But presently it cleared again, and no further allusion was made to bygone times. Nor did Webster during this visit make any allusion to the unchanged feelings of his heart. They parted as friends part, who know and feel the truth of that much-belied word. May knew how true a friend Ralph Webster had been to her, how unselfish and self-sacrificing, and she had not forgotten that parting before her second marriage with poor John Temple. She had understood something of his true feelings then, and perhaps a subtle instinct told her he was not one to change. And before he went, he promised to return. "May I come down for Christmas?" he said, and May softly answered, "Yes." And when Christmas came, a snowy Christmas, when all the outside world was white, and at the Hall the laurels and fir-trees were weighed down with the frozen rain, and the gates blocked with the sloping drifts, Webster arrived. His aunts hurried into the hall to welcome the chilled traveler, and a little behind them stood the gracious black-clad figure for whom Webster's eyes eagerly sought. Then May also went forward with a welcoming smile, and the two clasped each other's hands and exchanged good wishes, and Webster knew they were no empty words. He arrived on Christmas Eve, and May had her two young brothers staying with her, and the boys had made the hall and the rooms bright with holly. Their presence, too, made the house more cheerful, for their young voices rang with the tones that had known no grief. Webster was soon on the most friendly terms with them, and the next morning went with them out amongst the snow, and came back, his fond aunts declared, "looking quite like a boy." But it was not the snow nor the frost that made Webster's eyes bright and glad. It was a sort of inward consciousness that the fair woman he loved was not utterly indifferent to him. Yet he never had an opportunity of speaking to her alone. Mr. and Mrs. Churchill came to dinner, and as Mr. Churchill sat opposite his daughter at the foot of the table it seemed to him that his cup of prosperity was nearly full, and he could not resist glancing occasionally, somewhat triumphantly, at his wife, who on the whole felt rather subdued. Mr. Churchill also invited Webster over to Woodside on the following day, but he declined. "I am leaving to-morrow," he said. "My brief holiday will soon be ended." But before he left he spoke the words to May that he had been intending to say. They were standing together in the afternoon, gazing out on the snowy landscape, when he turned round and looked steadfastly at her sweet, pensive face. "I shall be leaving in less than an hour, May," he said. "Will you give me something to take away with me?" "What shall I give you?" asked May, in a low tone. "Give me hope," answered Webster; "the hope that some day I may win what to me is the dearest gift of life."