Altogether it was a bad night for Neil, and he was glad when Anthony came in and he knew he might get up.  And thus it chanced that he was first in the dining-room, where he sat, gloomily regarding the fire, when Grey came in, followed in a moment by Bessie, whose sweet girlish lips, as she bade merry Christmas to the young men, did not look as if they could ever have emitted the sounds which were still ringing in Neil’s ears, and making him shudder a little.

“Oh, Mr. Jerrold,” she said to Grey after the morning greetings were over, “didn’t you almost freeze last night in that cold north room?  I thought of you when I was awake and heard the wind howl so dismally.”

“Never slept better in my life, I assure you; and I was far better pleased with the cold room than I should have been with the warm one,” Grey replied.

“Wha-at!” Neil exclaimed.  “Did you occupy the north room adjoining mine?”

“Yes,” was Grey’s reply; and crossing the hearth swiftly to where Bessie stood, Neil kissed her twice, as he said.

“I am so glad!”

If Grey occupied the room, then it was Grey who snored, and not Bessie, who again went into the scales with the ten thousand a year, and who looked up surprised, and a little displeased at this salute before a stranger.

Grey had wondered when he ought to present his Christmas gift, and glanced around the room to see if Neil’s was visible; but it was not, and he concluded to wait the progress of events.

Breakfast was late that morning, for Dorothy’s rheumatic feet and ankles were worse than usual, and locomotion was difficult and painful; but with Bessie’s assistance it was ready at last, and the family were just seating themselves at the table when there was the sound of a vehicle outside, with voices, and a great stamping of feet, as some one entered at the side piazza and came toward the dining-room.

“Mother; it must be mother,” Bessie cried, but Neil had recognized a voice he knew, and said, a little curtly: 

“It is not your mother; it is Jack Trevellian,” and in a moment Jack stood in the room, brushing the snow from his coat, and wishing them a merry Christmas as he shook hands with each in turn.

“Hallo, Jerrold, and Mack, you both here?  This is a surprise!” he said, as he saw the two young men, and something in his tone made the watchful Neil suspect that it was not altogether a pleasant surprise.

Nor was it.  Jack Trevellian had never been able to forget the soft blue eyes which had shone upon him in London, or the sweet month, with its sorry expression, which asked him not to play with the mother when he met her.  No matter where he was, those eyes had haunted him, and the low earnest voice had rung in his ears until at last he had made up his mind that he would see her once more, and then he would go from her forever, for it would be madness to ask her to share his small income.