Lady Lisgard moved to the window with a smile, and drawing the curtain aside, threw up the sash. On the white lawn beneath, stood five dark figures, bearing various instruments of music, and one a huge horn lantern, the light of which glinted upon the laurels. It was impossible to recognise the features of the rest, as they stood, cap in hand, notwithstanding the still driving snow, awaiting her Ladyship's reply; but she addressed them each by name nevertheless. “Mr Steve, I thank you kindly. Henry Ash, I am glad to find you in good voice again. John Lewis and Peter Stone--if I am not mistaken. Neighbours and friends all, I thank you very much. But it is a cold night for caroling, and I hope you have been taken care of within. A merry Christmas to you and a happy New Year.” There was a tremor in my Lady's voice, although she spoke with such particularity, which shewed how deeply she was moved. “God bless your Ladyship,” returned the voices, disorderly as to unison, but each one of itself distinct and clear as file-firing.--“God bless Sir Richard, and send him a fair bride.--God bless Master Walter's handsome face.--God bless Miss Letty.” Lady Lisgard closed the window, but as she did so, dropped the heavy curtain between herself and the lighted chamber, so that she could still look out, but without being seen. The curtain, too, cut her off from the observation of her maid within. “Who is the fifth man that bears the lantern, Mary?” asked her Ladyship in a tone of carelessness very unsuited to the expression of her face, which all in a moment had grown pinched and terror-stricken, as though it hungered for some reply that it yet dreaded to hear. “Nobody as you know, my Lady--nor indeed as _I_ know, for the matter of that. He's a stranger in these parts, who's putting up at the _Lisgard Arms_. He only came for a few days last week, walking across the country for all the world like a pedler--a way he says he learned in foreign parts; but Steve with his odd ways has taken his fancy, so that he stays on. A very well-spoken sort of person he is too, although the sea, it seems, has been his calling, which is a rough trade. However, he has made it answer--according at least to Mr Steve. Any way, he flings his money about free enough, and indeed is what _I_ call rather too fond of treating folks. He is good company himself, they say, and a favourite with everybody he comes across, which is a very dangerous thing--that is,” added Mistress Forest, correcting herself, “unless one is a gentleman, like handsome Master Walter.” “You don't--remember--this--this person's name, Mary, do you?” asked Lady Lisgard.