"From her own hand. Passing there to-day, I thought I must stop a moment to speak to them, and had no notion of doing more; but Mrs. Marshman was very kind, and Miss Sophia in despair, so the end of it was, I dismounted and went in to await the preparing of that billet while my poor nag was led off to the stables and a fresh horse supplied me — I fancy that tells you on what conditions." "Charming!" said Alice — "to spend Christmas — I am very glad; I should like to, very much — with you dear. If I can only get Papa — but I think he will; it will do him a great deal of good. To-morrow, she says, we must come; but I doubt the weather will not let us; we shall see." "I rode Prince Charlie down. He is a good traveller, and the sleighing will be fine if the snow be not too deep. The old sleigh is in being yet, I suppose?" "Oh, yes — in good order. Ellen? what are you looking so grave about? you are going? too." "I?" said Ellen, a great spot of crimson coming in each cheek. "To be sure; do you think I am going to leave you behind?" "But" — "But what?" "There won't be room." "Room in the sleigh? Then we'll put John on Prince Charlie, and let him ride there, postilion fashion." "But — Mr. Humphreys?" "He always goes on horse-back; he will ride Sharp or old John." In great delight, Ellen gave Alice an earnest kiss; and then they all gathered round the table to take their chocolate, or rather to see John take his, which his sister would not let him wait for any longer. The storm had ceased, and through the broken clouds the moon and stars were looking out, so they were no more uneasy for Mr. Humphreys, and expected him every moment. Still the supper was begun and ended without him, and they had drawn round the fire again before his welcome step was at last heard. There was new joy then; new embracing, and questioning, and answering; the little circle opened to let him in; and Alice brought the corner of the table to his side and poured him out a cup of hot chocolate. But, after drinking half of it, and neglecting the eatables beside him, he sat with one hand in the other, his arm leaning on his knee, with a kind of softened gravity upon his countenance. "Is your chocolate right, Papa?" said Alice, at length. "_Very_ good, my daughter." He finished the cup, but then went back to his old attitude and look. Gradually they ceased their conversation, and waited with respectful affection and some curiosity for him to speak; something of more than common interest seemed to be in his thoughts. He sat looking earnestly in the fire, sometimes with almost a smile on his face, and gently striking one hand in the palm of the other. And sitting so, without moving or stirring his eyes, he said at last, as though the words had been forced from him, "Thanks be unto God for his unspeakable gift!" As he added no more, Alice said, gently, "What have you seen to-night, Papa?" He roused himself, and pushed the empty cup towards her.