and gets into her clothes by degrees, and
presently runs down-stairs to the great old hall, where she finds her
father awaiting her.

He is standing at the upper end, with his back to the huge central
window, through which

"Gleams the red sun athwart the misty haze
Which veils the cold earth from its loving gaze."

A calm, clear light illumes the hall, born of the "wide and glittering
cloak of snow" which last night flung upon the land. At its other end
stand all the servants,--silent, expectant,--to hear what the master
shall say to them on this Christmas morning.

That George Peyton should refuse to address them on this particular
day is out of all hearing. His father, grandfather, and
great-grandfather had done it before him to the then servants;
therefore (according to the primitive notions of the county) he must
do the same. Yet it is undeniable that to the present proprietor this
task is a terrible one, and not to be performed at any price, could
escape from it be shown.

Eloquence is not Mr. Peyton's _forte_. To find himself standing before
an expectant audience, and to know they are prepared to hang upon his
accents, is not sweet to him,--in fact, fills him with terrors vast
and deep. Yet here they are awaiting his speech, in a goodly row, with
all their eyes fixed on his, and their minds prepared to receive
anything he may say.

He breathes a small sigh of relief as he sees Clarissa approaching,
and gives her his customary morning kiss in a rather warmer fashion
than usual, which has only the effect of raising mirth in Clarissa's
mind. She smiles in an unfilial fashion, and, slipping her hand
through his arm, awaits what fate may have in store.

Her father, when he has cast upon her one reproachful glance, turns to
the servants, and, with a heightened color and somewhat lame delivery,
says as follows:

"I am very glad to see you all again----" here he checks himself, and
grows a degree redder and more embarrassed. It occurs to him that,
after all, he saw them yesterday and the day before, and that it is on
the cards he will see them again to-morrow. Therefore why express
exuberant joy at the fact that he can see them at this present moment?

He glances, in a despairing fashion, at Clarissa; but she is plainly
delighted at his discomfiture, and refuses to give him any assistance,
unless a small approving nod can be accounted such.

Feeling himself, therefore, unsupported, he perforce, returns