“Editha,” he said, striving to control the quiver in his tones, “to both of your requests I must repeat the inevitable ‘No;’ and for the first, I entreat you not to tempt me, for I cannot tell you how hard it is to refuse anything you ask me, and particularly in that way. As for the other there will be no need, I trust, for I have enough for all my present wants, and before that is gone I hope to be in a way to supply all future needs.” Editha sighed, but saw that his decision was unalterable, and so let the matter drop for the time. They chatted for an hour on various topics, and then Earle rose to take his leave. She longed to ask him to come again on the morrow to dine, as she had planned, knowing how lonely he would be when everybody else was so gay; but she knew that it would be no pleasure for him to meet Mr. Dalton in his present mood; but she did ask him to call whenever he was at liberty, and she added, with one of her charming smiles: “Uncle Richard’s books are all here; won’t you come and avail yourself of them whenever you like?” He thanked her with a look that made her cheeks hot again; and then she asked him to wait a moment and she would bring him his package. She was gone scarcely three minutes, and then came back with it in one hand, and the loveliest little bouquet imaginable in the other. It was composed of stiff holly leaves, with their glossy sheen and bright winter berries, clear and red, and vivid in their contrast. It was as lovely a bit of floral handicraft as Earle had ever seen, and his eyes lighted admiringly as they rested on it. “It is for you, Earle,” Editha said, simply, seeing his look, and handing it to him. “I made it for you this morning, hoping you would come to-day. You will not expect me to wish you a ‘merry Christmas;’ but,” in low, sweet tones, “I will say instead, ‘_Peace_, good-will toward men.’” Earle was too deeply moved to reply. He stood looking down upon the glossy red and green, a mist gathering over his eyes in spite of his manhood, and blessing her in his heart for those precious words which told him he had been remembered before he was seen. She had “made it for him that morning, hoping he would come to-day!” Her white fingers had put every shining spray in its place, and she had thought of him the while! Oh, why must he stand there with sealed lips, when he longed to say so much? She would not mock him with the usual Christmas formula; but what could have been sweeter or more appropriate than the gentle, low-spoken “Peace, good-will toward men?” He slipped the package into an inside pocket, never mistrusting that it had been tampered with, nor that its contents had unlocked for Sumner Dalton the door to a mystery which he had long sought to penetrate in vain.