On a most delicious day late in December there is an air of unusual bustle and excitement over the manor. Outside the ground is covered with a deep mantle of glistening snow, and overhead the winter's sun shines cold and clear from out a vault of deepest blue. Within the house wood fires are blazing on every hearth, and the atmosphere is filled with the fragrance of fresh flowers which Helen's deft hands have just arranged in every available vase and bowl. Only yesterday the travelers from the other side arrived; Mrs. Appleton supremely contented to be once more at home; Guy, with the anticipation of his happiness lighting his whole face, and Jean sweet and brave as ever, but with a deep sadness in her eyes, and looking such a frail and slender figure in her close-fitting gown. Helen and Nathalie had gone to town to meet them, and had brought them to Hetherford; for on the morrow all the old friends were to gather at the manor for Christmas, and the girls wanted one long quiet evening with Jean before the arrival of their guests. This home-coming was very hard for poor Jean; harder than she had anticipated; and when the first little excitement of her meeting with Aunt Helen and the children was over, it required all her courage to keep her face bright and smiling, her voice gay and cheery. Everything spoke to her of Farr, and she sighed a little wearily, as she realized that all her journeyings had lessened not one whit the pain at her heart. As they gathered before the blazing logs in the drawing-room, just after dinner, to talk over all that had happened since they parted, Helen's loving heart detected the undercurrent of pathos which ran through all Jean's spirited accounts of her travels and adventures; and she was tempted to speak just the few words which alone could bring back the sunny light-hearted expression to Jean's face. She resisted the temptation, however, for she had given Farr her promise that his coming on the morrow should be a complete surprise. He was to come out on an early train, so as to secure a quiet hour with Jean before the manor was invaded by its other guests. And now he is almost due, and Helen's heart beats fast, and her eyes watch Jean's every movement as if she feared to let her out of her sight. All the morning they have been dressing the house with Christmas greens, and Jean stands on tip-toe to fasten the last wreath over the fireplace, when a ringing of sleigh-bells breaks the stillness of the snowy winter's day. Then there is a stamping of a man's feet on the veranda, and Helen opens wide the door to admit Valentine Farr. Jean's back is toward him, and there is just a brief instant while she adjusts the last nail to secure the wreath, before she turns. "What a draught. Why don't you close the----" she begins; then, turning, the hammer she is holding falls to the ground with a crash, and, her hand on her heart, her eyes wide-open and startled, she stands facing Valentine Farr.