till it clipped the sky line at the distance of a league and a half, or thereabouts, from where he rode.

At the precise point where the road showed bold and clear against the clouds he fancied that he saw the expiring rays of the sun gleaming against a point of vivid color. As he descended into the valley to where the road divided the morass, the point of color disappeared from view, and all of the landscape resumed its gray and monotonous appearance.

Not wishing to inhale the miasmic vapor, in which, he feared, might lurk some dire fever, Sir Richard drank long and deep of untainted air. So much so indeed that the flesh of his back and breast impinged strong upon his steel harness. Then, setting spurs to his stallion, he galloped through the dank cloud without a breath of it reaching into his nostrils.

As he drew near the northern reaches of the valley and rounded a gigantic boulder that stood sentinel to the upper plain, he came full upon a tavern that he at once surmised to be the same of which he had heard so much. Upon the instant that he did so, he reined in his steed to a dead stand. Aside from its brilliant though somewhat weather-beaten coat of scarlet, it differed in many respects from the taverns then commonly to be seen along the highways. Saving at the very apex of its steep gable, its front was unpierced by windows. Above its single, narrow door, which opened beneath the jut of the upper story, hung a signboard bearing upon its surface the device of a vulture feeding its young. Withal, however, it appeared to be material enough, and this made it impossible for Sir Richard to account for a feeling of unutterable dread that took complete possession of his mind.

Once he had almost decided upon riding straight to its entrance to beat upon the rude panels of the door for admittance within. But before he could summon sufficient courage to carry out his half-formed design, a mortal terror returned strong upon him, and forthwith he sent his stallion past it at a furious gallop.

It stood a full quarter of a league at his back before the ungovernable fear within him gave ground to shame. He pulled up sharp, then wheeled, and rode slowly back to its sinister door.

As he knocked with the scabbard of his sword upon the heavy planks a drop of rain splashed against his helmet, trickled down over his closed visor, and dripped through one of its orifices upon his chin.

CHAPTER III
OF A NIGHT IN THE RED TAVERN

As Sir Richard glanced above the jutting cornice he noted that the clouds had turned to a murky green. Ragged tentacles were trailing ominously earthward as the storm raged down upon the sea. Appreciating the need of immediate shelter, and having as yet heard no answering sounds from within, he sent another fusillade of blows against the door.

Almost upon the instant there followed a loud clanking of iron chains and bolts. Then, as the door swung slowly inward, there stood revealed within the open space a singularly odd and striking figure of a man. So extraordinarily tall was he that he was obliged to stoop to make way for his head beneath the lintel as he set his foot upon the step. He vouchsafed no word of welcome or good cheer, but stood silent, waiting for the traveler to speak.

With his sparse hair streaming in the augmenting wind, his keen eyes burning within the shadow of a thicket of brows; his veritable beak of a nose​—​vying with that of the crudely painted vulture above his head​—​and his thin, bloodless lips, he appealed to the young knight like anything but a picture of a hospitable inn-keeper. It being habitual to associate with these highway entertainers a certain rotundity of figure and jollity of demeanor. The one confronting Sir Richard was attenuated to the last degree, though in despite of this the breadth of his wrist, and the clutch of his bony fingers upon the latch, betrayed his possession of a more than usual measure of physical strength.

"Hast thou peace and provender for a wayfaring knight and horse?" our astonished pilgrim made out to inquire.

Even then the landlord did not trouble himself to speak. Bowing assent, however, he signed Sir Richard to dismount and enter. As he complied, another man, with features very much resembling the first, but whose figure was grossly misshapen, squat, hunchbacked, and long-armed, emerged from the obscurity of the room and led away his horse. This move was not accomplished without a considerable effort upon the hunchback's part, for the spirited animal pricked up its ears, champed its bit, and hung back on the bridle at sight of the apparition tugging at the other end.

It was not without an inward sense of fear that the young knight moved toward the glowing blaze, after he had seen his horse safely led, though stubbornly contesting every inch of the way, around the corner of the building. As he approached the chimney-side, a huge wolfhound lying upon the hearth half rose upon its haunches.

In the bright light of the fire Sir Richard could see the stiff, wiry gray hairs elevating along its spine, and the gleaming of white fangs as it curled its lips from off them and emitted a savage growl.

"Crouch, Demon!" commanded the inn-keeper in a voice which, though low, seemed by far more menacing than the savage grumble of the beast.

The hound instantly obeyed, resuming its recumbent attitude and regarding the intruder furtively the while out of the tail of its yellow eyes.

By now the wind had risen to the strength of a hurricane; whining and shrieking dismally, it was dashing the rain with tremendous violence against the northern and eastern walls of the tavern. With an inward acknowledgment of his indebtedness to a kind providence for having set a haven of refuge of any description along the highway, the traveler took his place in a deep-seated bench beside the fire, unloosed the fastenings of his helm and removed his gauntlets. He made as if to unlock his greaves, but desisted upon a vivid recollection of the sharp fangs of the wolfhound.

"By the rood, my good man, but how it doth blow," said he, rubbing his benumbed hands in front of the warm and cheery blaze. "A stoup of red wine or runlet of canary would scarce come amiss upon such a night, i' truth."

With his foot touching the muzzle of the dog, the inn-keeper had taken his station before the fire; and, whilst the lower portion of his tall body was bathed in its ruddy glare, his head towered among the shadowy beams above. By the dim semi-light that barely laid itself against his pallid cheek, Sir Richard could see that his host was measuring him up point by point; and in a manner so insolently intent that he became possessed of a mad itching to attempt a chastisement of his tormentor. But two words, and these spoken to the hound, had the landlord uttered since the young knight had dismounted before the door.

"Well!" exclaimed our pilgrim, rapping impatiently upon the table before him, "an thou hast finished with thy inventorying, man; bring on a stoup of wine. And be good enough to see to it, sir, that the drink be advance guard to a bit of supper."

Thereupon the inn-keeper bent the incensed Sir Richard a bow that Lord Cardinal Bourchier himself might properly have envied.

"Saidst thou not something, sir knight," he returned in the smoothest of tones, "of a runlet of canary?"

His manner was faultlessly deferential, but the modulations of his voice conveyed a world of ironical badinage that was wellnigh intolerable. The young knight