g at the head, introduced another, and then another
sword-dancer, all attired like the first, until there were five marching
round and round, each with his sword upright.

Then Foxey sang, to a violin accompaniment,

"Now, fiddler, then, take up thy fiddle,
Play the lads their hearts' desire,
Or else we'll break thy fiddle,
And fling thee a-back o' the fire."

On this the fiddler instantly played a dance-tune peculiar to this
occasion, and the five sword-dancers danced by themselves in a ring,
holding their swords out so as to form a cone.

Then a knot, prepared beforehand, was slipped over the swords, and all
the swords so knotted were held aloft by the first dancer; he danced in
the center awhile, under the connected swords, then deftly drew his own
sword out and handed it to the second dancer; the second gave the third
dancer his sword, and so on, in rotation, till all the swords were
resumed.

Raby's eyes sparkled with delight at all this, and he whispered his
comments on the verses and the dance.

"King George!" said he. "Bosh! This is the old story of St. George and
the Dragon, overburdened with modern additions." As to the dance, he
assured her that, though danced in honor of old Christmas, it was older
than Christianity, and came from the ancient Goths and Swedes.

These comments were interrupted by a man, with a white face, who burst
into the assembly crying, "Will ye believe me now? Cairnhope old church
is all afire!"

CHAPTER XIV.

"Ay, Squire," said Abel Eaves, for he was the bearer of this strange
news, "ye wouldn't believe ME, now come and see for yourself."

This announcement set all staring; and George the blacksmith did
but utter the general sentiment when, suddenly dropping his assumed
character of King George, he said, "Bless us and save us! True Christmas
Eve; and Cairnhope old church alight!"

Then there was a furious buzz of tongues, and, in the midst of it Mr.
Raby disappeared, and the sword-dancers returned to the kitchen, talking
over this strange matter as they went.

Grace retired to the drawing-room followed by Coventry.

She sat silent some time, and he watched her keenly.

"I wonder what has become of Mr. Raby?"

Mr. Coventry did not know.

"I hope he is not going out."

"I should think not, it is a very cold night; clear, but frosty."

"Surely he would never go to see."

"Shall I inquire?"

"No; but that might put it into his hea