There was a familiar rattling of chains and sliding bolts. The door swung cautiously inward, the evil face of Zenas appearing within the narrow opening.

"Ah! The puppet again!" he exclaimed, his baleful eyes glowering down upon the traveler. "And where hast thou left Sir James, my good brother?"

"He was foiled in making his escape with me from Castle Yewe," explained Sir Richard. "Are there messages awaiting me from Bishop Kennedy?" he added.

"Nay. But tarry not without, sir puppet knight. The sharp wind doth penetrate keenly to my twisted bones. Come thou inside, ... I'll have a groom to bestow thy horse for the night."

"Get you out of the cold and send him here. I but wish the animal baited, Zenas. I'll not tarry the night." In a few minutes the hostler appeared from behind the tavern, received instructions as to the care of the horse, and relieved the young knight of the reins; Sir Richard then opened the door and stepped inside.

"Ah ha! with a golden patch upon the eye, by my faith!" growled the hunchback as the young knight seated himself upon the high-backed bench beside the chimney-place. "Methinks, sir puppet knight, that I've often seen that self same color."

Zenas stationed himself with his back to the blaze, where he stood, rubbing his hands together and laughing shrilly.

"You have seen it. Certes you have seen it!" observed Sir Richard quietly. "Yea?—?Zenas, and I mean to bear away the maiden to whom it once belonged, I give you true warrant upon that."

He arose as he spoke, with his hand resting menacingly upon the hilt of his sword.

Without a word Zenas thereupon clapped together his hands; three men, armed at every point, came instantly into the room. Three blades were unsheathed, flashing in the firelight.

"Not so fast, puppet knight; ... I pray you, not so fast," whispered the hunchback with an uncanny leer and stretching out toward Sir Richard his enormously long arms. "Wilt treat with me quietly now, or shall I have the guards at you for a dangerous interloper? Say the word, sir puppet knight, say the word," he hissed between his teeth. "More good men there are where these came from, an these be not enough to truss thee up and render thee harmless."

"Send the men away," said Sir Richard sullenly. "I'll treat with you."

"Tell me then," resumed Zenas, when the guards had betaken themselves at his command through the door, "hast ever seen this maid whom thou art thus eager to rescue?"

The young knight pondered deeply before committing himself to an answer. It would be obviously improper, he thought, to explain the manner in which the cutting of velvet had come into his possession. But he concluded that a portion of the truth would answer as well as a whole falsehood, so?—?—

"In truth, I have never seen the maid," he replied accordingly.

"Well, thou shalt see her.... Yea?—?and thou shalt have her! Even this night, ... now, ... an it be thy wish, sir puppet knight," said Zenas, apparently in a transport of glee. "She hath been fair eating her heart out to be gone. But mayhap thou wouldst first down a flitch of bacon and a tankard or so of stum? A full belly for a hard task, I tell thee! Belike 'twould embolden thee for the work in hand."

"Nor sup nor drink will I taste till I have the maiden beside me," Sir Richard declared.

"Wait, ... I'll fetch her to thee," Zenas said, and thereupon went out of the room, muttering and laughing.

The young knight could hear his catlike footfalls, then, go limping up the stairs. Apprehending upon a sudden that the dwarf might be meditating some act of violence or harm, Sir Richard rushed to the door through which Zenas had made his exit. "Thy life, sir, shall answer for her safety," he shouted from the foot of the steps.

"Fear not, Sir Richard Daredevil," the hunchback called back from the landing above. "Fear not, I'll bring her to thee all safe enough."

Zenas's undisguised willingness to relinquish the maiden into his hands was very puzzling to Sir Richard. Though this perplexity presently gave way to a sense of delightful anticipation. At last, he mused, he was to see her; to hold her hand; to listen to the sweet accents of her voice. He could not control himself in quiet, and went to pacing to and fro across the floor in a fever of impatience.

Above stairs a scene was being enacted that, could he have been witness to it, would have proved highly interesting to the young knight. The half-maniacal hunchback respected and admired his brother, Sir James; he loved his brother's sweet daughter, Rocelia, but he feared and hated Isabel, whom he had never been able to intimidate or make to do his bidding. The maid was indeed possessed of a breezy temper, and upon many an occasion the hunchback had been made to feel the sting of her words. When he had discovered that she was secretly preparing for her departure, he had at once embraced the opportunity to avenge himself, causing her to be imprisoned in earnest. He had overheard her conversation with an emissary of the Renegade Duke, during which Isabel had given her word that she would come to Castle Yewe to join her champion. Isabel had a mind of her own, and a keen appreciation of the welfare of number one. She was, besides, a capital conspiratress, and had availed herself of every chance to acquaint herself with the true character and title of the one whom she had chosen for her champion. When she had grown familiar with Sir Richard's history, she had concluded that through him she might achieve deliverance from her monotonous life under the guardianship of her uncle, Sir James, and at the same time elevate herself to a higher plane within the social world, which were her chief ambitions. She had not been acute enough, however, to be aware that, in promising to go to Yewe, she was but falling into a trap set for her by the Renegade Duke. She still believed that the word was from the Earl of Warwick, by which title she always referred to Sir Richard within her mind.

The blaze of anger with which Isabel now greeted Zenas's advent into her presence subsided quickly when he told her who was waiting to see her below. She made short work of her preparations to depart, promising to do so secretly, and without stopping to bid her cousin or governess a farewell. As the hunchback was preceding her below he was exulting to himself over the circumstance that was to rid him of one of whom he was jealous and hated, and another whom he feared. He looked upon it as a happy stroke of fortune that had put it in his way to send them off together. He chuckled aloud as he thought of how cleverly he was cheating the young knight.

"I am yielding him the wrong maid," he said to himself; "the wrong maid. The saffron gown doth belong to Rocelia, by my faith!"

It seemed an age to Sir Richard before he heard again the hunchback's tread upon the stairs. Another step came to his straining ears, light and firm, with an accompaniment of gently rustling skirts.

What would his first words be? And what her whispered answer? He thought of the saffron patch above his eye and the unkempt growth of beard upon his chin. For but two minutes' service, a barber might have earned a handful of rose nobles.

Thereupon the door swung open. Without any apparent hesitation the maid, whom the young knight had always pictured as shy and prettily diffident, advanced into the ring of firelight. Like an abashed boy, he hung his head in an utter confusion. If a fortune had been laid at his feet he would have found himself powerless to look up into her waiting eyes. It seemed to him that the whole world should be pausing to view this meeting. Then his hands were caught within the grasp of soft fingers. "Richard, ... my faithful champion," a voice broke low upon the dead silence.

Sir Richard then looked up. His eyes fell upon a pair of firm, curved lips, a row of dazzling white teeth, a wonderful quantity of raven-black hair, shadowing beautifully marked brows and masterful, deep-gray eyes. His sight was too blurred to see altogether clearly, but he knew her to be comely and bewitching withal.

In despite of this, a sort of vague but exquisite melancholy fell upon his highly wrought spirits. It was as indefinable as a fevered dream, but it seemed to him to answer to the name of disappointment. He felt that he would have been more pleased had the maid displayed in her manner less of assurance and more of timidity and reserve. Isabel began by busily removing the patch from Sir Richard's eye, assuring him of her genuine appreciation of his knightly conduct in so long having worn it. He did not tell her that it had been there but a day. Then, commanding Zenas to bring food and wine, which he did without a word of remonstrance, she set the table and bade Sir Richard to eat. When the hunchback went out of the room he told her of his meeting with the Douglas foot-boys.

"I divined that they were waiting," Isabel said. "But Zenas locked and barred the door and would not suffer me to come. It was full kind of you to send for me, Sir Richard."

"I? But 'twas not I who sent for thee, fair maid."

"Not you? There was a note signed with your name."

"'Twas written by Douglas, or the Renegade Duke then. An I could, I would have sent for thee, though?—?—"

"Isabel, Sir Richard; ... call me Isabel. 'Twas then but a trap to lure me within the power of the Duke. Well?—?we'll attend to him, once we come to Castle Yewe, Sir Richard." "To Castle Yewe? It is the one place on earth from which I would remain away. We'll go not to Castle Yewe, Isabel," Sir Richard declared.

"But has not Douglas a plan on foot to set you high in power? And has not my uncle gone to him to effect a truce and a combining of forces? In truth, Sir Richard, will you go to Yewe?" Isabel insisted.

"I know not what plans they may have," said Sir Richard. "But, an there be such, it is all the more reason why I should get me safely away. I am come to detest this conspiracy business."

"Well?—?we'll have that out on the way," observed Isabel. "Come, let us be upon our journey before the band returns to thwart our going."

They accordingly set out soon, with the moon low and exceedingly bright upon the far horizon. Zenas had improvised a kind of pillion behind the young knight's saddle, and upon this Isabel took her seat.

"I wish thee a great joy of thy bargain, sir puppet knight!" the hunchback shouted shrilly after them as they started off. "And believe me," he added, "I am well and truly requited for the death of poor Demon." "He would not dare to say thus, an I were but off this horse," declared Isabel angrily.

Sir Richard could not divine what the hunchback had meant to convey. He, therefore, made no reply, but looked back and remarked his squat, bent figure standing free upon the nethermost point of the brae against the moonlit sky. He reminded the young knight of a monstrous, black, and forbidding spider.

Not till they had reached within the cavernous depths of the forest did it occur to Sir Richard that he now had before him a long and hazardous journey to the coast, with, for companion, a maiden whom he had torn from the care of her lawful guardian. But he had pledged his knightly word, and apparently there was nothing now to do above seeking a priest, and carrying her with him as Mistress Rohan. He quarreled and fell out with himself because of his dearth of enthusiasm over the project.

"Richard, dear?" Isabel interrupted his thoughts, "is it not nearabouts that the Douglas foot-boys are posted?"

"Yea?—?in a glade upon our right hand. About here, I fancy," Sir Richard answered.

"Then stop instantly and summon them to us."

"Indeed, nay!" Sir Richard amazedly exclaimed. "I'm not again for running my head into a hornet's nest," he said, by way of borrowing de Claverlok's simile. "But," an inspiration dawning upon him, "do you wish to leave me and go on to Castle Yewe?"

"Without you?—?Richard?"

The manner of her reply sent a cold sweat to oozing at his every pore. He felt himself caught fair.

"Ho, boys!" Isabel suddenly shouted aloud, clapping her hands. "Draw rein, Richard," she commanded.

"Well, by the mass!" the young knight exclaimed. But he drew rein.

There was a great noise of stumbling horses, and the sharp crackling of breaking twigs, as the foot-boys hurriedly drew toward the road. When they had observed the young knight's companion, they were the most relieved and happy of youths. They immediately set about making Isabel comfortable upon the back of the housed palfrey, after which the march was begun, with the foot-boys singing merrily on before. Harold rode back presently to announce that he knew of a cave something less than a league ahead where they could be rendered comfortable for the night. Both Thomas and he would do their best, the youth assured Sir Richard in extravagant terms, to have them a fresh hare, a crisp loaf of bread, and a sufficiency of sweet goat's milk wherewith to break their fasts in the morning. Already, the young knight thought, their journey was beginning to assume somewhat of the complexion of a wedding tour.

They then directed their course toward the cave; and by an ingenious arrangement of the tent, which Harold and Thomas were carrying with them, they contrived for Isabel a comfortable and perfectly secluded chamber within its depths.

While the foot-boys were engaged in building a roaring fire just outside the cavern's broad mouth, Isabel sat upon a boulder and engaged Sir Richard in an entertaining and animated conversation. It was the first opportunity he had enjoyed since their meeting of having a quiet look at her. As she talked, the young knight noted with a certain satisfaction the ever-changing expression of her fair and mobile countenance as the filmy veils of light and shadow played across it. "Certes," he yielded to himself, "she is beautiful. But 'tis beauty, methinks, of a rather dangerous and sirenlike kind."

When she was near ready to retire behind the curtain she held up a foot abounding in dainty, graceful curves.

"Unfasten me my boot, sir champion," she said archly.

They were alone, the foot-boys having disappeared within the forest to gather a fresh supply of hemlock twigs.

"Give thee a right good-night, Richard," said Isabel sweetly, when the boots were undone. She was becoming of a ravishing loveliness in the weird light of the flickering fire.

Sir Richard was blind to everything at that moment, saving his companion's captivating grace.

"Often have I bethought me of that kiss which you sped me through the wall," said he, catching and holding her hand. "No wall is there here now but one of darkness, ... and we are within."

She cast him one bewitching glance, raising her hand to his waiting lips. "Not till we are come within sight of Castle Yewe," said Isabel. "Then, brave champion of a maiden in distress, you shall have earned it."

Sir Richard realized all too soon, however, that his had been but a transitory fascination. The moment that Isabel was swallowed within the cave he felt the spell leaving him. So when Harold and Thomas returned with their burdens of fuel, he told them in a purposely lifted voice that he would help them to gather more. He laid down the law before the meek foot-boys once he had enticed them beyond earshot of the cave. They were free to give the lady safe conduct into Yewe, Sir Richard told them, but he was to make choice of the way. A signal for the right, one for the left, and another to indicate straight ahead he gave them. Beside every forking road or path they were instructed to seek his secret and peremptory command.

"Remember, boys, Sandufferin!" he added, by way of a parting shot. "And have a care that you fall not foul of old fox here," he concluded, tapping the hilt of his sword.

"Said I not 'twas the same that cut him down the great Sandufferin?" Sir Richard heard one of the foot-boys whisper, as he was falling into a pleasant forgetfulness of his many troubles beside the crackling blaze.

Agreeable with their sworn promises, the faithful foot-boys contrived to set before Sir Richard and Isabel an appetizing and ample meal. Somewhere within the forest they had come upon a spring, and had filled a deep hollow in the rocks with limpid water. Accordingly, when Isabel sat down to breakfast, she was looking as fresh and sparkling as any of the frost-covered fir trees growing round about.

All of that day they pushed steadily forward, halting but once to sup and drink within a herdsman's cottage. When the evening had fallen they were among the upland hills, and had journeyed a full two leagues beyond the Back Friar's Monastery.

They found shelter for that night in a wayside peasant's hut. Here Sir Richard enjoyed a long talk with Isabel, sitting alone with her by the chimney-side. He tried to win from her an elucidation of the mystery of the moving tavern, but she refused to gratify his curiosity. Whenever she chanced to discover that Sir Richard desired particularly a certain favor, always she would say, "Not till we are come within sight of Castle Yewe, ... then you shall have earned it."

She was leading the young knight a merry dance, with her "Richard, fetch me this," and "Richard, dear, fetch me that"; her "Are you certain that this is the nearest path to Castle Yewe?" When the young knight would grow sullen and demur against returning there, "How absurd of you, my brave champion," Isabel would say, "to set yourself against those whose only desire it is to put you where you rightfully belong!"

Scarcely an hour passed without seeing its quarrel between them, which inevitably ended by her riding close alongside her companion, taking his hand and wheedling him, willy-nilly, into the best of good humors. Her wonderful eyes during one moment would be flashing cold steel, and in the next would radiate the warmth and glory of a tropic sun. Isabel was, indeed, a most extraordinary young woman.

Within his mind Sir Richard had made a complete surrender to her continued importunings. He was staking his last hope of liberation from his uncomfortable, and that which he considered dangerous, position upon the slight chance of finding de Claverlok in the deserted hut. "An the good fellow happens not to be there," he thought, "why?—?I'll fare on and discover me the things that Lord Douglas has in waiting."

Sir Richard's system of secret signals to the foot-boys worked admirably, and quite as well as he could wish. By giving them the proper signs he was enabled to follow the path along which the Renegade Duke and he had so furiously ridden. He even remarked the patch of broken gorse and brambles that plainly marked his fall.

It was upon the afternoon of the third day of their journey that they turned into the sandy highway where the young knight had momentarily outwitted his pursuer. He recalled to his mind the image of de Claverlok's rugged, honest face set fantastically against the moon, as he had seen it upon that memorable night. Sir Richard was obliged to confess that his hope of discovering him at their appointed rendezvous was sinking in proportion with the nearness of his approach thereto.

At length, as they rode free of the forest through which a part of the road lay, he made out the little hut standing close beside a down something near a quarter of a league distant. There was a monk, on foot, moving in their direction along the highway. As the churchman drew nearer, Sir Richard noted that he was tallying his string of black beads and muttering over his open breviary.

Isabel, just then, rode close to his saddle.

"Richard," said she, "here now is our good priest."

The maiden had left Sir Richard in no possible doubt of her meaning.

A thought came to him, though it was not a happy one, for nothing, now, he fancied, could ever more be happy. Carrying out the thought, however, he called to the monk to halt and attend upon his words.

"Canst thou go with us, good father, into yonder hut?" he said. "We would have thy service at a simple service of wedding. See, ... my witnesses are riding hither, ... and I have papers bearing upon my knightly reputation."

"Right willingly would I do thee a service, sir knight, but not in that hut there," replied the monk, looking up at his questioner with eyes distended with fear. "I am but now come from there, ... the good Lord forgive him!"

"Forgive who? What is 't, goodman?" cried Sir Richard.

"There abides a great giant there.... Indeed, a tremendous man, ... ill with some diresome fever, or fiendish obsession. He made threat to slay me, an I but dared set foot within, bellowing fierce oaths the while from his pallet of rushes. He will die; ... yea, he will die, for he had the white drawn look of death upon his bearded face. I shrove him from the doorway?—?then came away. The Lord have mercy?—?—"

He got no further with the sentence within Sir Richard's hearing. Ignoring the road, the young knight went galloping in mighty bounds away over the gorse-grown meadow.