I was glad to see that Miss Hamilton was at the early service.  She looked pale and delicate, but there was a brighter look upon her face when she nodded to me in the porch.  Her brother was putting her into a fly, and Miss Darrell and Lady Betty followed.

I was rather surprised to see him close the door after them and step back into the porch.  And the next moment he joined us.

‘Well, Miss Garston,’ holding out his hand, with a friendly smile, ’you see Gladys contrived to have her way.  A happy Christmas to you!  But I see you are not alone,’ looking rather inquisitively at Jill, who looked very big and shy as usual.

‘I think you have heard of my cousin Jocelyn?’ I returned, without entering into any further particulars.  I should have been sorry for Jill’s escapade to reach Mr. Hamilton’s ears.  But he shook hands with her at once, and said, very pleasantly, that he had heard of her from Mr. Cunliffe.  And then, after a few more words, we parted.

Mr. Hamilton was unusually genial this morning.  There was nothing in his manner to recall our stormy interview on the previous evening.  Perhaps he wished to efface the recollection from my memory, for there was something significant in his smile, as though we perfectly understood each other.

I had lain awake for a long time thinking over Mrs. Maberley’s talk and that uncomfortable walk from Maplehurst.  Mr. Hamilton’s voice and words haunted me; the suppressed irritation and pain that almost mastered him, and how he had flung away from me in the darkness.

I was glad to remember that I had called him back and spoken a conciliatory word.  No doubt he had been to blame.  I could imagine him hard and bitter to a fault.  But he had suffered; there were lines upon his face that had been traced by no common experience.  No, it was not for me to judge him.  As he said, what could I know of a man’s nature?  And I was still more glad when I saw Mr. Hamilton in the church porch, and knew that the day’s harmony was not disturbed, and that there was peace between us.  His bright, satisfied smile made me feel more cheerful.

‘What a strange-looking man!’ observed Jill, in rather a grumbling voice, as we walked up the hill.  ’Is that Mr. Hamilton?  I thought he was young; but he is quite old, Ursula.’

‘No, dear, not more than three-or four-and-thirty, Uncle Max says.’

‘Well, I call that old,’ returned Jill, with the obstinacy of sixteen.  ’He is an old bachelor, too, for of course nobody wants to marry him; he is too ugly.’

’Oh, Jill, how absurd you are!  Mr. Hamilton is not ugly at all.  You will soon get used to his face.  It is only rather peculiar.’  And I quite meant what I said, for I had got used to it myself.

‘Humph!’ observed Jill significantly.  But she did not explain the meaning of her satirical smile, and I proceeded to call her attention to the hoar-frost that lay on the cottage roof, and the beauty of the clear winter sky.  ‘It is a glorious Christmas morning,’ I finished.