"Come," said Ande, as he placed one arm over his shoulder, "don't on account of past ill feeling refuse this chance of making a man of yourself and uplifting, once again, your ancient family."
There was a period of inward conflict in the breast of the man beside him, and then, in resolute tones, he answered, simply: "I'll try. Forgive me, Trembath, for to-night's action, and for the injustice done by our family."
The two men shook hands firmly, and separated, Ande to seek a surgeon to have his wound dressed. But the wound gave him little pain, and what pain there was was wonderfully alleviated by the gladness of soul within. He knew that the best vengeance was forgiveness, as the old rector had said.
CHAPTER XXXII
CHRISTMAS IN THE OLD HALL
"Lo, now is come the Christmas feast
Let every man be jolly,
Each room with yvie leaves is dress'd
And every post with holly;
Now all our neighbours' chimneys smoke
And Christmas blocks are burning,
Their ovens, they with baked meats choke,
And all their spits are turning;
Without the door let sorrow lie,
And if for cold it hap to die,
We'll bury un in a Christmas pie,
And evermore be merry."
—Withers.
"Ah, this is like Christmas," said the old Major as he wended his way with his wife and Ande to Trembath Manor on Christmas eve. The Manor was to be reopened that night and the strange owner, through his secretary, had sent out invitations to the country around, and among those receiving invitations were the Major and his wife and son.
They passed through the gates, the old Major pausing a moment to scan the Trembath arms and remarking, "I am glad the new owner has not seen fit to remove our coat-of-arms from the gates."