"Yes, sir," replied the farm-labourer, with a grin; "he seems to have an oncommon good twist of his own, wheresoever he belongs to." No more was said about the strange guest--who was an old man, with very white hair, which hung low over his eyebrows; and very white whiskers, which almost covered his cheeks. He had a queer, bird-like aspect, and a nose that was as sharp as the beak of any of the rooks cawing hoarsely amongst the elms of Hallgrove that snowy Christmas-day. After the dinner in the old hall, Lionel Dale and his guests returned to their own quarters; Mrs. Mordaunt and the three younger ladies walked in the grounds, with Douglas Dale and Sir Reginald Eversleigh in attendance upon them. Miss Graham was the last woman in the world to forget that the income of Douglas Dale was almost as large as that of his brother, the rector; and that in this instance she might have two strings to her bow. She contrived to be by the side of Douglas as they walked in the shrubberies, and lingered on the rustic bridge across the river; but she had not been with him long before she perceived that all her fascinations were thrown away upon him; and that, attentive and polite though he was, his heart was far away. It was indeed so. In that pleasant garden, where the dark evergreens glistened in the red radiance of the winter sunset, Douglas Dale's thoughts wandered away from the scene before him to the lovely Austrian woman--the fair widow, whose life was so strange a mystery to him; the woman whom he could neither respect nor trust; but whom, in spite of himself, he loved better than any other creature upon earth. "I had rather be by her side than here," he said to himself. "How is she spending this season, which should be so happy? Perhaps in utter loneliness; or in the midst of that artificial gaiety which is more wretched than solitude." * * * * * The rector of Hallgrove and his guests assembled in the old-fashioned drawing-room of the manor-house rectory at seven o'clock on that snowy Christmas-night. The snowflakes fell thick and fast as night closed in upon the gardens and shrubberies, the swift-flowing river, and distant hills. The rectory drawing-room, beautified by the soft light of wax-candles, and the rich hues of flowers, was a pleasant picture--a picture which was made all the more charming by the female figures which filled its foreground. Chief among these, and radiant with beauty and high spirits, was Lydia Graham. She had contrived to draw Lionel Dale to her side. She was seated by a table scattered with volumes of engravings, and he was bending over her as she turned the leaves.