Ten days had gone by and no sign or word had Dorothy received, and Christmas-eve had come again. To no one had she ever spoken of the vow made down in Sallie Tom’s cabin a year ago, but all through the dreary days she had cherished it in her heart. Anne Carter was to spend the holidays at “White Point,” and in obedience to her, and with the secret hope that he would yet come, she had helped with the old-time decorations of Christmas green. Her sorrow must not make the others sad, she thought, and with brave unselfishness she tried hard to forget herself in them. For the first time since the Christmas a year ago, when they had all been home, she made Uncle Lias make a big fire in the library. The dining-room was also bright with a cherry glow, and she walked from first one window to the other watching the scene outside. The snow lay cold and deep and white, but the night was beautifully clear. The moon was shining almost magically upon the frozen earth, touching the trees with mystic splendor in their crystal decorations, and all the air was still, so still that the faintest echo could be heard.
“‘I never scorn an honest man,’ she answered.”
The time dragged on and still no sign came, or was given by Dorothy of what was so intensely filling her heart. Mrs. Tayloe sat in her accustomed place by the fire, but the weary hands failed to knit so rapidly as of old, and the sad, strained look upon her face told better than words of that of which she could not speak.
Anne worked hard to keep up the spirit of the season, and when to their intense surprise they heard the sound of bells outside and saw the Rev. Dr. Miles and family drive up, all felt a great relief. “I’ve come to bring good luck to you,” he said, shaking hands with Dorothy in his understanding, sympathetic way. “There’s no telling when these boys will turn up,” he added, trying to speak cheerfully, “so I thought I would come over and be on hand in case I was needed,” and the dear old parson patted her hands tenderly and softly. Everybody tried to be pleasant and look natural and easy, but it was a dismal failure, and when the clock struck ten Dorothy could stand it no longer. She slipped out on the long veranda at the back of the house, and leaned wearily upon one of its tall, straight columns. Down-stairs in the servants’ room Uncle Lias was playing softly on his old violin. The last notes of the “Suwannee River” died away upon the air, and then he began, low and soft and sad, the old, sweet song that almost broke her heart, “Home, Home, Home, Sweet Home,” quivered out upon the still frosty air, and such a longing for the old life that was gone, such a craving for the one she loved so well, came over her that she slipped down in the snow, and leaning against the railing buried her face in her hands, and prayed Him who alone could understand, to give back her home to her—for Bobbie was her home, her life, her all. She felt something fall and touch her dress, and looked up hastily; no sound broke the air—only that longing cry, “Home, Home, Home, Sweet Home,” yet she strained her eyes in the darkness; surely that was a shadow moving under the trees—a little bullet fell at her feet—she jumped up hurriedly and in a flash she knew. Down through the snow she fled, and out upon the air sounded softer and fainter: “Be it ever so humble, there’s no place like home.” She reached the tree and staggered, and Bobbie caught her—caught her and held her close. “I swore I’d come if alive,” he said, brokenly, “and I’m here, though at the last minute I came near missing it. Is it all right at the house?” He leaned against the tree through utter weakness, and Dorothy could only nod affirmatively to his question—the sudden joy had checked the power of speech. “I’ve brought some one with me I didn’t intend,” Bobbie went on. “We came near putting an end to each other, but stopped in time.” He nodded at a man standing back in the shadow, and the latter came forward and held his cap in his hand.
“I know it is very presumptuous,” he said, looking straight in Dorothy’s face, “but I was bound to see that ghost again, and I risked it.”
In sheer excess of happiness she held out her hands. “It’s the Lieutenant,” she cried; “don’t you know it’s the one who wanted you last year—Oh, Bobbie! Bobbie!”