OLD STROUDE'S CHRISTMAS.

Evening Post, Volume XXXIV, Issue 156, 31 December 1887, Page 1 (Supplement)

OLD STROUDE'S CHRISTMAS.

It was Christmas night, and Bichard Stroude, in dressing-gown and slippers, sat in his easy chair, peering listlessly into the fire, which burned brightly in the grate. Richard Stroude was quite independent of the world's opinion. His brother Andrew had been left a princely fortune by a relative whose namesake lie was. Richard was then poor ; but, when Andrew and his young wife decided on a pleasure trip abroad, they thought it only right to make Richard their companion. In a country village in the south of France, Andrew was taken with a fever, which proved fatal in a week. He lived just long enough to give the first and last kiss to an infant son, born a few hours before hia death. The shock was too much for the boreaved wife. She would have gladly lived for her child's sake, but that, too, was snatched from her. It died suddenly at the house of the nurse to whose charge it had been committed ; and when they brought it in the coffin, that the poor mother's eyes might rest for once on the little face yet strange to them, they closed wearily and never more opened. The result was that Richard Stroude, as the heir of hia brother's child, returned to his own country the possessor of an amount of wealth far exceeding the wildest dream he had ever cherished. Richard was the most close-fisted and illiberal of men, and, withal, the most distrustful. He shunned the risk of business, investing his money in safe securities, and turned a deaf ear alike to the allurements of speculation and the calls of charity. The one exception to all this narrowness ]aj r in the of himself. Ho was too prudently selfish to indulge in riotous excesses ; but. short of that, he denied himself no luxury or pleasure which money could command, and his bachelor home was supplied with every imaginable comfort. ' No ; it was not pictures down in the flare that occupied Richard Stroude's thoughts that Christmas night He had lent £1000 to old Mr. Douglass, some time before, without security. People started whenthey heard of it. ' The world must be coming to an end,' they said, 'when old Stroudo lends money on any terms.' But those who said so didn't know everything. They didn't know, for instance, how pretty Mabel Douglass's rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes made the fibres of Richard Stroude's gristly heart quiver. It was a new sensation to him, and it was under its influence that he ' ac-

couimodatod' Mabel's father with £1000 for ninety days. When pay-day came, anil Mr. Douglnss hadn't the inoiipy ready, Richard Stroude, with hnsines-5-like dhectnoss, offered to accept Mabel's hand, and ' full it square.' ' Either that, or the money, or go to gaol !' ndded Richard, noting an indignant flush that overspread the old man's face. The flush was succeeded by an instant pallor, for it was in the time when unfortunate debtors wero treated as criminals. Allen Douglass know it was in the man's power to consign him to the walls of a prison. Mr. Douglass strove to reason with his creditor. Old Stroude wns rising- fifty; Mabel baroly twenty. Iv vain was this disparity pointed out. Richard Stroude was obdurate. Ho had named his terms. It was a sore trial to poor Mabel to decide between her father's sacrifice and hor own ; but she did decide — to save hor father. There was another sacrifice involved, which was a secret between herself and one other. It was her love for Andre Armand, a most engaging youth, who had lately come with his mother to reside in the neighbourhood. The mother was a confirmed invalid, who never left the house, and the two lived quite alone. Andro and Mabel got acquainted by accident ; then they became friends, and next lovers, and were basking in tho sunshine of happiness when Old Stroude's baleful shadow overcame their path and made everything dark. It was his approaching weddingday that Old Stroude sat thinking about in his easy chair. Ho lind just fallen into a soothing reflection on tho power of money — how it could procure everything pleasurablo to man, even to a pretty wifo— when a loud ring of the door-bell broke the current of his thoughts. ' It's a woman, sir ; she says she must see you," said the servant, returning from the door. But the visitor had followed without permission to enter. She wns a tall, dark-faced woman, advanced in years, whose step was feeble, and her form bent. Richard Stroudo looked up scowlingly ; but a second glance, and his face paled, while his whole frame shook. Hastily dismissing the servant, he motioned the woman to a chair. ' Jeanette Dupro !' he faltered, half inaudibly. ' Jeanotte Dupre, when you knew me,' was the answer, with a strong French accent ; ' but, at present, Madamo Armand.' ' Well, why are you here, may I ask?' ' Because the timo has come !' ' The time for what ?' ' For exposing your villany, and confessing my own share in it !' she exclaimed, with a defiant gleam of her dark oyes. ' What is it you propose doing ?' asked Richard Stroude, gradually growing more composed. ' To declare the truth — that it was my child, and not your brother's, that died and was buried ; that you prevailed upon me, with money, to cheat the poor mother into believing that the dead babe was her own — a cruel deception which finished the breaking of her heart ; that Andre Armand, who passes for my son, is your nephew, and entitled to all the wealth you now call yours !' ' And do you know what I shall say to it all ?' replied Richard, with a Bneer, again quite reassured. ' I shall simply deny your story. You have no proofs. I have power and inff uence ; my word will far outweigh yours, and you and your pretended inheritor will pass for a brace of impostors.' ' Don't be too confident, 1 retorted the other. 'I have proofs. You forget that I required of you a full written statement of the truth, to be held by me as security till you paid me the last portion of the money.' ' And when I did that, you gave me back the statement, and it was destroyed.' ' There you are deceived. I had a copy made by a skilful hand — an exact imitation of tho original. It was the copy you destroyed. The original I have hero !' Both had risen to their feet. Richard Stroude made a movement, as if to snatch the paper from Jeanette' b hand, but the gleam of a dagger, which she poised aloft, sent him cowering back. ' What is it you demand ?' whined the trembling wretch. ' That you resign all claim to the hand of Mabel Douglass, make over to your nephew what is justly his, and join with me in acknowledging the truth to Andre, trusting to his generosity to keep the secret of our crime. You are not so scrupulous but you may find some way of explaining your unsuspected discovery of a nephew !' ' But suppose I should be willing to purchase your silence ?' ' That is no longer within your power. lam growiug old, and have no more than sufficient time left to atone for past sins, without committing new ones.' Richard Shroude, who is very old now, leads a retired life, in a distant city on a comfortable annuity. Andre and Mabel are the wealthiest and happiest couple in all the country round, and though verging on middle life, are as blithe and cheerful as when fortune first smiled upon their lovo. Jeanetto has been dead for many years.