Chapter 7 No.7

It was on Christmas eve, her husband had come home with a radiant face. His short story had been accepted, and the money was in his pocket. Now he could buy a fitting present for his wife. Of course it could not be too expensive, but she certainly would enjoy it all the same; he was sure of that, feeling that the opening of a successful career was inaugurated.

On his way home he had also bought a little fir tree to set up for the first Christmas celebration in his own home. The recollections of similar holidays in the house of his parents stirred him to the depths. How his heart quivered when he thought of his dear mother he loved so dearly. If she only were alive how different everything would be! He, who was brought up in luxury, mother's pet, and now-

With deep emotion he entered the house. With a brisk step he opened the door, looked around and found it empty, the wife and all her belongings gone!

The horror of that night was something he could never forget as long as he lived. Holding his ten months' old child in his trembling arms, he wept burning tears for her, the mother of his child. Could it be possible? A mother deserting her child on this holiest of evenings? He could not believe his eyes, but all she possessed went with her. No, no, she was giddy-headed, but not cruel. Motherhood must assert itself and surely would. How he loved her, how he longed to take her in his arms and feed his poor, famished heart with a touch of her lips!

He sat there in the dark listening and waiting for her to come back, to see the presents he had bought for her, and the money he wanted to give her. But one hour after another passed and nobody came. In the streets a joyous throng of merry makers pushed and jostled about wishing each other a merry Christmas. His heart was shaken to its depths by maddening grief; by bitter disappointment.

The room was icy cold, there was no fire in the stove, and the child half starved, screamed weakly in his arms. In wild desperation he trampled on the little Christmas tree he had brought along to celebrate his first Christmas in his own home! He could see nothing but falsehood and treachery in this world. What meaning was there for him in this life-redeeming symbol?

Sick of everything he longed for death to come and take him and his little child away. Throughout that dreary night of agony he lay in bed holding the child in his arms, pressing his lips against her tender little hands, without being able to close an eye.

The bell in the neighboring churches rang out in the ears of the deserted man, sounding dismally through his lonely house. But they brought back pictures to his mind of his childhood's happy days, when he went to church on similar Christmas eves with his parents. One tear after another stole into his desperate eyes.

"God have mercy on me and my child," he murmured stammeringly. "I must, I will live for her sake. I cannot leave her altogether an orphan," though the gaping wound in his own heart kept on bleeding, bleeding incessantly.

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