"O come, all ye faithful,
Joyful and triumphant!"
Once more he heard the familiar strain taken up lustily by many voices.
"Hear all the world singin' on the way to Bethlehem!" he said, and the stupor seemed to leave his brain. He no longer staggered.
"I'll run an' join 'em, an' I won't drink another drop this night." He looked up at the starry sky. "Maybe the Angel hears me. Maybe he'll help me to keep straight to-morrow. It might be my Guardian Angel himsilf that I treated so! Saints forgive me!"
With head bowed humbly, but no longer reeling, he moved away towards the sound of music.
"You were his Guardian Angel," said Miss Terry, when once more she saw the figure on the mantel-shelf. And she spoke with reverent gentleness.
The Angel smiled brightly. "The Christmas Spirit is a guardian angel to many," he said. "Never again despise me, Angelina. Never again make light of my influence."
"Never again," murmured Miss Terry half unconsciously. "I wish it were not too late—"
"It is never too late," said the Christmas Angel eagerly, as if he read her unspoken thought. "Oh, never too late, Angelina."