Anselm Lancaster threw back his head and laughed aloud, and Miss Braithwaite joined him. Cicely’s nonsense delighted her watchful friend; it was a symptom of health. Anselm Lancaster had never seen her mischievous; he found it delightful.
The church of St. Francis Xavier was crowded, but pews were held till ten minutes after midnight, and Miss Braithwaite had brought her two guests thither ten minutes before midnight tolled out from the clock on the adjoining house and school building.
The Mass was beyond words solemn and beautiful: the vestments of cloth of gold; the myriad lights; the scent of forest and incense; the great organ, the hundred choristers, the sublime music, the Adeste Fideles, sung with such fervor that all over the church people were sobbing with love for this inexpressibly dear hymn. With this the Mass marched on to its supreme moment, the greatest, the most inconceivable, the one infinite action of finite man, which encircles all creation, from Adam to the last born at the consummation of the world, performed in time, going on eternally.
Cicely was wrapt into something like ecstasy. The Christmas eve which she had dreaded had become the highest hour of joy which she had ever known. She was swept beyond herself into the rapture of the angels who first sang this Gloria to which she listened.
God had tested her; she had not failed Him. Now He was rewarding her with a reward beyond her comprehension. She received this communion with her face wet with tears of joy. At last, at last she knew in Whom she had believed, blindly, yet faithfully believed.
The rain had ceased when Mass was over; the congregation came out into starlight and an ice-clad world, shining under the light.
“Oh, Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas, dear, dear Miss Braithwaite, Mr. Lancaster!” cried Cis turning back on the lower step of the church with radiant face. “Merry, merry, merry! For it’s blessedly merry to be a Catholic on Christmas and to be at Mass when the little Lord comes down!”
CHAPTER XIX
THE NEW YEAR
AS THERE are fifteen minutes between tides when the ocean lies quiet at neither ebb nor flow, so the world seems to rest between Christmas and the New Year; preparations for holidays over, active work not resumed.
Cis had decided to continue as Mr. Lucas’ secretary, at least until spring. Affairs in which he was interested had taken on sudden activity in ways and directions which would have made it hard for him to begin a new secretary at that time; entire fidelity to him and complete silence as to what had to transpire to his secretary were especially required now in her who filled that office. Cis knew, in spite of her lapse for Rod’s sake, that her successor might easily bungle things, as she never would, or intentionally talk, to her employer’s detriment. In view of Mr. Lucas’ proved interest in her, Cis felt in honor bound to stand by for the present, if she could do so. Yet there was upon her a restlessness of mind that impelled her to change, any change. “It was growing pains,” Miss Braithwaite told her, and Cis knew that she was right. She was growing, and the expansion of her powers called to her to give them scope.