‘Too much joy,’ said James, almost inaudibly.

‘I hope Walter may spend his holidays here,’ she pursued.  ’It is a great thing for him to be with any one who can put a few right notions into his head.’

Jem abstained from, as usual, proposing Fitzjocelyn for his example, but only said that Walter was very susceptible of good impressions.

‘And most heartily we thank you for all you have done for him,’ said Isabel, doubting whether Walter’s mother appreciated the full extent of it; ’indeed, we have all a great deal to thank you for.  I hope my sisters and I may be the better all our lives for the helps and explanations you have given to us.  Is that the last candle?  How beautiful!  We must open.’

‘Miss Conway—­’

’Yes’—­she paused with her hand on the key.

‘No, no—­do not wait,’ taking the key himself.  ’Yet—­yes, I must—­I must thank you for such words—­’

‘My words?’ said Isabel, smiling.  ’For thanking you, or being happy here?’

’Both! both!  Those words will be my never-failing charm.  You little guess how I shall live on the remembrance.  Oh, if I could only convey to you what feelings you have excited—­’

The words broke from him as if beyond his control, and under the pressing need of not wasting the tapers, he instinctively unlocked the door as he spoke, and cut himself short by turning the handle, perhaps without knowing what he was about.

Instantly Lady Conway and Miss King each pushed a folding leaf, Isabel and James drew back on either side, and the spectators beheld the tall glistening evergreen, illuminated with countless little spires of light, glancing out among the dark leaves, and reflected from the gilt fir-cones, glass balls, and brilliant toys.

‘Sister! sister!’ cried Miss Mercy, standing by Miss Faithfull’s chair, in the rear of the throng, and seizing her hand in ecstasy; ’it is like a dream! like what we have read of!  Oh, the dear little children!  So very kind of Lady Conway!  Could you have imagined—?’ She quite gasped.

’It is very pretty, but it was a nicer Christmas-tree last year at Lady Runnymede’s,’ said Louisa, with the air of a critic.  ’There we had coloured lamps.’

‘Little fastidious puss!’ said Louis, ’I thought you keeping in the background out of politeness; but I see you are only blasee with Christmas-trees.  I pity you!  I could no more be critical at such a moment than I could analyse the jewels in Aladdin’s cave.’

’Oh, if you and Miss Faithfull talk, Cousin Fitzjocelyn, you will make it seem quite new.’

‘You will deride the freshness of our simplicity,’ said Louis, but presently added, ’Miss Salome, have we not awakened to the enchanted land?  Did ever mortal tree bear stars of living flame?  Here are realized the fabled apples of gold—­nay, the fir-cones of Nineveh, the jewel-fruits of Eastern story, depend from the same bough.  Yonder lamps shine by fairy spell.’