Mrs. Pennant heard very little from her other absent son, her darling Rees, although she wrote to him regularly. Indeed, as winter drew on, her letters became more frequent than ever, for the London papers published alarming accounts of a gang of skilful and desperate thieves, who, taking advantage of the foggy season, which was now at its height, waylaid well-dressed men even in much-frequented thoroughfares, and robbed them of everything of value they had about them, often with considerable violence. Rees’s answers to his mother’s letters were always very short; but he re-assured her as to his personal safety and also as to his prospects. He had got another situation, he said, better than the last, and was saving money. However, he sent home no proof of his altered fortune until Christmas, when Mrs. Pennant received from him a parcel containing a handsome fur collar and muff for herself and a beautiful chased silver clasp for Deborah. The girl took her gifts in silence, and interrupted by no comment Mrs. Pennant’s ecstasies. It was Christmas Eve, and Godwin, who was expected home, had already sent his presents. “Why, Deborah, Deborah, this clasp is the very thing for the mantle Godwin has given you!” “Yes, mamma,” answered the girl, quietly. But on the following morning, when she put on her new cloak to go to church with Mrs. Pennant and her sons, the clasp was not on it. The old lady remarked on this with some displeasure, thinking her eldest son’s gift despised. Deborah, however, steadily excused herself from wearing it, and there was a slight coolness in consequence between the ladies, which resulted in Mrs. Pennant walking with Hervey instead of with her adopted daughter, and leaving the latter to follow with Godwin. “Why won’t you wear Rees’s present, Deb?” ventured Godwin, diffidently, as they walked along. “No such luck as that you have give up thinking about him, I suppose?” “No,” answered the girl in a tremulous voice; “but don’t let us talk about Rees; I can’t tell you why, but I can’t bear it.” He walked on by her side, obediently changing the subject. Only just before they passed under the heavy porch of the old Norman church, he asked: “May I walk home too with you, Deb? I won’t talk about anything to--to worry you.” “Of course,” answered she, with a gentle and grateful smile. But when the service was over and the congregation poured out of the church, Deborah was seized and surrounded by the Llancader ladies, who had come to Monmouthshire to pass Christmas. Only Lady Marion was absent. Deborah inquired after her of Lady Kate.