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."

Lady Rosamond stood before her mirror to place a tiny rosebud in the
raven hair that encircled her stately head in luxuriant coils. Slight
and graceful in form, she saw indeed a pretty picture reflected there.
It seemed to mock her with pitying gaze. Her black silk dress revealed
the snowy whiteness of her beautifully rounded shoulders and arms, pure
as the marble mantel upon which she rested. The costly locket, with its
flashing diamonds, suspended by a heavy gold chain, rested upon her
bosom. She thought of her father's kindness as she placed his gift to
her lips, exclaiming, "Poor, dear papa, how I should like to see him
to-night; I love him so fondly. If he knew what I am suffering perhaps
he might relent. No doubt he is lonely to-night and wishing to see his
'only little girl,' as he lovingly calls me."

Presently Lady Rosamond was formally ushered into the apartment where
the company, comprising the family and a few intimate friends, were
assembled to divest the Christmas tree of its gay clothing and
appendages.

As a veritable Santa Claus presented each present, the all-important
Johnnie was ready to exclaim: "Thank old Sandy for that, can't you? What
a hale old chap is Sandy!" Turning to Lieutenant Trevelyan, the
incorrigible ventured to ask who might be Sandy's tailor?

When among the presents a tiny case, lined with white velvet, revealed a
jewelled cross of exquisite design, Sir Howard exclaimed gaily, "Lady
Rosamond, a coincidence--the cross fol