CHAPTER XXI.
“At Christmas play, and make good cheer,
For Christmas comes but once a year.”
—Tusser.
The whole house was aroused and terrified by the sudden crashing sound, succeeded by perfect stillness, and members of the family, guests, and servants came rushing into the hall, most of them in wild excitement, not knowing but the next thing might be the falling in of the roof, or the tumbling of the walls about their ears.
Mr. Dinsmore, who happened to be standing close by the drawing-room door at that end of the hall, was the foremost of the crowd, and saw with a thrill of terror and despair his darling only daughter lying apparently insensible upon the floor, killed as he thought by the crushing weight of the statue, which seemed to rest upon her prostrate form.
In an instant he was at her side, his terror somewhat abated as he perceived that it had missed her, though by but a hair’s breadth, and that she was making an effort to rise.
“My child! my darling!” he said tremulously, stooping over her and gently raising her in his arms, “are you much hurt?”
“No, papa; not much I think,” she murmured faintly, for the fall had partially stunned her, “but O papa, I’ve broken your lovely statue, and I’m so sorry!”
“Never mind that; what do I care for it in comparison with you!” he said almost indignantly, making his way through the crowd of frightened, anxious guests and servants.