American fiction -- 19th century; Christmas stories, American
Mentally pronouncing her a very prudent, considerate girl, Mr. Howland
walked on in silence, feeling the while that something had been taken
from him. He had become greatly interested in the helpless old blind
man, and in his writing-desk at home was a receipt in full for the first
quarter’s rent, which would become due in a few days. But Mr. Howland
was a man of stern integrity, hating anything like fraud and deceit, and
if Mr. Warren had been guilty of either, he was not worthy of respect.
Alice, too, though she might not have been in fault, did not seem quite
the same, and now as he thought of her, there was less of beauty in the
deep blue of her eyes and the wavy tresses of her hair.
* * * * *
“Will you go in? It is a long time since you were here,” said Adelaide,
when at last they reached her mother’s door.
Her invitation was accepted, and the clock struck nine before Mr.
Howland rose to leave. Accompanying him to the door, Adelaide said,
jingly:
“I trust you will forget our conversation concerning those Warrens. You
know I didn’t really tell you anything.”
Mr. Howland bowed and walked away, wishing in his heart that she had
_not_ told him anything, or at least had not created in his mind a
suspicion against people he had hitherto liked so much. So absorbed was
he in his meditations that he did not at first observe the slender
figure which, wrapping its thin shawl close around it, came slowly
toward him, but when the girl reached him and the cold wind blew the
brown curls over her white face, he knew it was Alice Warren, and his
first impulse was to offer her his arm and shield her from the storm.
But Adelaide’s dark insinuations were ringing in his ears, and so Alice
went on alone, while the rain and the sleet beat upon her head and the
cold penetrated through her half worn shoes, chilling her weary feet,
and sending a shiver through her frame. But she did not heed it, or even
think of the driving storm, so eager was she to be at home, where she
could count the contents of the little box and see if with the money
received there was not enough to pay the quarter’s rent.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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