ant visit. There has been a great sensation at Wantley. The
country folk are aroused; the farmers have discovered that the secret
of our legend has been revealed to Miss Elaine. Not one of the clowns
would have dared reveal it himself, but all rejoice in the bottom of
their hearts that she knows it, and chooses to risk battle with the
Dragon. Their honest Saxon minds perceive the thrift of such an
arrangement. Therefore there is general anxiety and disturbance to
know if Sir Godfrey will permit the conflict. The loss of his
Malvoisie tried him sorely,--but he remains a father."

"That's kind in him," said Hubert.

Sir Francis turned a cold eye on Hubert. "As befits a clean-blooded
man," he proceeded, "I have risen at the dawn and left you wine-pots
in your thick sleep. From the wood's edge over by Wantley I've watched
the Baron come eagerly to an upper window in his white night-shift.
And when he looks out on Mistletoe and sees she is not devoured, he
bursts into a rage that can be plainly seen from a distance. These six
mornings I laughed so loud at this spectacle, that I almost feared
discovery. Next, the Baron visits his daughter, only to find her food
untasted and herself silent. I fear she is less of a fool than the
rest. But now his paternal heart smites him, and he has let her out.
Also the Governess is free."

"Such a girl as that would not flinch from meeting our Dragon," said
Hubert; "aye, or from seeking him."

"She must never meet the Dragon," Sir Francis declared. "What could I
do shut up in the crocodile, and she with a sword, of course?"

They were gloomily silent.

"I could not devour her properly as a dragon should. Nor could I carry
her away," pursued Sir Francis.

Here Hubert, who had gone to the window, returned hastily, exclaiming,
"They are coming!"

"Who are coming?" asked several.

"The Baron, his daughter, the Governess, and all Wantley at their
backs, to ask our pious advice," said the Grand Marshal. "Quick, into
your gowns, one and all! Be monks outside, though you stay men
underneath." For a while the hall was filled with jostling gray
figures entangled in the thick folds of the gowns, into which the
arms, legs, and heads had been thrust regardless of direction; the
armour clashed invisible underneath as the hot and choked members of
the Guild plunged about like wild animals sewed into sacks, in their
struggles to reappear in decent monastic attire. The winged crocodile
was kicked