“I wouldn’t think that of your sister, Deb,” said Cary, with gentleness.  “Your sister isn’t cruel.  Don’t cry.”

“I’m not,” answered Deb, and put carefully away a wet ball of handkerchief.  “I hope you’ll like the schoolroom, Mr. Fairfax.  It’s all cedar and red berries, and Miranda’s and my dolls are sitting in the four corners.  It’s lovely weather for Christmas—­though I wanted it to snow.”

Major Edward, seated at an old desk, going over old papers, looked up as Cary entered the library.  A fire of hickory crackled and flamed on the hearth, making a light to play over the portrait of Henry Churchill and over the swords crossed beneath.  An old hound named Watch slept under the table, the tall clock ticked loudly, and through the glass doors, beyond the leafless trees, showed the long wave of the Blue Ridge.

“Is it you, Fair?” demanded the Major.  “Come in—­come in!  I am merely going over old letters.  They can wait.  The men who wrote them are all dead.”  He turned in his chair.  “Have you just come in?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Unity was here awhile ago.  She went through the glass door—­down to the quarter, I suppose.”

“I will stay here for a while, sir, if I may.  Don’t let me disturb you.  I will take a book.”

“You do not disturb me,” answered the Major.  “I was reading a letter from Hamilton, written long ago—­long ago.

“I met Deb in the driveway and we walked to the house together.  Poor little maid!  She is mightily distressed because she thinks there’s a lack of Christmas cheer.  I wish, sir, that she might have a merry Christmas.”

“We’ll do our best, Fair.  Unity shall make it bright.”

“The servants, too,—­I give mine the usual feast at Greenwood, and I’m going down to the quarter for half an hour.”

“The Carys make good masters.  In that respect all here, too, goes on as usual.  As for Deb, the child shall have the happiest day we can give her.”  He took from a drawer a small morocco case and opened it.  “She’ll have from Dick a horse and saddle, and I give her this.”  He held out the case, and Cary praised the small gold watch with D.C. marked in pearls.  “The only thing,” continued Major Edward wearily, “is that she cannot go to Roselands.  She has cried her heart out over that.”

“You declined the invitation for her?”

“Yes.  I made Dick do so.  She is growing into womanhood.  It will not answer.”

“Then, sir, Colonel Churchill must know—­”

“He doesn’t ‘know,’” said the Major doggedly.  “Nobody really knows.  We may be all pursuing a spectre.  I told Dick enough to make him see that Deb should not be brought into contact—­”