Then Ellen, who was an excellent cook and a tough citizen, had the surprise of her life, for a slim, pretty girl sprang out of bed, threw her arms around the cook's portly form, and kissed the broad, red face. Rosie had her turn while Ellen was staggering under the shock. "Bless you both," said Belinda, looking at them through wet eyes. The cook opened and shut her mouth feebly, but her own eyes held a responsive moisture. "Aarrah, now, was it ez bad ez that?" she asked with rough gentleness. "We were thinkin' maybe we'd be so bold as to ask wud ye come down to the kitchen and have a drop av coffee and a bit av toast wid us. It's bitter cold the mornin' to be goin' out to an eatin'-house, and there's a grand foire in the stove." The invitation was accepted, and the guest stayed in the warm kitchen until Rosie's young man materialised. Then Belinda retreated to her own room, made her bed, tucked herself up snugly in the big chair, and once more turned to the consolations of literature. She was still grimly reading when, at eleven o'clock, Ellen tapped on the door. "If ye plaze, Miss, there's a man wud loike to be spakin' wid yez." Belinda looked blankly incredulous. Then a gleam of hope flashed across her face. By a miracle, Jack's boat might have come back--or somebody from home---- "Yis; he sez his name's Ryder." "Ryder?" echoed Belinda. "He wuz afther askin' fer Miss Ryder and Miss Emmiline furrst, and he luked queer loike when I told him they wuz gone away. "'Who's here, onyway,' sez he, sort o' grinnin' as if it hurt him. "'There's Miss Carewe,' sez Oi, 'wan av th' tachers.' "'Ask her will she see me fer a minute,' sez he; an' wid that I come fer yez." "What's he like, Ellen?" "Well, he's bigger than most and kind av gruff spoken, as though he'd as lave hit ye if he didn't loike yer answers; but it's nice eyes and good clothes he has. He's a foine figger av a man, and he do be remindin' me some way av Miss Ryder. I doubt he's a relation." Belinda was straightening her hair and putting cologne on her swollen eyelids. "I'll have to go down. Where is he?" "In the back parlour, Miss." "Did you raise the shades?" "Divil a bit. It's ez cheerful ez a buryin' vault in there." It was. John Ryder had grasped that fact as he sat waiting, upon one of the shrouded chairs. He turned up his coat collar with a shiver. "Lord, how natural it seems," he muttered. "They did the same sort of thing at home. Give me the ranch." The portière before the hall door was pushed aside and the man rose. He was prepared for a gaunt, forbidding, elderly spinster. He saw a girl in a dark blue frock that clung to the curves of the slender figure as though it loved them. He saw a waving mass of sunny brown hair that rippled into high lights even in the darkened room and framed a piquant face whose woeful brown eyes were shadow-circled. "Merry Christmas!" he said abruptly. "Merry Christmas!" Belinda replied before she realised the absurdity of it.