Yet regular and warm as an infant's, her breath issued through her half-open mouth. No muscle stirred. No sound broke the silence; until, in the distance, floating above the orange groves, and on to the Christmas day, rang the bells of old San Gabriel. CHAPTER XII. A soothing peace possessed me, as I listened to the ringing of the old bells. I left quietly the bedside of the aged sleeper to kneel a moment later by that of my child. The healthy loveliness which I beheld completed my restoration. As I kissed the dainty, dimpled hands, and laid my cheek against the yellow curls, her warm, sweet breath infused my flagging circulation with the energy of love. I no longer forgot my plans for the morning. Hastily dressing, I gathered as quickly as possible the various mysterious parcels secreted about my room, glancing occasionally at Marjorie to be sure that no possum slumbers hid beneath deceitful lashes. Satisfied that my schemes were unsuspected, I fled eagerly, with ladened arms, from the silent house out into the crisp, inspiring air of the sacred morning. The sun was now well up. As it rose, it touched with magical radiance the most distant reaches of the Christmas landscape. Reverently I lingered, enthralled with the breath of Judea. Standing beneath the old palms I listened to an anthem, led by a lark and sustained by the lowing cattle, who seemed to tell, as at first, the birth of the long-expected Saviour; while the rosebuds reflected from jeweled hearts his pure parables. About me the purple mountains gleamed with the fresh, cool touch of the night. Between twin spurs, resting against the bosom of the sky, snow had gathered, until in the distant outline a pure, white lamb appeared, slain for the holy festival. Old Baldy, the high priest of the morning, until now had withheld the fullness of his majesty. Suddenly the sun with golden shafts rent far asunder the misty veil that had enveloped his hoary summit. Transfigured with supernatural glory, the morning seemed to pause for one still moment, as if to receive his benediction. "I, too, have been to the early celebration," I said to my heart, as I turned reluctantly to the pressing demands of the now inaugurated day. Hastily I hid the packages in various secret nooks, while I decorated a great white rose tree with cornucopias and knicknacks. Hardly had the last bauble been hung upon the magnificent Christmas tree when I heard the plaintive voice of my child. I hurried to the house to find the little girl upon the bed, struggling bravely with her shoes and stockings. "Did the fairies come?" she demanded, springing into my arms for her Christmas kiss. For my answer I carried her to the window, through which she beheld the white rose tree. "See," I said, "how good are the good little fairies to good little girls." "May I go as soon as I am dressed and pick the tree?" the child besought, her eyes beaming with expectation.