The bright sun was shining into his room as I entered it on this Christmas morning: Roger stood brushing his hair at the glass. He looked very ill. "How can I look otherwise?" retorted poor Roger. "Two nights and not a wink of sleep!--nothing but fever and apprehension and intolerable restlessness. And you come wishing me a merry Christmas!" Well, of course it did sound like a mockery. "I will wish you a happier one for next year, then, Roger. Things may be brighter then." "How can they be?--with that dreadful weight that I must carry about with me for life? Do you see this?"--sweeping his hand round towards the window. I saw nothing but the blessed sunlight--and said so. "That's it," he answered: "that blessed sunlight will bring her here betimes. With a good blinding snowfall, or a pelting downpour of cats and dogs, I might have hoped for a respite. What a Christmas offering for my mother! I say!--don't go away for a minute--did you hear Uncle John last night about the brandy?" I nodded. "It is not that I _like_ drink, or care for it for drinking's sake; I declare it to you, Johnny Ludlow; but I take it, and must take it, to drown care. With that extra glass last night, I might have got to sleep--I don't know. Were my mind at ease, I should be as sober as you are." "But don't you see, Roger, that unless you pull up now, while you _can_, you may not be able to do it later." "Oh yes, I see it all," he carelessly said. "Well, it no longer matters much what becomes of me. There's the breakfast-bell. You can go on, Johnny." The rooms looked like green bowers, for we had not spared either our pains or the holly-branches, and it would have been as happy a Christmas-Day as it was a bright one, but for the sword that was hanging over Roger Bevere's head. Neither he nor I could enjoy it. He declined to go to church with us, saying he felt ill: the truth being that he feared to meet Lizzie. Not to attend divine service on Christmas-Day was regarded by Mr. Brandon as one of the cardinal sins. To my surprise he did not remonstrate with Roger in words: but he looked the more. Lady Bevere's dinner hour on Christmas-Day was four o'clock, which gave a good long evening. Roger ate some turkey and some plum-pudding, mechanically; his ears were listening for the dreaded sound of the door-bell. We were about half-way through dinner, when there came a peal that shook the house. Lady Bevere started in her chair. I fancy Roger went nearly out of his. "Why, who can be coming here now--with such a ring as that?" she exclaimed. "Perhaps it is Harriet's sister!" cried the little girl, in her sharp, quick way. "Do you think it is, Harriet?" "She's free enough for it," returned Harriet, in a vexed tone. "I told her she might come yesterday, Miss Tottams, my lady permitting it, but I did not tell her she might come to-day." I glanced at Roger. His knife and fork shook in his hands; his face wore the hue of the grave. I was little less agitated than he.