"It's a long look till Christmas, Eric; but, should the 'miscreator circumstance' not prevent; consider us with you; and, now good-night, you, and all; and a restful sleep."
"Good night, everyone," said Vaura, "pleasant dreams; my own dear uncle, good night," and with a soft, white hand on each cheek, her beautiful face is turned upwards for his kiss.
"Blanche, you little gambler, away with you," said her step-mother.
"Good night, Sir Tilton, think it over: and what merriment you will miss, and of how I shall miss you, if you don't come down with us."
"Don't think it possible just yet, but first day I can; with thanks, yours, good night."
And now the small baronet alone, and not yet inclined for rest, throws himself back in an easy chair, his hands in his pockets, and shoulders in his ears, thinks himself into such a deep thought that the clock striking two causes him to start.
"So late," he murmured, mechanically winding his watch. "What a reverie I have been in! three-quarters of an hour since they left me! Ah, Tilton, this wandering will never do, one cannot have everything, and the other one is true, and makes sure of me. What a ripe, rare loveliness; tut, tut, keep your eyes from her, my boy."
And he, too, has gone to the quiet of his chamber and leaves the room to silence and gloom, save for the fitful gleam of an expiring coal in the grate.