Supper was spread in Dr. West’s private office; Hallam had obtained leave, and Ailsa expected him; Colonel Arran was in Washington and could not come, but the company was to be a small one at best—­Ailsa, Letty Lynden, Dr. West, Dr. Hammond, and Hallam were all who had been expected for Christmas Eve supper.

They waited for Hallam until Dr. West decided to wait no longer, saying that he was either stuck in the mud somewhere or had been detailed for duty unexpectedly.

So Ailsa lighted the Christmas candles, and the two young women in their fresh gray garbs, and the two civilian doctors in clean clothes, sat down before a rather thin roasted turkey.  But the bird proved tender and juicy, and it was beautifully cooked; and a glass of wine sent the colour into Letty’s pale cheeks, and straightened Ailsa’s drooping neck.

Candles, laurel branches, evergreens, bits of red ribbon, and flags made the office very gay and attractive.  Dr. West rose and delivered an unexpected speech, complimenting the ladies and praising their skill and devotion; then dinner began, and Dr. Hammond told about an intensely interesting operation, which made the negro waiter turn almost white.

“Christmas comes but once a year!” cried jolly Dr. Hammond, warming up.  “Let’s be merry!” And he told about another operation even more wonderful than the first; and Letty, catching a glimpse of the negro’s wildly rolling eyes, threw back her head and laughed.  It was the first genuine laughter of the evening, and rested everybody.

A few moments later there came a jingle of metal from outside, and Hallam walked in, his wonderfully handsome face aglow, and plenty of red mud frozen on his boots.

“I’ve a green orderly outside.  Where can I stow him?” he asked, shaking hands and exchanging preliminary Christmas greetings all around.

“I’ll attend to him,” said Ailsa, flushed and a little shy as she felt the significant pressure of Hallam’s hand and saw him glance at her ring.

“No,” he insisted, “I’ll see to him myself, if you’ll tell me where he can put the horses and find some supper.”

“Poor fellow,” said Ailsa.  “Tell him to stable the horses in the new barn, and go to the kitchen.  Wait a moment, Captain Hallam, I’d rather do it myself!” And she turned lightly and ran out to the dark porch.

The trooper holding Hallam’s horse:  sat his own saddle, wrapped to the eyes in his heavy overcoat, long lance with its drooping pennon slanting stiffly athwart the wintry wilderness of stars.

“Soldier!” she called gently from the porch.  “Stable, blanket, and feed; then come back to the kitchen, and there will be a good hot dinner waiting.”

The cavalryman slowly turned his head at the sound of her voice.  And, as he made no movement to obey: 

“There is the stable over there,” she said, pointing across the frozen field.  “Follow that gate path.  There’s a lantern in the barn.”