Just before turning in the great gate, they passed the little Gothic church, the scene of Estelle’s fatal bridal and subsequent arrest. This was the most painful of all the reminiscences awakened by his return to the neighborhood. The little church was open, and was dressed within and without with mistletoe and holly. And some of the most devout among the parishioners had assembled thus early to assist at Divine worship, and were now walking about and conversing cheerfully in the church-yard, while waiting for the hour of service to arrive. Several of the old men took off their hats to his lordship, as the carriage passed. But Lord Montressor could ill bear this scene with the graphic pictures of the past that it recalled. So bowing gently to their salutations, he quietly put up the blinds of the carriage, gave orders to drive faster, and then sunk back into his seat until they had entered the park. CHAPTER XXVII. CHRISTMAS IN THE DESOLATE HOUSE. “This holly by the mansion’s bourne, To-day, ungathered shall it stand, She dwells within the stranger’s land, And strangely comes our Christmas morn. “So neither song, nor game, nor feast, Nor harp be touched, nor flute be blown, Nor dance, nor motion, save alone What lighteus in the lucid east.”—_Tennyson._ Having passed the park gates, the whole scene was changed. No sign of Christmas festivity was here. No winter wreath of mingled misletoe and holly arched the entrance. No gay troops of village children carolled their Christmas song as they went up to the Hall to receive from the steward their Christmas gifts of cakes and shillings. All was quiet, sombre, gloomy, as though a recent death in the family had put the household and premises into mourning. The carriage entered the park by the “winter drive,” an avenue shaded entirely by gigantic evergreens, and for its continued verdure and close shelter used exclusively in the cold months by this comfort-loving family. Now these dark trees, with their branches meeting overhead, threw a funereal shadow over their way. As they neared the Hall, the gloom deepened. The dark gray front of the mansion was closed and silent. The carriage drew up in front of the great portal. The coachman got down, opened the carriage door, dropped the steps, and Lord Montressor alighted. The old man then went up and rang the bell, and to the grave footman that opened the door, said: “John, show his lordship into the black oak parlor, and take his orders.” John bowed, and as the old coachman withdrew, closed the door behind him, turned and with another bow led the way to a small, snug, but gloomy little sitting-room on the same floor, stirred the fire, drew forward an easy chair, and leaving him comfortably seated, went to take up the card.