Vaura woke from a late sleep as Saunders tapped at the door; slumber had only come to her by sweet snatches during the hours of the night; but she lay happy in the dreamy quiet; and the face of the man she loved was ever before her. On waking, as her maid knocked, her first feeling was that something was wanting; that something had gone out of her daily life, and she gave a long deep sigh. Then the sweet sense, that she was loved, came to her; not that the knowledge of this man's love was just come to her—she had known it for some time, but they had both reached that stage when mutual pledges of love were craved for, and which to fill their whole being with the fulness of content, with the fulness of a satisfied bliss, had become a necessity.
The first thing that met her eye on rising, were a few crushed flowers on the seat of her favourite chair. Tied around the stalks was a delicate point-lace handkerchief; on the tiny square of muslin was written, in the handwriting she knew so well, Vaura Vernon; among the blossoms were a few written words:
"My heart aches at leaving you without a word of farewell My brain is in a whirl. I feel as though I shall go mad if you give your love to another; save me by writing me. Writing! how cold. God help me!—Your LIONEL."
Capt. Trevalyon, not thinking to see Vaura, had, before going into the garden, gone to her boudoir, and placed this mute farewell on her chair.
"Now my darling knows," she thought as she pressed them to her lips.
There were warm Christmas greetings exchanged between the two women friends, on meeting in the breakfast room. When the servants were released from duty, duty, Lady Esmondet said:
"Dear Lionel has left us something to remember him, at least for to-day, Vaura, ma chere, see here," and she held up two vinaigrettes she had been admiring; on the cover to the stopper of one was the name "Alice Esmondet," on the other, "Vaura Vernon." Both bottles were small and both gold; on one side of Vaura's were the words, "I am weary waiting, L. T.," in very small letters, while a tiny wreath of forget-me-nots encircled the words; blue stones, inlaid, formed the flowers; round each was a slip of paper—with the words: "With love and Christmas wishes, from Lionel Trevalyon. For the crush at St. Peter's."
"Kind and thoughtful, for we shall feel his gift refreshing in the crowd," said Lady Esmondet.
"Poor dear, far away; we shall miss him on this bright Christmas morn," said Vaura, as she read the words, "I am weary waiting."
"But I am forgetting my gift to you, and one from dear Uncle Eric," and Vaura took from a small box a lovely locket, on one side was a miniature copy of Haughton; on the other the lovely face of the giver. "And this from Uncle for you came to me on yesterday;" and Vaura presented a photo of Col. Haughton.