Ten days had gone by and no sign or word had Dorothy received, and Christmas-eve had come again. To no one had she ever spoken of the vow made down in Sallie Tom’s cabin a year ago, but all through the dreary days she had cherished it in her heart. Anne Carter was to spend the holidays at “White Point,” and in obedience to her, and with the secret hope that he would yet come, she had helped with the old-time decorations of Christmas green. Her sorrow must not make the others sad, she thought, and with brave unselfishness she tried hard to forget herself in them. For the first time since the Christmas a year ago, when they had all been home, she made Uncle Lias make a big fire in the library. The dining-room was also bright with a cherry glow, and she walked from first one window to the other watching the scene outside. The snow lay cold and deep and white, but the night was beautifully clear. The moon was shining almost magically upon the frozen earth, touching the trees with mystic splendor in their crystal decorations, and all the air was still, so still that the faintest echo could be heard. [Illustration: “‘I never scorn an honest man,’ she answered.”] The time dragged on and still no sign came, or was given by Dorothy of what was so intensely filling her heart. Mrs. Tayloe sat in her accustomed place by the fire, but the weary hands failed to knit so rapidly as of old, and the sad, strained look upon her face told better than words of that of which she could not speak.