But Raby lost all patience, and said, “There, I give this for the lady, and she’ll pay me next Christmas.”

The wassailers departed, and the Squire went to say a kind word to his humbler guests.

Miss Carden took that opportunity to ask Mr. Coventry if he had noticed the picture with its face to the wall.  He said he had.

“Do you know who it is?”

“No idea.”

“Did you read the inscription?”

“No.  But, if you are curious, I’ll go back to the dining-room, and read it.”

“I’m afraid he might be angry.  There is no excuse for going there now.”

“Send me for your pocket-handkerchief.”

“Please see whether I have left my pocket-handkerchief in the dining-room, Mr. Coventry,” said Grace, demurely.

Mr. Coventry smiled, and hurried away.  But he soon came back to say that the candles were all out, the windows open, and the servants laying the cloth for supper.

“Oh, never mind, then,” said Grace; “when we go in to supper I’ll look myself.”

But a considerable time elapsed before supper, and Mr. Coventry spent this time in making love rather ardently, and Grace in defending herself rather feebly.

It was nearly eleven o’clock when Mr. Raby rejoined them, and they all went in to supper.  There were candles lighted on the table and a few here and there upon the walls; but the room was very somber:  and Mr. Raby informed them this was to remind them of the moral darkness, in which the world lay before that great event they were about to celebrate.

He then helped each of them to a ladleful of frumety, remarking at the same time, with a grim smile, that they were not obliged to eat it; there would be a very different supper after midnight.  Then a black-letter Bible was brought him, and he read it all to himself at a side-table.

After an interval of silence so passed there was a gentle tap at the bay window.  Mr. Raby went and threw it open, and immediately a woman’s voice, full, clear, and ringing, sang outside: 

“The first Noel the angels did say,
Was to three poor shepherds, in fields as they lay,
In fields where they were keeping their sheep,
On a cold winter’s night that was so deep. 
Chorus.—­Noel, Noel, Noel, Noel,
Born is the King of Israel.”

The chorus also was sung outside.

During the chorus one of the doors opened, and Jael Dence came in by it; and the treble singer, who was the blacksmith’s sister, came in at the window, and so the two women met in the room, and sang the second verse in sweetest harmony.  These two did not sing like invalids, as their more refined sisters too often do; from their broad chests, and healthy lungs, and noble throats, and above all, their musical hearts, they poured out the harmony so clear and full, that every glass in the room rang like a harp, and a bolt of ice seemed to shoot down Grace Carden’s backbone; and, in the chorus, gentle George’s bass was like a diapason.