It was Christmas-tide, when, from all parts of the British Isles, the trains are pouring London-ward, laden with turkeys, game, and geese, and all manner of good things; when the post-bags are filled with dainty Christmas cards that express good and kind thoughts; when the warmest wishes of the jocund season are exchanged by all who meet, even to those whose hands they do not clasp, though eye looks kindly to eye; when the sparrows, finches, and robins flock about the farmyards, and the poor little blue tomtits feel cold and hungry in the leafless woods and orchards; Christmas Eve--'whose red signal fires shall glow through gloom and darkness till all the years be done'--the season of plum-pudding and holly, mistletoe and carolling, and of kind-hearted generosity, when the traditional stocking is filled, and the green branches of the festive tree are loaded with every species of 'goodies,' for excited and expectant little folks; and 'once a year,' the eve that, of all others, makes the place of those whom death has taken seem doubly vacant, and when the baby that came since last Christmas is hailed with a new joy; the eve that is distinguished by the solemnity of the mighty mission with which if is associated; and when over all God's Christian world, the bells ring out the chimes in memory of the star that shone over Bethlehem; and even now they were jingling merrily in the old square English tower of Collingwood church, from whence the cadence of the sweet even-song, in which the voices of Clare and Violet mingled with others, came on the clear frosty breeze to the old Court, the painted oriels of which were all aflame with ruddy light, that fell far in flakes across the snow-covered chase. One voice alone was wanting there--the soft and tender one of Ida, who was unable to leave the house and face the keen, cold winter air. She alone, of all the gay party assembled at the Court, remained behind. Anxious to rejoin her, the moment the service was over in the little village church--the altar and pillars of which Clare and her friends, with the assistance of the gardener, had elaborately decorated: with bays and glistening hollies--Jerry Vane slipped out of his pew and hastened away through the snow-covered fields to where the picturesque masses of the ancient Court, with all its traceried and tinted windows gaily lighted up, stood darkly against the starry sky. Unusual anxiety agitated the breast of Jerry Vane on this night; the strange words and stranger manner of Ida had made a great impression upon him. That she respected him deeply he saw plainly enough; but her regard for him, if it existed at all, which he often doubted, at least, such regard as he wished, seemed merely that of a sister; and every way the altered terms on which they now were seemed singular and perplexing; and yet he loved her fondly, truly, and, when he thought of her shattered health, most compassionately.