The ceremony attending the departure of Sir Richard upon his singular errand was quickly over; and well within the limits of that day the massive pile of ivy-grown walls, crenelated towers and copper-tipped turrets of Kenilworth Castle had dipped beneath the undulating masses of autumn tinted foliage behind the young knight and John Belwiggar, whom the King had nominated to be Sir Richard's squire and attendant.

Within Henry's mind the expedient of dispatching the young knight as bearer of his own death warrant had been conceived in a spirit of absurd bravado. So far as his calculating and selfish character permitted, he was fond of him. But if he suffered a regret, it was wholly personal, and because of circumstances that had compelled him to part from one in whose companionship he had derived a great deal of pleasure. In respect of any feeling of genuine sorrow, the entire scene enacted between himself and Stanley had been a complete farce. Though he had invested that doughty warrior with many and distinguished honors and great power, he had never entertained on the behalf of his chief official that feeling of confidence so essential to the complaisance of mind of any ruler. It was his intention to set before that individual an example of integrity and devotion that the King fancied would be well worthy of emulation. As an additional safeguard, however, he caused secret spies of his own selection to be dispatched in the train of Sir Richard. In adopting this course he believed himself to be keeping the situation well in hand; at once guarding against any interruption of the final delivery of the unusual warrant, and providing him with the means of testing Lord Stanley's devotion to his cause.

Thus, had not Sir Richard taken it into his head to follow an itinerary entirely different from either the one suggested by Henry, or that secretly transmitted to him beside the portcullis by Lord Stanley, some state problems of vast magniture and importance might then have been solved. As it subsequently transpired, all along and between the roads that it was definitely supposed the young knight and his squire would make their pilgrimage, King's emissaries were constantly meeting and receiving entertainment of Stanley's lieutenants, as well as the other way about. Obviously, neither the one side nor the other dared to hint of its purpose of espionage or destination; nor yet dared to display any undue haste in parting to pursue its secret way. It also became necessary for them to observe every possible precaution in the matter of covering up their trails, one from another; and, in this way, the innocent cause of this rather amusing game of cross-purposes was permitted to go unmolested upon his way.

The route that Sir Richard had chosen rendered it necessary for himself and squire to tread paths and by-ways used chiefly by peasant farmers and sheep-herders. At times, after a heavy fall of rain, such of these as wound through the low lying valleys would become wholly impassable, making it needful for our pilgrims to await the draining of the flood into the rivers, or to make long detours to come upon the other side. For this reason, it had reached well along into October before they had passed through the Liberties of Berwick and set foot upon Scottish soil.

It was growing late in the afternoon of their second day in Scotland, and while they were skirting the edge of a rock-tarn lying in gloomy seclusion in the middle of a desolate moor, that Sir Richard was murderously deprived of the services of his squire and brave attendant. There had been no hint of the approach of the tragedy; no clue as to the identity or purpose of the cowardly perpetrators following its occurrence.

Mounted upon his mettlesome charger, which, though uncommonly powerful, was somewhat fatigued because of the many miles put behind him that day, the young knight was riding slowly along some two hundred yards in advance of Belwiggar. The sky was heavy, gray, and lowering; and the boulder-strewn, monotonously level expanse of moor affording no pleasant aspect or interesting contrasts to the eye, Sir Richard's gaze remained fixed upon the nodding head of his stallion. So near the brink was the narrow path winding along the waters of the tarn, and so unruffled was its surface, that steed and armored rider were mirrored faithfully, point for point, beneath.

Hearing a sharp rattling of steel-shod hoofs behind him, and vaguely marveling as to the cause of this unexpected and unusual burst of energy upon the part of his squire, the young knight turned, with a smile upon his face, to greet Belwiggar's approach. To his horrified surprise he was but just in time to see the honest fellow writhing in an agony of death, while the horse that he had so lately bestrode in the prime vigor of rugged health whisked blindly ahead of the young knight along the road, till, crashing against a huge boulder upreared within its path, it stumbled, seemed to hang for an instant in mid-air, and then, neighing with wild affright, disappeared with a tremendous splash beneath the surface of the tarn.

Apprehending some immediate danger to himself, Sir Richard, upon the instant, drew his visor close. Just as he had accomplished this move a bolt struck fair upon the joint of his neck-guard; and, though it did him no harm beyond causing his head to ring with the force of the impact, it was the cunning of his armorer alone that had saved him from a death similar to that of Belwiggar.

Having no means of knowing the exact direction from whence the arrows had been sped, and the nature of the ground precluding the possibility of sending his horse over it, the young knight made no attempt to seek out and punish his assailant. He shot a glance of the keenest scrutiny from boulder to boulder, but there was no sign of a living being upon the moor. Satisfied that Belwiggar's death must go unavenged for the time, he rode back to where he lay with a feathered shaft, still quivering, protruding from his broad breast.

He dismounted beside the body, tethering his horse in the hollow between two rocky promontories through which the path swung. He stood looking around him for a space, uncertain what to do. So overwhelmingly appalling and strange were the circumstances attending the tragedy, and to that degree was Sir Richard oppressed by his melancholy surroundings, that he became filled with a feeling of unspeakable dread, an almost uncontrollable desire to throw himself upon the back of his steed and gallop swiftly away. Torn by such emotions, it was no light task to remain upon the scene for the purpose of making such disposition of poor Belwiggar's body as his limited means would permit. By employing the dead warrior's battle-ax in lieu of mattock, however, he contrived to hollow out a sufficient space to lay him decently away. Then, piling up a mound of loose stones above the shallow grave, Sir Richard remounted and pursued his solitary way northward toward Bannockburn and Castle Yewe.

As he journeyed onward the young knight made many determined efforts to whistle and sing away a feeling of deep melancholy that persisted in setting somberly down upon him. In the manner of a gloomy procession passing in review before his mind's eye, he recalled all of the wild folklore with which his ears had been beguiled since his advent into Scotland.

"Scour ye'r hoorse ower the Sauchieburn Pass," a toothless and horrible old hag had whispered into his unwilling ear upon the morning of that very day. "Dinna ye ken," she had croaked, "that the deil flees there at fall o' nicht?" and the bare thought that he would be obliged to pass the night there alone, with nothing between his head and the limitless heavens but a possible shelving rock, caused icy shivers of fear to creep along his back.

There was one weird tale in particular that he had heard repeated with a stubborn insistence that gave to it some semblance of verity. It was that concerning a certain red tavern, which, according to the peasant's lively imaginations, appeared suddenly along lonely and unfrequented roadways, as though set there by the Evil One. After a time, then, it was reported to vanish as suddenly and mysteriously as it had appeared, taking along with it into the Unknown any luckless wayfarer that had chanced to seek shelter beneath its phantom roof.

"Now, I am free to own," Sir Richard argued with himself, "that there are certain strange phenomena of which the human mind can give no proper accounting. But when it comes to tales of gibbering ghosts, shadowy, phantom shapes and flying taverns?—?why, by 'r Lady! I'll set a barrier of common sense against my credulity and refuse to believe." He was quite aware, moreover, that none of his countrymen had ever journeyed through Scotland without being bedeviled by somewhat of these same gruesome tales. While it was true that the wily Lord Bishop Kennedy had succeeded in effecting a truce of seven years' duration between England and Scotland, it was obviously beyond him to beguile the yeomanry into viewing an Englishman with anything approaching favor. Nor yet, by any possible chance or subterfuge, could he have set a truce to their wagging tongues. Legends and superstitions were a part of their daily existence, and in proportion as they were fearsome they enjoyed spreading them about.

Revolving these matters within an uneasy mind, Sir Richard gave small heed to his surroundings. By now, he had laid the moor well behind him. Through a slight rift in the rolling cloud-pall peered the last segment of the setting sun; and away to the westward could be caught an occasional glinting of the sea as the waves billowed through its golden reflection.

Just ahead of him the road dipped into a valley. Along its bowl-like bed lay a morass, which gave off continuously a heavy, bluish, and probably poisonous vapor. To the north of the morass the road ascended in easy gradients 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.