“Oh! yes, I must be merry,” she replied, trying to assume a cheerful air. But there was something in her tone which struck Mike as peculiar, and for a moment he blushed. Did she suspect the untruth which he had told? No; her faith in him was unbroken, and she could not account to herself for the heavy weight upon her heart, which even the prayer had not taken away; and now, despite the glorious sunbeams flooding the room and the sweet voices of her children, Helen felt sad. Who had entered their happy home in the stillness of night, and placed that ill-omened gift in her stocking? Might it really be the Evil One? And while she wondered over this mysterious occurrence, she thought of the many families, once happy and well-to-do, who had come to grief and misery through intemperance. Was her own day of trial approaching? What did this Christmas gift portend? “But no, no; I will not be sad; I’ll be cheerful. For Michael’s sake I will,” she said to herself. Then, as the bright look spread over her face, Mike clapped his hands and shouted: “That’s right, my darling. Hurrah!”
And so the early hours went by; and when ten o’clock struck, they set out for St. Paul’s Church, which was about nine blocks off, the mother holding her little boy by the hand, the father carrying little Nell, who was not yet old enough to walk so far. But when they were within a few paces of the church door, Roony stopped and declared that he had forgotten to feed the goat. “Well, dear, it’s too late now,” said Helen. “Nanny can
wait; you’ll miss Mass if you go back.”
“O wife! how would you like to miss your breakfast?” rejoined Mike. “Nanny is hungry. I must return.”
“And lose Mass?” she said, with a look of tender reproach. Roony did not answer, but turned on his heel and went away, leaving her too overcome with surprise to utter another word.
The priest was already at the altar when Helen arrived, and the church very full; yet more people continued to push their way in, and ever and anon she would look round to see if her husband were among the late-comers. She tried to keep her thoughts from wandering, but did not succeed. Never had Helen felt so distracted before, and the foreboding of evil which had oppressed her in the early morning now returned and shrouded her in such gloom that she could hardly pray. But, troubled as the poor woman was, no suspicion of the truth had yet entered her mind. She was very innocent, and did not doubt but Mike, having come late, was hidden among the crowd by the door.
At length the service ended; and now she felt quite certain that he would join her. But five minutes elapsed, and then ten—a whole quarter of an hour passed away. The congregation was fast dispersing; still, her husband did not appear. “Oh! where can he be?” she asked herself. “Where can he be?” At every voice that greeted her Helen started; for many knew her and wished her a merry Christmas, and Mrs. McGowan, who had a keen eye, exclaimed: “Why, what ails you, Mrs. Roony?”
How lonesome the wife felt as she plodded homeward! Yet her
children were prattling merrily, and the street was full of happy people. She was blind to them all, she was deaf to every word that was spoken, and kept murmuring again and again: “Where can Michael be?”
Finally Helen reached home, and was about to cross the threshold, when suddenly she paused and uttered a cry which might have been heard afar, ’twas so loud and piercing; while little Mike and Nell exclaimed at one breath: “Mamma, look at papa sleeping.”