I refused two invitations to join the sleighing party, and on the night it was to be had prepared to pass the evening in my own room with Oswald and Corinne.  Before the fire, with lighted candles, I heard a ringing of bells in the yard and a stamping of feet on the piazza.  Alice sent up for me.  I found Ben Somers with her, who begged me to take a seat in his sleigh.  Helen was there, and Amelia Bancroft.  Alice applauded me for refusing him; but when he whispered in my ear that he had been to Surrey I changed my mind.  She assisted me with cheerful alacrity to put on a merino dress, its color was purple;—­a color I hate now, and never wear—­and wrapped me warmly.  Charles appeared before we started.  “Are you really going?” he asked, in a tone of displeasure.

“She is really going,” Ben answered for me.  “Mr. and Mrs. Bancroft are going,” Helen said.  “Why not drive out with Mrs. Morgeson?”

“The night is splendid,” Ben remarked.

“Wont you come?” I asked.

“If Alice wishes it.  Will you go?” he asked her.

“Would you?” she inquired of all, and all replied, “Yes.”

We started in advance.  Helen and Amelia were packed on the back seat, in a buffalo robe, while Ben and I sat in the shelter of the driver’s box, wrapped in another.  It was moonlight, and as we passed the sleighs of the rest of the party, exchanging greetings, we grew very merry.  Ben, voluble and airy, enlivened us by his high spirits.

We were drinking mulled wine round the long pine dinner-table of the Swan, when Charles and Alice arrived.  There were about thirty in the room, which was lighted by tallow candles.  When he entered, it seemed as if the candles suddenly required snuffing, and we ceased to laugh.  All spoke to him with respect, but with an inflection of the voice which denoted that he was not one of us.  As he carelessly passed round the table all made a movement as he approached, scraping their chairs on the bare floor, moving their glass of mulled wine, or altering the position of their arms or legs.  An indescribable appreciation of the impression which he made upon others filled my heart.  His isolation from the sympathy of every person there gave me a pain and a pity, and for the first time I felt a pang of tenderness, and a throe of pride for him.  But Alice, upon whom he never made any impression, saw nothing of this; her gayety soon removed the stiffness and silence he created.  The party grew noisy again, except Ben, who had not broken the silence into which he fell as soon as he saw Charles.  The mulled wine stood before him untouched.  I moved to the corner of the table to allow room for the chair which Charles was turning toward me.  Ben ordered more wine, and sent a glass full to him.  Taking it from the boy who brought it, I gave it to him.  “Drink,” I said.  My voice sounded strangely.  Barely tasting it, he set the glass down, and leaning his arm on the table, turned his face to me, shielding it with his hand from the gaze of those about us.  I pushed away a candle that flared in our faces.