"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 G.o.dfrey.

"Hope she'll not take to breaking up my c.o.c.k-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 G.o.dfrey, 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 G.o.dfrey'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 wedding?" inquired Sir G.o.dfrey of him.

"Our duty lies to the sea. Farewell, for I shall never see thy face again."

He turned. Hubert gathered up the hide of the crocodile and threw a friendly glance back at Geoffrey. Then again raising their song, the black band slowly marched out under the gate and away over the snow until the ridge hid them from sight, and only their singing could be heard in the distant fields.

"Well," exclaimed Sir G.o.dfrey, "it's no use to stand staring. Now for the wedding! Mistletoe, go up and tell Miss Elaine. Hucbald, tell the organist to pipe up his music. And as soon as it's over we'll drink the bride's health and health to the bridegroom. 'Tis a lucky thing that between us all the Dragon is gone, for there's still enough of my Burgundy to last us till midnight. Come, friends, come in, for everything waits your pleasure!"

[Ill.u.s.tration]

L'ENVOI

Reader, if thou hast found thy Way thus far, Sure then I've writ beneath a lucky Star; And Nothing so becomes all Journeys' Ends As that the Travellers should part as Friends.