besieging
disturbance from the fortress of his calm visage and bearing, as a
bold and haughty youth should do, yet he could scarcely hold his
finger steady as it pointed to the blackened carcase. Then all at once
his eyes met those of Elaine where she watched from her window, and
relief and joy rushed through him. He stretched his arms towards her,
not caring who saw, and the look she sent him with a smile drove all
surrounding things to an immeasurable distance away.

"Here indeed," Father Anselm repeated, "is a miracle. Lo, the empty
shell! The snake hath shed his skin."

"This is very disappointing," said Sir Godfrey, bewildered. "Is there
no dragon to roast?"

"The roasting," replied the Abbot, impressively, "is even now begun
for all eternity." He stretched out an arm and pointed downward
through the earth. "The evil spirit has fled. The Church hath taken
this matter into her own hands, and claims yon barren hide as a
relic."

"Well,--I don't see why the Church can't let good sport alone,"
retorted Sir Godfrey.

"Hope she'll not take to breaking up my cock-fights this way,"
muttered the Count de Gorgonzola, sulkily.

"The Church cares nothing for such profane frivolities," observed
Father Anselm with cold dignity.

"At all events, friends," said Sir Godfrey, cheering up, "the country
is rid of the Dragon of Wantley, and we've got a wedding and a
breakfast left."

Just at this moment a young horseman rode furiously into the
court-yard.

It was Roland, Sir Godfrey's son. "Great news!" he began at once.
"Another Crusade has been declared--and I am going. Merry Christmas!
Where's Elaine? Where's the Dragon?"

Father Anselm's quick brain seized this chance. He and his monks
should make a more stately exit than he had planned.

"See," he said in a clear voice to his monks, "how all is coming true
that was revealed to me this night! My son," he continued, turning to
young Roland, "thy brave resolve reached me ere thou hadst made it.
Know it has been through thee that the Dragon has gone!"

Upon this there was profound silence.

"And now," he added solemnly, "farewell. The monks of Oyster-le-Main
go hence to the Holy Land also, to battle for the true Faith. Behold!
we have made us ready to meet the toil."

His haughty tones ceased, and he made a sign. The gray gowns fell to
the snow, and revealed a stalwart, fierce-looking crew in black
armour. But the Abbot kept his gray gown.

"You'll stay for the w