was tired, lonely, and, if the truth be said, half fearful; and for these reasons proved no match at all for the extraordinary tavern-keeper at that soft game. Losing for the moment all control of his temper, he sprang petulantly to his feet and rapped angrily upon the wooden bench with the scabbard of his sword.

"Devil fly away with the canary, sirrah!" he retorted, threateningly. "I tell thee now, it were the better suited to thy health that thou shouldst do my bidding, man."

"This tavern, good my knight," said the inn-keeper, apparently not in the least ruffled, and wholly ignoring his guest's display of anger, "boasts but a meager fare. Plain venison, I fear me much, must needs pass muster with thy dainty palate in lieu of larks and pigeons."

A nature prone to sudden disarrangement of poise is usually amenable to swift reasoning and control. By this time, Sir Richard, repenting of his burst of passion and appreciating the imbecility of a resort to violence, had determined in his mind to do his utmost to meet the inn-keeper upon his own ground. He arose, thereupon, and swept toward mine host his most profound curtesy.

"Venison from thy cupboard," said he, smiling in a good humor that was not altogether assumed, "would stand substitute for even Karum-pie."

With a grim chuckle the inn-keeper then took himself off. The hunchback returned presently bearing upon a broad platter a warmed over venison pasty and a stoup of wine; which, upon tasting, Sir Richard found to be of a most excellent vintage. He was disappointed in one particular, however; for, from the moment of the landlord's exit from the room, the young knight had entertained the hope that his supper might be served through the offices of a comely maid. In that event, as was the habit of the times, he would have enjoyed her companionship through the hour of eating. He could accordingly scarcely conceal his vexation and chagrin upon beholding the lugubrious hunchback.

"The Fates defend us!" he exclaimed beneath his breath. "Merely to look at the fellow doth steal away mine hunger."

Well within the zone of pleasing warmth of the fire, and with the not untuneful beating of the wind and sleet against the hollow clapboards singing in his ears, Sir Richard, after he had partaken of his supper, remained beside the table, his elbows resting upon its top, his head reclining against his hand. A delightful drowsiness was stealing over him, causing his head to nod lower and lower. Then, with a relaxation of every muscle of his body, he fell forward into a deep sleep.

The air of absolute confidence with which the inn-keeper presently entered the room; the deliberate manner in which he went about unfastening and intruding his hand within the traveler's wallet seemed adequately to indicate that the entire circumstance had grown out of a well meditated plan of action. As he withdrew King Henry's warrant and clapped his eyes upon the great red seal his eyebrows went up in token of astonishment. With extreme deliberation he broke the seal and proceeded to acquaint himself with its purport.

"'Tis a passing strange and untoward business, this," he muttered, after having read and read again the contents of the singular document. "Aye, a passing strange business. Is it but an idle frolic of a king? some cruel wager, conceived in wanton jest? Certes, and this youth were an enemy to the throne, his fair head, ere this, had fallen beside the tower block. I would that we could attach men as stanch, devoted and incorruptible to our great cause. But now, since the young prince is dead, what cause have we?" Folding carefully the parchment, he vented a deep sigh. "The labor of these seven years is gone for naught. Aye, for naught. And the great army that is bivouaced here to-night in Scotland is like unto an avenging Juggernaut with none to guide its course. A beast of prey bereft of a head wherewith to devour its enemy."

Concluding his meditations, the inn-keeper, moving toward the fire, took up a blazing splinter and addressed himself to the task of mending the broken seal. Having accomplished this to his apparent satisfaction, he returned the parchment whence it had been taken, seated himself beside the table opposite to the sleeping young knight and resumed the thread of his gloomy thoughts.

"'Tis passing strange that I​—​I, James Tyrrell​—​wearing the stigma of a murderer, expatriate and outlawed from my country, should feel toward this comely youth a sentiment akin to pity. Even would I make attempt to save him, and I could. But, I fear me, 'tis impossible. The very nature of his errand furnishes such proof of his stubborn integrity that 'twere but folly to make trial of dissuading him from going on. An I had awakened him to display the violated parchment, he would have had at me with his sword for an arrant traitor. Even as he bent me that pretty bow, I could see the fighting-man in his gray eye. An I caused him to be trussed up as he sleeps to hold it before his conscious eyes, he would dub me liar and base imitator of King Henry's signature to my very teeth. Reluctant though I am thus to do, I must perforce allow him to fare away upon his pilgrimage to death."

With that Tyrrell arose, leaning, for a brief instant, upon the table above the sleeping knight. Upon the instant that he did so his manner underwent a marked transformation from passive contemplation to that of intent and earnest scrutiny. Bending his eyes upon the point where the young man's neck escaped from his steel shoulder-guards, he stood for some time regarding two small and blood-red moles, which were curiously joined together by a slender filament of raised flesh. In any other but the recumbent position that the sleeping man's head had naturally assumed, the birth-mark would have been hidden from view beneath the masses of golden-brown hair growing in a profusion of ringlets behind his delicately modeled ears.

Then: "'Tis a glorious dispensation of Divine Providence," declared Tyrrell solemnly, straightening to his full height and upraising his right hand, whilst his left remained upon the unconscious knight's shoulder. "And we thank thee, merciful God, for thy kindness in thus sending another to take the place of one whom thou didst see fit to take away."

Thereupon, with many a halt, and many a backward glance, he stole quietly from the room.

His advent into another, wherein four armed men were amusing themselves over a game of cards and conversing together in guarded undertones, was dramatic in the extreme.

He took his stand in the center of the floor, the flare of a single torch speeding waves of light and shadow along his tall figure.

"Noble gentles," said he, "fellow conspirators: Know ye all that a just God hath this night deigned to smile upon our cause. That even now, in the room without, steeped in sweet slumber 'neath the influence of one of Friar Diomed's harmless potions, there is a fit and proper candidate for a throne in which now sits a base usurper."

"Ay​—​marry, is this true, eh? Well, he is a good enough looking young fellow. But, 'tis no more than fair that the traveler should well requite us for thus depriving us of the comforts of a cheery room​—​eh!" muttered a bearded warrior, who, because of a conspicuous absence of stools or chairs, was obliged to take what ease he could upon the floor. "I would that friend Zenas might fetch bench or stool," he added, "so that I might listen to thy tale in seemly comfort​—​eh!"