At the Christmas last past the custom had been broken, for young
Holmes had been abroad. Previous to that, they had all been
children, excepting him. But now that they were to meet again, they
were no longer children. Elizabeth, at any rate, was not so, for
she had already counted nineteen winters. And Isabella Holmes was
coming. Now Isabella was two years older than Elizabeth, and had
been educated in Brussels; moreover she was comparatively a stranger
at Thwaite Hall, never having been at those early Christmas
meetings.

And now I must take permission to begin my story by telling a lady's
secret. Elizabeth Garrow had already been in love with Godfrey
Holmes, or perhaps it might be more becoming to say that Godfrey
Holmes had already been in love with her. They had already been
engaged; and, alas! they had already agreed that that engagement
should be broken off!

Young Holmes was now twenty-seven years of age, and was employed in
a bank at Liverpool, not as a clerk, but as assistant-manager, with
a large salary. He was a man well to do in the world, who had money
also of his own, and who might well afford to marry. Some two years
since, on the eve of leaving Thwaite Hall, he had with low doubting
whisper told Elizabeth that he loved her, and she had flown
trembling to her mother. "Godfrey, my boy," the father said to him,
as he parted with him the next morning, "Bessy is only a child, and
too young to think of this yet." At the next Christmas Godfrey was
in Italy, and the thing was gone by,--so at least the father and
mother said to each other. But the young people had met in the
summer, and one joyful letter had come from the girl home to her
mother. "I have accepted him. Dearest, dearest mamma, I do love