The Red Tavern

by C. R. Macauley

It was easy to gather that de Claverlok was in two minds whether to go straight ahead, or to turn to his left into the forking roadway. Now he was inclining his head in a listening attitude. From away in the distance, and ever so faintly, came the clatter of the galloping hoofs of a single horseman. This sound set an instant period to the grizzled knight's perplexity. Forthwith he turned his charger's head straight to the northward, and in a flash was spurring furiously from the vicinity of the bushes where Sir Richard lay hidden.

Keeping well in the brush, the young knight waited till the noise of de Claverlok's flight had merged within the solemn quiet of the night; then, returning to where he had tethered his horse, he led him to the highway, mounted, and, after somewhat of a less impetuous fashion than before again resumed his lonely journey.

He had ample leisure thereafter to indulge himself in meditation. Indeed the young knight was enjoying his first quiet interval since his entrance into the Red Tavern and his meeting with Tyrrell, whom he still regarded as nothing more than a most extraordinary inn-keeper. Again his mind reverted to the maiden; he recalled with a thrill of pleasure her soft whisper, and the kiss through the wall. He thought of the bit of cloth and the note, and immediately grew less lonely than before. They yielded him a sweet companionship that he was quite willing to accept without attempting to define. Through his ardent maze of speculation, however, Nature obtruded with her realities, and he became conscious of the keen, frost-laden air, and of his fatigue and hunger. He was ready to admit that the twinkling lights of an inn would have afforded him a most welcome and agreeable sight.

Sir Richard was destined to be denied this pleasing spectacle, as he had now ridden as far as discretion allowed without glimpsing a sign of a habitable shelter. But as he drew clear of the forest he caught sight of a hut that stood not far from the road within an open meadow. He rode up to it, discovering it to be an abandoned shepherd's dwelling, bleak, uninviting, and dreary. Between this and the cosy corner of an inn abounding in appetizing odors was something of a far cry to be sure. But it was the best that seemed likely to offer for the night; and, desolate, lonely, and utterly cheerless as it was, he nevertheless gave thanks for the mere rude thatch that would at least protect him from the tingling air. A rough lean-to had been constructed against the side of the hut beneath which he secured his horse, a great armful of half-dried grass serving for the animal's feed. Once inside the hovel, by tearing out a plank or two from the rotting floor and disposing them within the rude fireplace he soon contrived to kindle a blaze that warmed him pleasantly to sleep.

So fatigued was he that, in despite of his hunger and thirst, his slumber was of the soundest. Perhaps the assurance that he would likely awaken in the same spot where he had closed his eyes contributed its mite to his comfort of mind and body. At all events he remained undisturbed till well along in the morning. When he aroused himself and opened his eyes the slanting rays of the sun were falling fair upon them through the sashless window that opened upon a fairylike view of hill and forest. He was stretching and yawning himself more fully awake when he was startled suddenly into that condition by a huge shadow moving across the devastated floor. He looked once; then, rubbing his thoroughly surprised eyes, looked again.

Upon the sagged doorsill sat the ubiquitous de Claverlok. He seemed quite unaware of the young knight's awakening, being busily intent upon the burnishing of his helmet, and cocking his grizzled head drolly from one shoulder to the other the while he held his gleaming bonnet at arm's length the better to view and admire the result of his lusty rubbing. The glittering top-piece, catching a ray of the sun, shunted it straight into Sir Richard's dazzled eyes. For a second or two thereafter he could see nothing above a brilliant splotch of red, with the massive outline of de Claverlok looming gigantic in its center.

When he was recovered of his transitory blindness, he made a hasty examination of the wall against which he had constructed his bed of leaves and boughs. Saving for a narrow vent-hole set high above the floor, and in the corner of the room farthest from where he was lying, it was unpierced by door or window. Sir Richard could not restrain a smile of quiet amusement as he thought of the famous prank he might have played upon the unconquerable old warrior had there been a sufficient opening near at hand to give exit to his body.

As it was, ... "Well!" he shouted at de Claverlok upon a sudden, and at the very limit of his lungs.

Deliberately, and with the most impassive unconcern, the grizzled knight set his helmet upon his head.

"Give thee a right good-morrow, Sir Richard," said he, smiling broad and friendlywise over his shoulder. "Judging from the quality of thy slumber, I should say that thy conscience is mightily clear and babelike, ... eh?"