The Gray homestead was full of wedding guests, the usual family guests of the Christmas house-party.  On the evening before had occurred the Christmas dance, and Richard had led the festivities, with his bride-elect at his side.  It had been a glorious merry-making and his pulses had thrilled wildly to the rapture of it.  But to-day—­to-day was another story.

A slender young figure, in brown velvet with a tiny twig of holly perched among furry trimmings, hurried up the steps and into the vestibule.  Richard met Ruth halfway, his face alight, his hand clasping hers eagerly.

“I’m so sorry I am late,” she whispered.  “Oh, it’s so fine of you to come.  Isn’t it a lovely, lovely way to begin this Day—­your and Rob’s day, too?”

He nodded, smiling down at her with eyes full of brotherly affection for a most lovable girl.  He followed her into the church and took his place beside her, feeling that he would rather be here, just now, than anywhere in the world.

It must be admitted that he hardly heard the service, except for the music, which was of a sort to make its own way into the most abstracted consciousness.  But the quiet spirit of the place had its effect upon him, and when he knelt beside Ruth it seemed the most natural thing in the world to form a prayer in his heart that he might be a fit husband for the wife he was so soon to take to himself.  Once, during a long period of kneeling, Ruth’s hand slipped shyly into his, and he held it fast, with a quickening perception of what it meant to have a pure young spirit like hers beside him in this sacred hour.  His soul was full of high resolve to be a son and brother to this rare family into which he was entering such as might do them honour.  For it was a very significant fact that to him the people who stood nearest to Roberta were of great consequence; and that a source of extraordinary satisfaction to him, from the first, had been his connection with a family which seemed to him ideal, and association with which made up to him for much of which his life had been empty.

A proof of this had been his invitation, through his grandfather, who had warmly seconded his wish, to Mr. and Mrs. Rufus Gray, to come and stay with the Kendricks throughout this Christmas party, precisely as they had done the year before.  To have Aunt Ruth preside at breakfast on this auspicious morning had given Richard the greatest pleasure, and the kiss he had bestowed upon her had been one which she recognized as very like the tribute of a son.  From her side he had gone to St. Luke’s.

“Good-bye, dear, for a few hours,” he whispered to Ruth, as he put her into the brougham, driven by the old family coachman, in which she had come alone to church.  “When I see you next I’ll be almost your brother.  And in just a few minutes after that—­”

“Oh, Richard—­are you happy?” she whispered back, scanning his face with brimming eyes.

“So happy I can’t tell even you.  Give my love, my dearest love, to—­”