person. A great fault can be forgiven. It is small
personal offences constantly repeated; little acts of meanness, and,
above all, the petty plans and provisions of a selfish nature. Besides
which, the soul has often marvellous intuitions, unmasking men and
things; premonitions, warnings, intelligences, that it cannot doubt and
cannot explain.

Inside the house there was a pleasant air and stir of preparation; the
rapid movements of servants, the shutting and opening of doors, the low
laughter of gay hearts well contented with the time and the
circumstances. Outside, the mesmerizing snow was falling with a soft,
silent persistence. The squire looked sadly at the white hills, and the
white park, and the branches bending under their load, and the sombre
sky, gray upon darker gray.

Last Christmas the girls had relied entirely upon his help. He had found
the twine, and driven the nails, and steadied the ladder when Sophia's
light form mounted it in order to hang the mistletoe. They had been so
happy. The echo of their voices, their snatches of Christmas carols,
their laughter and merry badinage, was still in his heart. He remembered
the impromptu lunch, which they had enjoyed so much while at work. He
could see the mother come smiling in, with constant samples of the
Christmas cheer fresh out of the oven. He had printed the verses and
mottoes himself, spent all the afternoon over them, and been rather
proud of his efforts. Charlotte had said, "they were really beautiful;"
even Sophia had admitted that "they looked well among the greens." But
to-day he had not been asked to assist in the decorations. True, he had
said, in effect, that he did not wish to assist; but, all the same, he
felt shut out from his old pre-eminence; and he could not help
regarding Julius Sandal as a usurper.

These were drearisome Christmas thoughts and feelings; and they found
their climax in a pathetic complaint, "I never thought Charlotte would
have given me the go-by. All along she has taken my side, no matter what
came up. Oh, my little lass!"

As if in answer to the heart-cry, Charlotte opened the door. She was
dressed in furs and tweeds, and she had the squire's big coat and
woollen wraps in her hand. Before he could speak, she had reached his
chair, and put her arm across his shoulder, and said in her bright,
confidential way, "Come, father, let you and me have a bit of pleasure
by ourselves: there isn't much comfort in the house to-day."