When the offertory was finally announced and Esther began the first lines of her solo, not only was her sister Betty’s attention caught and held, but that of almost every other human being in the church. It was not a beautiful Christmas day, outside there were scurrying gray clouds and a kind of bleak coldness. But the church was warmly and beautifully lighted, the altar white with lilies and crimson with roses, speaking of passion and peace. And Esther’s voice had in it something of almost celestial sweetness. She was no longer a girl but a woman, for Dick’s love and a promise of a fulfilment equally beautiful had added to her natural gift a deeper emotional power. And she sang one of the simplest and at the same time one of the most beautiful of Christmas hymns.
Betty was perfectly willing to allow all the unhappiness and disappointments of the past few months to relieve themselves in the tears that came unchecked. Then she saw Margaret Adams bite her lips and close her eyes as if she too were shutting out the world of ordinary vision to live only in beautiful sound and a higher communion.
“Hark! the herald angels sing
Glory to the new-born King;
Peace on earth, and mercy mild,
God and sinners reconciled!
Joyful, all ye nations, rise,
Join the triumph of the skies;
With the angelic host proclaim,
Christ is born in Bethlehem.
Hark! the herald angels sing
Glory to the new-born King.
“Christ, by highest heaven adored;
Christ, the everlasting Lord;
Late in time behold Him come,
Offspring of a virgin’s womb.
Veil’d in flesh the Godhead see,
Hail, th’ Incarnate Deity!
Pleased as man with man to dwell,
Jesus, our Emmanuel!
Hark! the herald angels sing
Glory to the new-born King.
“Hail, the heaven-born Prince of Peace!
Hail, the Sun of righteousness!
Light and life to all He brings,
Risen with healing in His wings.
Mild He lays His glory by,
Born that man no more may die;
Born to raise the sons of earth,
Born to give them second birth.
Hark! the herald angels sing
Glory to the new-born King.”
At the close of the service, turning to leave the church, Betty Ashton felt a hand laid on her arm, and glancing up in surprise found Anthony Graham’s eyes gazing steadfastly into hers.
“We are friends, are we not, Betty? You would not let any misunderstanding or any change in your life alter that?” he asked hurriedly.
For just an instant the girl hesitated, then answered simply and gracefully:
“I don’t think any one could be unfaithful to an old friendship on Christmas morning after hearing Esther sing. It was not in the least necessary, Anthony, for you to ask me such a question. You know I shall always wish you the best possible things.”
Then, without allowing the young man to reply or to accompany her down the aisle, she hurried away to her other friends, and, slipping her arm firmly inside Mollie O’Neill’s, she never let go her clasp until they were safely out of church.
“It is no use, Meg, nothing matters,” Anthony Graham said a quarter of an hour later, when he and Margaret Everett were on their way home together, John having deserted them to join the other party. “The fact is, Betty does not care in the least one way or the other what I say or do.”
“Then I wish you would let me tell her the truth,” Meg urged. “You see, Anthony, the Princess and I have always been such intimate friends and I have always admired her more than any of the other girls. I don’t wish her to misunderstand us. She may not be so brilliant as Polly, nor so clever as Sylvia or your sister Nan, but somehow Betty is—well, I suppose she is what a real Princess ought to be. That is what Polly always declared. It is not just because she is pretty and generous, but she is so high-minded. Nothing would make her even appear to take advantage of a friend.” And Meg sighed, her usually happy face clouding.