fe was
beginning to shine out, and make him see how to do and to bear, with
that hope before him. The hope was becoming less vague; the resolution,
though not more firm, yet less desponding, that he would go on to
grapple with temptation, and work steadfastly; and with that hope before
him, he now felt that even a lifetime without Amy would be endurable.

The power of rejoicing came more fully at church, and the service
entered into his soul as it never had done before. It had never been
such happiness, though repentance and mournful feelings were ever
present with him; nor was his 'Verena' absent from his mind. He
walked about between the services, saw the poor people dining in their
holly-decked houses, exchanging Christmas wishes with them, and gave
his old, beautiful, bright smile as he received demonstrations of their
attachment, or beheld their enjoyment. He went home in the dark, allowed
Mrs. Drew to have her own way, and serve him and Bustle with a dinner
sufficient for a dozen people, and was shut up for the solitary
Christmas evening which he had so much dreaded, and which would have
been esteemed a misfortune even by those who had no sad thoughts to
occupy them.

Yet when the clock struck eleven he was surprised, and owned that it had
been more than not being unhappy. The dark fiends of remorse and despair
had not once assaulted him, yet it had not been by force of employment
that they had been averted. He had read and written a little, but very
little, and the time had chiefly been spent in a sort of day-dream,
though not of a return to Hollywell, nor of what Redclyffe might be with
Amy. It had been of a darkened and lonely course, yet, in another sense,
neither dark nor lonely, of a cheerless home and round of duties, with
a true home beyond; and still it had been a happy, refreshing dream, and
he began the next morning with the fresh brightened spirit of a man who
felt that such an evening was sent him to reinvigorate his energies, and
fit him for the immediate duties that lay before him.

On the breakfast-table was what he had not seen for a long time--a
letter directed to him. It was from Mr. Ross, in answer to his question
about Coombe Prior, entering readily into the subject, and advising
him to write to the Bishop, altogether with a tone of friendly interest
which, especially as coming from one so near Hollywell, was a great
pleasure, a real Christmas treat. There was the wonted wish of the
season-