None were forgotten, not even Sir Howard, who was the recipient of a neat dressing-case.  As Lady Rosamond’s deft fingers wrought upon each article her mind was busy upon a far different, and, to her, important matter.  She longed for sympathy and advice.  Her father gave himself little concern regarding her ambiguously-written message.  He saw that his daughter was somewhat cold and indifferent to her cousin’s preference, but he expected that, on her return, she would readily agree to anything which met his approval.  Not wishing to repeat the sentiment of the letter thus described, Sir Thomas Seymour had considered moderation as the surest hope of success.  Having thus expressed his opinion to Lady Bereford, the Admiral was assured and confident.  On this Christmas season he had selected a costly locket, studded with diamonds, as a gift to Lady Rosamond, and dwelt, with loving pride, upon the many gentle qualities of the lovely girl; her happy prospects as Lady Bereford, adored by a fond husband, beloved by all.

Happy Lady Rosamond! in thy busy thoughts.  Dared we venture for thee an encouraging word, it would be “Every cloud has a silver lining.”

Christmas eve was a scene of stir and excitement.  Though work was done in a systematic manner, the unusual tasks of labor and love were hurrying upon each other with increasing rapidity.  The servant’s hall was not to be passed over at this joyous time.  Everyone, both family and servants, shared in the festivity.  How the graceful form of Mary Douglas flew from room to room, arranging some pleasing surprise, planning some little act of courtesy or civility.  The housekeeper’s room, stealthily invaded by bribing another domestic, becomes the hiding place of a handsome lace cap.  Each maid finds under her pillow a sovereign and some little trinket, as a ribbon, scarf or work box.

These were happy moments in the life of Mary Douglas.  In the performance of such acts of goodness she was truly happy.  This lovely girl was possessed of the united virtues of Sir Howard and Lady Douglas.  Free from the remotest clouds of sorrow or care, Mary Douglas was indeed to be envied.  Her father’s smile was of more value to his gifted daughters than the most flattering attention from the many admirers who vainly tried to receive the slightest sign of encouragement.

That Lady Rosamond often longed for the happy and contented hours of her companion—­for a like participation of uninterrupted and halcyon days, should form no ground for surprise.  “How I should like to tell Mary my trouble and receive her sweet counsel,” murmured the sad girl.  “I should feel the burden lighter to bear, but it would seem almost a sacrilege to invade upon such quiet harmony, for, with her sweet sympathizing nature, I know that Mary would grieve over my sorrow.  Dear girl, your Christmas shall not be clouded by me,” soliloquized Lady Rosamond, “I love you too deeply to wish you care like mine.  Ah, no, Mary darling, may you never know the depth of sorrow such as mine.”