Then Christmas came. Under the circumstances they preferred to spend it very quietly. Beatrix was still with them, and Clement was invited to come and dine on Christmas-day.
Sybil took great delight in delighting. And if good taste forbade her now to indulge in the lavish hospitality and gay festivity that had always been customary in Black Hall at this season, she determined to indemnify herself by making unusually handsome presents to her servants and dependants, as well as the most liberal donations to the poor—and so to be happy in the happiness she should bestow.
With this intention she put a small fortune in her longest purse, and went in her roomiest carriage to Blackville, intending to empty the purse and fill the carriage before her return.
The day being Christmas eve, the village was full of people, come there to shop for the holidays, and poor Sybil was brought to a sense of her condition by the treatment she received—silence, rude stares, or injurious whispers greeted her as she passed. But they were only pin thrusts, which she soon forgot in the interesting errand upon which she had come.
She loaded her carriage with bundles, boxes, and baskets, and returned home in time to separate the treasures, and write upon each one of them the name of the person for whom it was intended.
The next morning Captain Pendleton arrived early, to assist in the distribution of the presents. No one was neglected; every body was made happy with several valuable gifts.
Little Cro' went to paradise in the corner of the room, with his cap full of toys.
That day also Sybil's dependents enjoyed as good a dinner as was set for herself and her friends. So, after all, in spite of fate, they kept their "Christmas, merry still."
When it was generally known that Sybil Berners had returned to Black Hall, there was much discussion among the ladies as to whether they should call on her.
Some declared that she was a murderess, whose face they never could bear to look on, and therefore of course they never would go near her. Others, who said that they believed her guiltless and wished her well, added, that they felt the same delicacy in going or in staying away—as in the first case Mrs. Berners might consider their call an intrusion from motives of curiosity, and in the second case she might construe their absence into intentional neglect. And between these two extremes there was every shade of opinion as to Sybil's culpability, and every sort of reason for not going to see her just yet.