It was within three or four days of Christmas, and sharp, beautiful weather. I have always since associated the deadliest scheming of Fate with such tranquillity. The robin, like a tiny phœnix, burned, singing on a spray. There was a glaze of rime on the ground, and the sweetest coldness to take into the lungs. The ringers were already practising their carols; the ruddiness of the holly was reflected in the genial cheeks of the wives; the prospect of holiday and fat fare smiled from every door. One had thought that the village, like its geese, had been gutted of the last foulness, and that Nature beamed approval. Alas! it is not the blackest thought that rides the storm. Nature, like the man, may “smile and smile and be a villain.” The younger Miss Fleming had made herself a sad misalliance, running away with the ostler, and coming to grief and indigence. But her fate had wrought no impression on her sister, who remained as pert and coquettish as ever, and wore the same gaudy finery and shoes down at heel. She always rather courted me because of Harry, of whom she was gigglingly enamoured, and who detested her. “Lork, Mr. Dicky!” she said, when I came in. “Is the old gentleman a friend of yours? I’m sure I’d have give him every attention if I’d known.” She was glancing fitfully, all the time she spoke, at a little lozenge of looking-glass which stood on the bar rack. “Whatever you could have spared from that, Tilly?” I said. “I’m sure I’m much obliged to you.” “O, get along!” she protested. “You’re always poking your fun at me!” And I made my way upstairs, as directed, to number seven. I found Joshua not yet out of bed when I entered to his summons. He sat up to greet me, like Lazarus new-risen--a wasted corpse-like little figure, white and grim and unshorn. But his face lighted rapturously at sight of me. “It was no dream, then!” he said, and lay back again, with a very gentle expression. I came and stood over him, and he nodded to me. “Richard, I shall lie abed to-day. This passion of luxury after the toil! Most restful, most wonderful! Yet the sickness is not out of my bones.” “You will do very well,” I said. “When you are rested, we must show you all there is of the place--the local lions, you know. To-night it is a Feast of Lanterns--rather fun. Do you think you could manage it?” And between question and answer he learned all about Mr. Sant, and Harry, and what remained untold of our simple history. It might have been Hume to him, so profound an attention he gave to it. “I shall like that Harry,” he said at the end; “and the sensible clergyman. Yes, I will come to the Feast, if you can find me a lantern.”