* * * * *

“You were his Guardian Angel,” said Miss Terry, when once more she saw the figure on the mantel-shelf.  And she spoke with reverent gentleness.

The Angel smiled brightly.  “The Christmas Spirit is a guardian angel to many,” he said.  “Never again despise me, Angelina.  Never again make light of my influence.”

“Never again,” murmured Miss Terry half unconsciously.  “I wish it were not too late—­”

“It is never too late,” said the Christmas Angel eagerly, as if he read her unspoken thought.  “Oh, never too late, Angelina.”

CHAPTER XIII

THE CHRISTMAS CANDLE

Suddenly there was a sound,—­a dull reverberating sound.  It seemed to Miss Terry to come from neither north, south, east, nor west, but from a different world.  Ah!  She recognized it now.  It was somebody knocking on the library door.

Miss Terry gave a long sigh and drew herself up in her chair.  “It must be Norah just come back,” she said to herself.  “I had forgotten Norah completely.  It must be shockingly late.  Come in,” she called, as she glanced at the clock.

She rubbed her eyes and looked again.  A few minutes after nine!  She had thought it must be midnight!

Norah entered to find her mistress staring at the mantel where the clock stood.  She saw lying beside the clock the pink Angel which had fallen from the box as she brought it in,—­the box now empty by the fire.

“Law, Miss,” she said, “have you burned them all up but him?  I’m glad you saved him, he’s so pretty.”

“Norah,” said Miss Terry with an effort, “is that clock right?”

“Yes’m,” said Norah.  “I set it this morning.  I came back as soon as I could, Miss,” she added apologetically.

“It isn’t that,” answered Miss Terry, drawing her hand across her forehead dazedly.  “I did not mind your absence.  But I thought it must be later.”

“Oh, no, I wouldn’t stay out any later when you was alone here, Miss,” said Norah penitently.  “I felt ashamed after I had gone.  I ought not to have left you so,—­on Christmas Eve.  But oh, Miss!  The singing was so beautiful, and the houses looked so grand with the candles in the windows.  It is like a holy night indeed!”

Miss Terry stooped and picked up something from the floor.  It was the bit of candle-end which had escaped the holocaust.

“Are the candles still lighted, Norah?” she asked, eyeing the bit of wax in her hand.

“Yes’m, some of them,” answered the maid.  “It is getting late, and a good many have burned out.  But some houses are still as bright as ever.”

“Perhaps it is not too late, then,” murmured Miss Terry, as if yielding a disputed point.  “Let us hurry, Norah.”

She rose, and going to the mantel-shelf gently took up the figure of the Angel, while Norah looked on in amazement.