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542 Harry’s hopes were that they would get out, and leave him. Danger, ruin, dreadful smashes, he was indifferent to: anything was better than his present torment.

‘Can’t speak, sir?’ said the old gentleman.

‘Can’t m - - - move,’ says Harry.

‘No legs—eh? Dear me!’ the old gentleman observed. And yet the rug displayed a pair in outline. ‘Para1ysis—lower limbs? Dear me!’

“Several people were out of the train by this time. The old gentleman and all the ladies got out, too. Word was passed that there was a general order to evacuate the carriages.

“Harry heard the old gentleman say. ‘We mustn’t leave that poor fellow. We must help him out.’

“Meantime he was at his carpet bag again. One clear minute to himself, and Harry would be a man. He cared not to risk his life for one clear minute to himself. Before a quarter of the time had expired, and while the garments dangled unfilled, the old gentleman opened the door, and informed Harry that he was prepared to help him out. There also stood the ladies, looking most charitably.

‘Do p— please shut the door,’ cried Harry.

‘Come, sir,’ said the old gentleman, ‘you must come out. Give me your arm.’

‘I k— can’t, I tell you,’ says Harry.

‘But I will help you, sir,’ said the old gentleman.

‘I won’t!’ says Harry.

‘You must be mad, sir, you must be stark mad,’ said the old gentleman.

“Pushed to extremity, Harry answered. ‘So I am.’

‘Then you must be dragged out, sir, dragged out by force, main force, sir. Guard!’ shouted the old gentleman.

“The guard came up, but only to say it was a false alarm. The train had shaken off one of the carriages, and turned a few sheep into mutton—all was right now, and everybody was to step in.

“Off they went once more.

“It is really cruel to dwell on Mr. Saxon’s miseries, and the incidents which were perpetually aggravating them and driving him to frenzies of distraction. At one place a lady entered, who could not ride with her back to the engine. He was positively—being the only gentleman facing it—asked to favour her by changing seats; and, gallant by nature, courteous, obliging, he had to stutter a downright refusal. But realise his position, and I think you will admit that, for a bashful man, Mr. Harry Saxon endured four hours of mortal misery that it would be hard to match. Excessive civilisation, you see, has its troubles. It may seem rather unkind to leave him in the state I have left him in. I will justify this artistic stroke, by assuring you that Mr. Saxon is, I have no doubt whatever, at the moment I speak to you, perfectly prepared to make his bow in the most exquisite society.”

The gentlemen discussed what might have happened to Mr. Saxon.

“For a bashful man,” said Mr. Lorquison, “that certainly was about as unfortunate a dilemma as I remember to have heard of.”

Mr. Spence conceived that he should have made a confidante of the first lady, remarking that women, in such cases, when appealed to, are, as a body, considerate, and not wanting in gentle excuses.

“That’s what I should have done,” said Mr. Spence. “She would have looked out of the other window, and all would have been over in a trice.”

The H.E.I.C.S. thought so too; and cited the indifference of ladies in India to those garments.

Mr. Lorquison excused himself from any recital, seeing that he knew not one. But the punch was a performance far excelling our flimsy efforts to amuse: and I only wish every good man and true may drink as good this Christmas season. T.

came out of its hiding-place and looked at him. A spider crawled up his leg and examined it; but he did not move. He sat alone in his lodging, a dark, sombre man. In the room beneath there were sounds of merriment, and he had caught, as he mounted the stairs, the flutter of dresses in the hall; and a murmur of children’s voices and laughter had reached him; so he shut the door close that he might hear nothing.

On the table stood a tray with an isolated cup and saucer and a teapot, and a little kettle on the hob kept bursting into wheezy snatches of song to remind him that it was there waiting. But the dark man’s head leaned on his hands, his hands on his knees, and his great black shadow darkened the wall behind. The little spirits that had been hurrying to and fro amongst the red coals came out and looked at him, but he never stirred. They perched upon his chair and upon his knee; they gathered in solemn conclave on the hearth-rug.

“There was a Christmas fire not so long ago,” began a little spirit, nodding solemnly at the kettle, “very different from this. We were there, for we are the spirits of the Christmas fires. How it leaped and crackled in the grate, and sent out a jolly red-hot glow all round the room! How it shone out on wreaths of evergreens, and its frolicking lights kissed the red berries on the walls! And little feet daintily shod came in upon the oak floor; bright faces laughed back at the jolly old fire, and there was sweet music and dancing and merriment. He was there, and he had singled out his partner from amongst the merry ones. Close at her side he kept, through the dance, the song, and the game, and though her pretty head was bent a little, and her merriment quieter than the rest, she seemed to like it too. There was a world of happiness, half fearful half trusting, in her young face, as beautiful as it was gentle.

“But when the music was heard no longer, and the dainty shoes had ceased to dance upon the oak floor; when the jolly fire had sunk a little lower—nothing to be compared with that bit of rubbish though—he led his partner back from the