At half past eight, Sally Carteret, in the big family carriage, came for Betty, and the two girls drove over to Red Plains. The ball was a replica of the dance at Marrowbone. It is not often in life that one can live over so much as a single hour of happiness, but Betty lived over a whole evening of joy. There was Fortescue, who claimed her hand ruthlessly for many dances, and his brother officers, who were scarcely less fascinating to Betty, and the University students, who assumed great intimacy upon short acquaintance, and old friends, with whom she had danced at dancing school. And there was the same merriment and the same music--Isaac Minkins and Uncle Cesar with their fiddles, and the colored youth with his "lap organ"--and the same kind of supper, the same kind of eggnog, and the same songs, and the same hearty Christmas spirit. The dance, though, did not last so late, as the hunt would begin early in the morning, and Betty was back at Holly Lodge and in bed by two o'clock. She had warned Aunt Tulip not to disturb herself so early to make a fire for Betty to dress by, but to send Kettle. At half past five, Kettle knocked at Betty's door, and in two minutes a gorgeous fire called Betty from her bed. At six o'clock in the wintry morning, just as Betty was pulling on her gauntlets, she heard the tramp of horses' hoofs under her window. Uncle Cesar had the side-saddle ready, and when Betty went downstairs, Fortescue was tightening the girths on Birdseye. As the Colonel was not there to watch, Fortescue, in the darkness, took Betty's slender waist in his hands and swung her, by the modern fashion, into the saddle. Although it was still cold, the icy grip had moderated a little, and the ground was clear. Betty and Fortescue galloped along in the ghostly darkness, saying little, but with a delightful feeling of nearness and aloneness.