forever out of the way--there need be no reserve, no
false shows, between hearts which had never ceased to trust each other,
though hers might have ceased to love.

Full of these anxious speculations, Le dressed himself and went downstairs
to the parlor, where all the family and friends assembled before
breakfast.

There he found them all, standing around the fire and chatting merrily
while waiting for the bell to ring.

He gave them all a general good-morning as he entered the room.

And then he saw Odalite!

She separated herself from the group around the fire, came to meet him,
placed both her hands in his, and--smiled!

The floors seemed to rock under Le's feet like the deck of a ship on the
ocean, so great was his emotion.

Why, this was the first time he had seen her smile since he had returned
from sea. And now she smiled frankly up in his face just as she used to do
before he went away.

And, oh! to him that smile seemed the promise of all blessed possibilities
in the future.

"Good-morning, Le!" she said, in the old, natural tone that he had not
heard for three years. "We are just talking about having in the fiddlers
to-night for the children to dance, and sending for little Rosemary Hedge
and the Grandiere girls and boys, and your particular friend, Roland
Bayard. But, Le, we will have to send the break all around to collect them
to-day. Will you go, Le?"

"Go--go!" said Le, a little confused by his surprise and delight at seeing
Odalite so cheerful. "Go--I will go anywhere in this world, or do anything
on earth you wish, Odalite!"

"That's my Le! I knew you would! So, now, dear father," she said, turning
to Mr. Force, "you need not go in person, nor send a servant on such a
very delicate errand as an impromptu invitation!"

"It is sudden," admitted Le.

"Oh, yes! You see, the poor, dear children, always have had their
Christmas Eve dance as long back as they can remember, and their friends
were always invited several days beforehand; but this year, on account--of
the late disturbance, Le--there! I will not allude to it again--nothing
was said about the dance until this morning, when I proposed it."

"You, Odalite?"

"Yes, I! Why should the dear children not have their annual dance? But it
is so sudden, Le, and some people--as a mere matter of detail, the
Grandieres--are such sticklers for etiquette that they might choose to
consider an impromptu invitation an impertinence unless it was give