign, in the War of the American Colonies and in the Canadian War. He disappeared, due to an impression conveyed to him that his family was dead, and for many long years was an exile in the wilds of America. Then as a hunter he lived by the pursuit of game. To the place of his abode came his son, Andrew Trembath, and after a time became known to him, and through the finding of the records of the snuff-box, already mentioned, he is restored to his former honours,--friends and country. His life formerly was sad, now we trust his declining years will be full of sunshine, and I greet and welcome him as Squire Trembath, the rightful master of Trembath Manor."

"Welcome to your own, again, comrade," said old Captain Tom Lanyan, as he heartily shook the squire's hand.

Others crowded around the old squire, among them Dick Thomas, Tom Glaze, and numerous of the parish gentry.

The old squire and his wife were so dazed that they could not speak, and so they were escorted to the great armchairs in readiness for them near the great yule log, and one by one the Christmas guests came near and gave their greetings. When it was all finished, the new squire found his voice.

"I am glad, my friends, to be with you here in the hall of my fathers, but all this seems too wonderful to me to be true; yet I cannot help but believe what has been told me--but how has all this come about? Has the government----"

"There has not been anything wonderful about it but the kindness of Providence," said Ande Trembath, arising to speak. "Years ago, when a lad, I resolved to remove the stain of treason from our name. My life here and at school is familiar to you all. By a strange series of adventures my classmate, Dick Thomas, and myself found ourselves adrift on a bit of wreckage in the English channel. We were picked up by a Brazilian ship and after a weary journey were landed at Rio de Janeiro. For some time we laboured in the fields of planters, and then betook our way inland to the ridges of Sierro Do Frio. It was here that we laboured under a brazen sun for the space of three years. I cannot tell of all the various vicissitudes that overtook us there. At one time I was down with fever and, but for the help of Dick, would have succumbed to its ravages. At another time I repaid the debt by nursing Dick through a serious illness. Gentlemen, you have all seen him wrestle with Tom Glaze, but he was not the hardest opponent he met. He had the hardihood to win championship honours in a struggle with an immense Brazilian puma, or mountain lion. I do not remember whether Dick sprang at the lion or the lion at him. All I remember was seeing man and beast in a hideous mix-up, worse than any wrestling match I had ever seen. I ran to our cabin for a gun, but it was unnecessary, for when I returned, there were Dick and the lion stretched beside each other. He had choked it to death, but was so lacerated himself that it was months before he became well. In the midst of our work we were successful, both in diamonds and gold, and quitted the regions wealthy men. I deposited my wealth in the banks of New Orleans, and the charm of the hunting life still being on me, and being anxious to visit the place of my grandfather's death, we journeyed to the Kittanning region. The result of that Kittanning trip is now known to all England. I heard that the Manor was for sale, and secretly, through agents, purchased it. And now, father and mother, I hand over to you the title deeds of Trembath Manor and the Wheal Whimble tin mine as a Christmas present. I wish also to add this check on the Bank of England for the sum of fifty thousand pounds. A merry Christmas, and may you have many, happy years in the home of our people."

"Merry Christmas! 'Tis the merriest Christmas I have had in years," said the old squire with emotion, as he wiped the tears away, that would persist in gathering in his eyes.

Mrs. Elizabeth Trembath said nothing, but her bright shining eyes revealed her happiness as she gently pulled her son's head down and kissed him.

Here the thrumming of a harp was heard and a curtain was drawn from an alcove near by, revealing Uncle Billy, the droll, with an orchestra at his back. In the meantime Ande withdrew. The droll and his orchestra paused not a moment, but plunged, with voices and instruments combined, into the Hymn of the Lark.

The song was sung to its very end, and the old squire, as he nodded, said, "Yes, yes, it's true; evil fails at last and right prevails."

He had hardly finished speaking when the orchestra burst into strains of Mendelssohn, and down the great, hall stairway came a procession such as it had never witnessed before. First came a troop of little girls bearing flowers and scattering them profusely in the way. Then followed ladies. "Ah, the bridesmaids," whispered some one, and then followed by their respective attendants, in regular procession, came Ande Trembath and his affianced bride, Mistress Alice Vivian. Slowly they proceeded up the hall and took their respective positions before old Parson Trant. The orchestra gave one clashing peal of music and then was silent, and then arose the mellow voice of the rector in the marriage ceremony of the Church of England. At the words, "Can any man say aught why these two should not be joined together in holy wedlock," the voice of the squire was heard.

"There have been so many things happening on this Christmas eve, that I hesitate to interrupt the service, but have the laws of England changed in my absence. I mean that law that states that no marriages are lawful except those performed in a parish church?"

"The laws of England are the same," said Parson Trant, "but we have a special dispensation from the archbishop, dispensing with the banns, and allowing, in consideration of the return of Squire Trembath and the happiness of this occasion, the ceremony to be performed in the Manor of Trembath."

"Ah, that is different; my blessing and heartiest well wishes," said the squire, as he sank back in his armchair.

After the ceremony all adjourned to the dining hall, where an elaborate wedding dinner awaited them. During the wedding feast the old squire told of his many adventures, to which Dick and Ande added some of their own.

"It tells like a story-book," said Tom Glaze, in admiration.

"Or rather like a drama," said bluff Captain Tom Lanyan. "Wouldn't I have liked to have been in the Shawnee fight," and the tough, old, Wellington veteran rubbed his hands in delight.

"I have a bit of news," said Ande, as he drew a letter from his pocket. "Here is a letter from Hugh Lark in America, just received." He scanned it rapidly and replaced it, and then turned with a smile to his father and the company. "He says that he has given up the idea of the silver mine, that Professor Bill Banks has been elected to Congress, and that old Burke still thinks Bill is high larndt."

The voices of carol singers were heard without, and the wedding dinner being ended, they again returned to the main hall to enjoy the singing. The "curl" singers were followed by the old play of St. George and the Turk, performed by village lads. Then, in the closing scenes of the evening's festivities, Parson Trant proposed his favourite hymn, and out on the evening air, echoing even far beyond the walls of Trembath Manor, the mellow voices of the trained singers, the piping of childish voices, the worn voices of the older parties, and the music of the droll's orchestra mingling all together, pealed the strains of Cowper's hymn:

"God moves in a mysterious way, His wonders to perform, He plants his footsteps in the sea And rides upon the storm."

THE END

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Transcriber's note:

Some printing errors in punctuation have been corrected.