"Here's to the health of all, and luck to-day," said the Baron; and
Geoffrey would have been quite happy if an earthquake had come and
altered all plans for the morning. Still he went through the form of
clinking goblets. But his heart ached, and his eyes grew hot as he sat
dismal and lonely away from his girl.

"Whom shall we ask to the wedding?" queried the Rev. Hucbald, rubbing
his hands and looking at the pitcher in which Sir Godfrey had mixed
the beverage.

"Ask the whole county," said Sir Godfrey. "The more the merrier. My
boy Roland will be here to-morrow. He'll find his sister has got ahead
of him. Have some," he added, holding the pitcher to the Rev. Hucbald.

"I do believe I will take just a little sip," returned the divine.
"Thanks! ah--most delicious, Baron! A marriage on Christmas Day," he
added, "is--ahem!--highly irregular. But under the unusual, indeed the
truly remarkable, circumstances, I make no doubt that the Pope----"

"Drat him!" said Sir Godfrey; at which the Chaplain smiled
reproachfully, and shook a long transparent taper finger at his
patron in a very playful manner, saying, "Baron! now, Baron!"

"My boy Roland's learning to be a knight over at my uncle Mortmain's,"
continued Sir Godfrey, pouring Geoffrey another goblet. "You'll like
him."

But Geoffrey's thoughts were breeding more anxiety in him every
moment.

"I'll get the sealing-wax," observed the Baron, and went to a cabinet.

"This room is stifling," cried Geoffrey. "I shall burst soon, I
think."

"It's my mulled Malvoisie you're not accustomed to," Sir Godfrey said,
as he rummaged in the cabinet. "Open the window and get some fresh
air, my lad. Now where the deuce is my family seal?"

As Geoffrey opened the window, a soft piece of snow flew through the
air and dropped lightly on his foot. He looked quickly and perceived a
man's shadow jutting into the moonlight from an angle in the wall.
Immediately he plunged out through the casement, which was not very
high.

"Merciful powers!" said the Rev. Hucbald, letting fall his quill and
spoiling the first invitation, "what an impulsive young man! Why, he
has run clean round the corner."

"'Tis all my Malvoisie," said the Baron, hugely delighted, and
hurrying to the window. "Come back when you're sober!" he shouted
after Geoffrey with much mirth. Then he shut the window.

"These French heads never can weather English brews," he remarked to
the Chaplain. "But I'll train the boy