In the mean time, the Christmas holidays were approaching. It was a season of gloom and mourning, mocked by the merry preparations of happier people. On the twenty-third day of December came Eleanor's nineteenth birthday. It was to have been her wedding-day. A glorious winter morning dawned; the sun shone in a sapphire sky; it seemed as if every plant in the conservatory put forth double bloom--the japonicas, the white roses, were incomparable. I could not help but linger about the house. Eleanor kept herself in her room. If every word which refers to her were written in tears, it could not express the feelings with which we all were moved with the thought of her bereavement. We moved about like people in dreams, silent and abstracted. The old housekeeper, when I met her on the stairs, was wiping her eyes with the corner of her apron. Mr. Argyll, unquiet and pale, wandered from room to room. The office remained closed; the front blinds of the house were shut--it was like the day of the funeral. I went into the conservatory; there was sunshine there, and sweetness--a bright luxuriance of beauty. It was more solemn to me than the darkened parlors. I plucked a white rose, holding it idly in my fingers. It was half-past eleven--at twelve the ceremony should have been performed. Mary came in while I stood there wrapped in emotion more than thought. Her eyes were swollen with weeping, her hands trembled, and when she spoke, her lips quivered: "She has taken out all the wedding apparel, for the first time since that day. She is dressing herself. She has put on the robe and vail; and now she has sent me down to make the bouquet. She wants some white flowers for her bosom. She stands before the mirror, putting on everything as carefully as if poor Henry--were--down-stairs. Oh, Richard," she cried, breaking down utterly in a burst of tears, and throwing herself into my arms, "it would break your heart to see her! It almost kills me, but I must get the flowers. It is best to indulge her." "Yes, it is best," I answered, soothing her as best I could, when my own voice and hands were so shaken. "I will help you. Don't keep her waiting." I took the scissors from her, cutting the fairest buds, the most perfect flowers, arranging them with care and skill.