Luke's pealing the great old
hymn, dear for scores of years to those who had heard it chiming from
the ivy-grown towers--"_Adeste, Fideles_."
_"Oh, come, all ye faithful, joyful and triumphant!"_
Joyful and triumphant, indeed, though yet subdued and humble, since this
paradox may be at times in human hearts, was Richard Kendrick, as he
stood waiting in the vestibule of St. Luke's, on Christmas morning, for
a tryst he had made. Not with Roberta, for it was not possible for her
to be present to-day, but with Ruth Gray, that young sister who had
become so like a sister by blood to Richard that, at her suggestion, it
had seemed to him the happiest thing in the world to go to church with
her on Christmas morning--the morning of the day which was to see his
marriage.
The Gray homestead was full of wedding guests, the usual family guests
of the Christmas house-party. On the evening before had occurred the
Christmas dance, and Richard had led the festivities, with his
bride-elect at his side. It had been a glorious merry-making and his
pulses had thrilled wildly to the rapture of it. But to-day--to-day was
another story.
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