That animal had become on a sudden wide awake, and his full, piercing, lion-like eye, was no longer dull, heavy, and torpid. The dog's whole frame became animated, and he growled with a most discontented grumble at the attention shown to the beggar. The man was, as most well-initiated beggars are, well versed in words, both of complaint, entreaty, thankfulness, and murmuring, and knew how to adapt his speech to the company he was in. The very instant, however, that he spoke in such a plaintive interceding way, Saracen, the bloodhound, gave such a deep-toned, dissatisfied bark, that, had a lion roared in the hall, the people could not have been more effectually startled. It had the effect of turning all eyes upon the beggar, who assuredly was more disturbed at the confronting stare of the bloodhound, than at the scrutiny of any of the company before him. His was no dissembled terror at the dog, for he evidently betrayed such a fear of him, both in word and deed, that the Lord De Freston was compelled either to remove the beggar from the dog, or the dog from the beggar. The latter appeared the most hospitable step, and the one most satisfactory to the beggar, who smiled when he saw his dreaded enemy led off to his kennel. That enemy, however, could not be taken away without giving such an indication of his displeasure as, but for the interference of De Freston, would probably have been of the most serious consequence; for, as the two keepers came to lead him away, before they had fairly secured them, he flew at the beggar, and rolled him off his seat in a moment, and then looked at his master as if for instructions to destroy him. De Freston struck the dog, who gave such a piteous howl, as pierced the very extreme recesses of the castle, and so touched the heart of Ellen that she flew to soothe her favorite, and succeeded. She, in fact, led him away from the victim of his rage. There were many in that hall who looked upon the circumstance as ominous of calamity, though the Lord De Freston, despising all such old wives' fables, was above any superstitions of the kind. The fool, however, though not superstitious, saw something abhorrent in the beggar, and resolved to keep his eye upon him; for he said to himself: 'There are many strangers here to-night; why did not the bloodhound tackle them?' But the festivities went on; the drum, and flute, and bagpipe did their parts, and groups of merry dancers whirled their partners through the strange hop of the age, much resembling the dance of sailors on board a man-of-war. The more stately set dance of the nobility was not imitated by the people, and in these Christmas frolics no mask was allowed.