Upon this Mr. Raby rose, and, without giving her any option on the matter, handed her to the door with obsolete deference.
In the drawing-room she found a harpsichord, a spinet, and a piano, all tuned expressly for her. This amused her, as she had never seen either of the two older instruments in her life. She played on them all three.
Mr. Raby had the doors thrown open to hear her.
She played some pretty little things from Mendelssohn, Spohr, and Schubert.
The gentlemen smoked and praised.
Then she found an old music-book, and played Hamlet's overture to Otho, and the minuet.
The gentlemen left off praising directly, and came silently into the room to hear the immortal melodist. But this is the rule in music; the lips praise the delicate gelatinous, the heart beats in silence at the mighty melodious.
Tea and coffee came directly afterward, and ere they were disposed of, a servant announced "The Wassailers."
"Well, let them come in," said Mr. Raby.
The school-children and young people of the village trooped in, and made their obeisances, and sang the Christmas Carol--
"God rest you, merry gentlemen, Let nothing you dismay."
Then one of the party produced an image of the Virgin and Child, and another offered comfits in a box; a third presented the wassail-cup, into which Raby immediately poured some silver, and Coventry followed his example. Grace fumbled for her purse, and, when she had found it, began to fumble in it for her silver.
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 ****** 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.
"They looked up and saw a star That shone in the East beyond them far, And unto the earth it gave a great light, And so it continued both day and night.
Chorus--Noel, Noel, Noel, Noel, Born is the King of Israel."
As the Noel proceeded, some came in at the window, others at the doors, and the lower part of the room began to fill with singers and auditors.
The Noel ended: there was a silence, during which the organ was opened, the bellows blown, and a number of servants and others came into the room with little lighted tapers, and stood, in a long row, awaiting a signal from the Squire.
He took out his watch, and, finding it was close on twelve o'clock, directed the doors to be flung open, that he might hear the great clock in the hall strike the quarters.
There was a solemn hush of expectation, that made the sensitive heart of Grace Carden thrill with anticipation.
The clock struck the first quarter--dead silence; the second--the third--dead silence.
But, at the fourth, and with the first stroke of midnight, out burst the full organ and fifty voices, with the "Gloria in excelsis Deo;" and, as that divine hymn surged on, the lighters ran along the walls and lighted the eighty candles, and, for the first time, the twelve waxen pillars, so that, as the hymn concluded, the room was in a blaze, and it was Christmas Day.
Instantly an enormous punch-bowl was brought to the host. He put his lips to it, and said, "Friends, neighbors, I wish you all a merry Christmas." Then there was a cheer that made the whole house echo; and, by this time, the tears were running down Grace Carden's cheeks.
She turned aside, to hide her pious emotion, and found herself right opposite the picture, with this inscription, large and plain, in the blaze of light--
