Leonidas arose on the morning of Christmas Eve with one thought predominant in his mind: He should see Odalite—see her for the first time since that eventful day when her marriage with Angus Anglesea was broken at the altar.

How would she appear? How would she receive him? Would she consider his friendly and most delicate advance an intrusion?

He could not answer this question to himself.

Was she really reconciled to her fate? Or was she only, from a sense of honor and of duty, repressing her emotions?

He could not judge.

Her mother had told him that she was better in health and brighter in spirits than she had been for many weeks.

Was this real or assumed on her part?

He did not know; but he felt sure that he should discover the truth when he should see her.

Now that the villain who had come between them was entirely out of the way—forever and 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 given in the most particular manner—as by a member of the family going in person to fetch the invited guests. You understand?”

“Yes, I understand,” said Le, smiling broadly with delight.

The sound of the breakfast bell put an end to the conversation, and the whole party filed away to the breakfast table.

Immediately after breakfast Le set out in the “break”—a large, capacious, covered cart, or carriage, capable of holding a dozen people, and drawn by two strong draft horses.

Odalite mingled freely with the family that day, taking part in all the preparations for the evening dance, and entering with ready interest into all the children’s schemes of enjoyment.

“Oh, isn’t it jolly to have the house all to ourselves!” exclaimed Wynnette, who, mounted on the top of a step-ladder, was engaged in twining the mistletoe in and out among the branches of the chandelier that hung from the center of the ceiling. “It is awfully jolly—I mean it is truly comfortable—to have that scalawag—I mean that colonel—away. Odalite, I hope you won’t take it amiss, but I don’t mind telling you that I always felt crowded, not only while he was in the house, but even when he was in the country. And, oh, I know I should feel as if I had ever so much more room if he was off the face of this earth—in some other planet of some other solar system.”

Odalite looked all around the drawing room, and, seeing that she was alone with her next sister, whispered:

“And I don’t mind telling you, Wynnette, if you will keep it a profound secret, that I entirely share your feelings.”

“Oh—oh—oh! So them’s your sentiments—I mean these are your feelings? Well, I thought so. But to hear you say it!” exclaimed Wynnette.

“Do not speak of it to any one, dear,” said Odalite.

“Why not? I should be proud to proclaim it on the housetop.”

“Because, dear, no one could understand. They would think me a lunatic.”

“Oh! And you don’t mind telling me because I understand and will think you sensible? Not to any extravagant extent I don’t, though. I have not considered you just level—I mean compos mentis—since you consented to marry that puncheon—I mean officer. Hush! Here comes Jake!”

The negro entered, with an armful of holly, and the work went on in silence.

By noon all the decorations were completed, the litter of leaves gathered up, and the carpet covered with a tightly drawn linen cloth for the feet of the dancers.

The family took an early dinner, and dressed to receive their juvenile company, who were expected to begin to arrive in the afternoon.

Mrs. Anglesea, whose trunk came that morning from Forest Rest, arrayed herself gorgeously in a crimson brocaded satin, trimmed with black lace, necklace and bracelets of heavy California gold, and a brooch and earrings of burning carbuncles.

“None o’ your pale, sick pearls, or icy, chilly diamonds for me! I like gems with fire and color in ’em. I do!” she exclaimed, as she drew on a pair of yellow kid gloves over her plump hands, and sailed out of her room, to the great admiration of Luce, who was looking on.

The ladies of the family made some difference in their usual home dress.

Mrs. Force wore a navy-blue silk, with some fine lace on her neck and wrists, and no jewelry.

Odalite wore a white cashmere, trimmed with white satin, a pearl necklace and earrings.

Wynnette and Elva wore their bridesmaids’ dresses, with a difference—Wynnette with a coral necklace and earrings, and Elva with a turquoise set.

Miss Meeke wore a brown silk dress, with cameo ornaments.

They were all assembled in the parlor by five o’clock, waiting for their guests, who came a few minutes later.

First came the “break,” driven by Le, and loaded with little people presided over by one big one.

They scrambled and tumbled out in a hurry, and ran pellmell into the open door of the hall, where the girls were received with rapture by Wynnette and Elva, who took them upstairs to a well-warmed spare room, where they could lay off their wraps.

The boys were conducted by Le to his own room, to take off their mufflers and to brush their hair.

The simple toilets of the young people took but a short time to arrange, and in fifteen minutes from the time of their arrival they all filed into the drawing room and paid their respects to their host and hostess.

It was now half-past five, and growing dark outdoors.

There was no gas at Mondreer, but there were fine, large chandeliers in every room, and these were all fitted with wax candles, just lighted.

Three very large chandeliers, with quite a grove of wax candles, hung from the ceiling, and filled the drawing room with a mellow light that showed off to the best advantage the youthful beauty assembled there.

Besides the three lovely Force girls, there were the Grandieres—Sophy, Nancy, Polly and Peggy—four blooming lasses of ages ranging from ten to fourteen, and bearing to each other so strong a family likeness that they may collectively be described as plump, fair, rosy, blue-eyed and brown-haired. They all wore bright, blue merino dresses, trimmed with swan’s-down, and white carnelian necklaces.

With them were their brothers, Ned and Sam, two fine, well-groomed lads, respectively fifteen and sixteen years of age, rosy, blue-eyed and brown-haired, like their sisters.

These two handsome lads, after making their bows to Mr. and Mrs. Force, went to find Wynnette and Elva, to engage them for the first dance, to be in good time, although the negro fiddlers had not yet taken their places.