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THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE
question, and looking intently into the child's eyes. "Can this be my own darling little daughter? Oh, how I yearn to crush her to me — my lovely, beautiful girl ! But no, I must not — she must not know. Strange that I should come thus to his house ! He will never forgive me — oh, wretched, wretched me!"
The woman began to weep, softly, her face hidden in the ragged shawl
out at the flying snow. Suddenly she turned, her eyes big with fright.
"My papa's coming!" she cried. "He's just turning into this street. I must lock the door, quick, and put the key out the window ; then you run upstairs ! Hurry ! ' '
It was done in a moment, the woman not knowing what else to do but to obey the child; and the violinist, returning early from the theater,
THE THEATER WAS CLOSED ON ACCOUNT OF THE STORM
again, and the child's lips trembled in sympathy.
"Dont cry," she cooed. "I'll tell you what I'll do. You can go up in our attic, and lie on an old mattress that 's up there, and there 's some blankets to keep you warm. But you mustn't make a speck of noise until after papa goes out in the morning; then you can come down and go away. Maybe it wont be stormy in the morning. Does it snow awful hard now ? "
She ran to the window, pressing her round face against the pane, to peer
whose performance had been hindered and postponed by the storm, found nothing unusual in the room 's appearance. He tiptoed softly to the bedroom, and looked in at Madeleine, who lay with eyes closed, as if peacefully sleeping.
"Poor little girl!" he murmured, a^ he drew a chair to the fire. "It's a shame for a child to spend Christmas Eve all alone — or for a man to, for that matter! Well, everything is ready for her stocking. She will be happy in the morning, anyhow."