It spoke something for Colonel Norton, that several days passed before he permitted himself to call at Bosbury. His passion for Hilary was no loftier than the rest of his _amours_. but something in the Vicar’s allusion to Lady Lucy had once more touched into life the better side of his nature, nor had he failed to note the womanly insight and sympathy in Hilary’s face when she had first heard of his loss. For very shame he could not just yet begin to weave his evil snaring net about her. But on Christmas Day, when it would hardly do to permit the soldiers to go out on a foraging expedition, he rode over to Bosbury, greatly exciting the congregation by entering the church in the middle of the _Te Deum_. Sprigs of holly and box were stuck at the end of every seat, and amid the greenery Norton was not long in discovering the face he sought, though only a profile was visible, framed in a dainty black velvet hood, bordered with white swansdown. He thought it was the most lovely face it had ever been his good fortune to see, and the pride plainly shown in the arched nostril and the poise of the head entranced him. Little Mistress Nell, with her pink-and-white prettiness and her fair hair, was altogether thrown into the shade by this beautiful Herefordshire maiden. The Vicar, with a considerate care for the anxious housewives and the family dinners, did not preach a long sermon, but said a few practical words as to the possibility of striving, even now, for peace on earth and goodwill to men. Great boughs of fir and festoons of trailing ivy mitigated the ugliness of Waghorn’s “good honest white glass” window, and as the familiar Bosbury carol, which had served Gabriel so well the previous year at Oxford, rang out cheerfully, the very spirit of Christmas seemed to pervade the place. Norton, who, with all his faults, responded quickly to some of the better influences in life, felt touched and softened. When he lingered in the porch to greet the Vicar and his niece, no one could have been more manly and attractive in tone and bearing, so that it was quite inevitable that the hospitable Vicar should press him to stay and dine at the Vicarage. And thus it fell about that the fateful turkey which had been the cause of that first encounter with Hilary, again appeared upon the scene, and was pronounced by the Governor of Canon Frome to be the finest bird that had ever provided a good Christmas dinner for hungry mortals. In the afternoon Hilary sang to them, and then it conveniently happened that a parishioner wished to say a few words to the Vicar, and Norton to his great satisfaction found himself _tête-à-tête_ with the singer. “I wonder whether you can guess what a red-letter day this will always be in my life,” he said, drawing a little nearer to her. “’Tis years since I had a quiet home Christmas like this, never once since the first Christmas just after our marriage.”