The wild dance and frolic grew fast and furious, Brighter blaz'd the fire-flames, blue and hot, Then Nick in full chorus, with witches, uproarious, Shouted and sang like the spirit of Boreas, "My name is Terrytop, Terrytop." "Aye, and he kept shouting it as if he had lost his head with the drinking of too much of my beer. Then he jumped among the old witches, and such a sight!" He kicked the old witches and Bet the old dame, 'Till I laughed out aloud at the lark, Then he whirl'd and he came, in a reel, through the flame, "Go it, old Nick," said I, "you are worthy your name," And then--in a moment--'twas dark. And away galloped I, with the mare at full speed; With a din, the whole crowd followed fast; With old Nick in the lead, over moor and o'er mead, But I distanc'd them soon, for the mare knew my need, And now here I am, Duffy, at last. "Why doesn't 'ee laugh, Duffy?" said the squire. Duffy, who had turned pale at the mentioning of the little man's name, now regained her good spirits and laughed merrily and long, for she knew she was safe. The squire stretched out his limbs in weariness, for he had hunted far and wide and felt the need of sleep, so he soon retired. But not so Duffy, for she knew that in an hour or so the little man in black would come to claim his prize. First she said the Creed, and then she prayed, for she had resolved to become an exemplary woman could she escape the consequences of the rash vow she had made a year before. Then in the midst of her devotions there was heard the wild neighing of a horse without, and then the door, though shut with bolt and bar, opened, and in stepped the little man in black, bowing low, and yet with a cunning leer in his eyes. "I 'ave come for 'ee, Duffy," said he, "unless"--and he paused,--"unless ye can guess my name." "Terrytop!" said Duffy, with a confident look on her features. "Correct, m'lady," said Terrytop with a sigh of regret, and then with a sweep of his tail he was gone. * * * * * The droll ceased his tale and was greeted by a round of applause, for it was not only the story, but the manner of the harper, at one time frank, ruddy and jovial like Squire Lovell, at another time with a cunning leer like the man in black, at another time disdainful or tearful, fearful or glad, according to the mood of Duffy, that drew forth the appreciation of his auditors. He calmly sipped a bowl of punch, while the auditors entered into conversation, though expecting more tales when the harper had rested himself. CHAPTER XIV ST. GEORGE AND FAIR SABRA Blest as Immortal Zeus is he, The youth who fondly sits by thee, And gazes at the witchery trace Of gladsome laughter in thy face, The music of thy voice to hear, The incense of thy presence near.