Dorothy Harcourt's Secret: Sequel to A Deed Without a Name

It was one o’clock on Christmas morning when the Christmas sleigh returned to the Wesleyan Flats, bringing Santa Claus and his two aides.

As soon as the three alighted, a man from the livery stable, who had been engaged to meet them at that hour, mounted the box to take the conveyance home; but not before he had received a liberal gift.

The house was all ablaze with light.

There had been Christmas Eve festivals in almost every suit of apartments in it.

Mr. Merritt lifted little Owlet—so tired and so sleepy, yet so divinely happy—and bore her into the house.

’Pollyon Syphax was on duty in the hall, and stared at the three figures in the black waterproofs that covered their disguises from head to foot.

They went upon the elevator, reached Roma’s parlor and found her reclining in her armchair by the center table, reading the “Golden Legend” by the light of a shaded lamp.

Madame Nouvellini lay fast asleep in her invalid chair, nor did she wake up on the entrance of the party.

“What sort of a time did you have?” inquired Roma, as the weary Santa Claus sat down on the sofa with the sleeping child across his knees.

“A very fine time. The ground, or rather the snow, was so hard and smooth, and the horses so fresh, that I am sure they got over the ground with more than steam-engine express speed! Guided by our policeman, I think we visited every poor neighborhood, and even every criminal locality in the ten miles’ square.”

“That was right; for there are innocent children everywhere, even in the guiltiest haunts. Ah, poor children! If I have lost Will Harcourt, I must devote my life and all it holds to them! What am I saying? Whether I have lost him or not, I will devote all that I may of my life to the rescue of the lost children?”