"'Tis in some'at of that way," he replied, "ower there," waving his trembling hands to the eastward; "some, ... oh! near​—​I say near, mind thee, worshipful knight, ... near twenty​—​thirty leagues."

According to that, Sir Richard would have been required to travel some distance out upon the open sea.

De Claverlok strode toward the stable, muttering savage oaths against the stupidity of innkeepers in general, and poor MacWhuddy in particular. Meanwhile, the serving-maid, bread and cheese in hand, was beckoning the young knight from the kitchen window.

"Here is thy bit food, sir knight," she said, as Sir Richard took his station beneath the casement upon which she was leaning. "Castle Yewe," she added in a whisper, "doth lie straight along this road in the way thou wert traveling, and not above six leagues. Turn to thy right where the road forks in front of the inn. Often, on a clear day, from yonder hill, have I seen its lofty turrets. Good fortune attend thee, sir noble knight," she concluded, laying her hand, which was just out of a pan of flour, upon his shoulder, "and beware of the brute with the beard on thy way​—​he means harm to thee, I fear."

When Sir Richard came, whistling a merry tune, into the stable, de Claverlok was making a great show of rage, cursing and boxing the poor stable-boy's ears.

"What now, my friend?" asked the young knight as he went on past the struggling pair toward his horse.

"What now, ... eh?" roared de Claverlok; "why, here has this young cub gone and mislaid your saddle girth! A murrain upon the loutish tribe, say I! and you in a sweat to be off, too. I'll​—​—"

"Have done berating the boy, de Claverlok," said Sir Richard. "Now tell me, man, what have you done with that girth? I know exactly where lies Castle Yewe, and I wish to ride within its sallyport without further parley or delay. What have you done with my girth, I say?"

"By Saint George, Sir Dick, what have I done with your saddle girth, ... eh? 'Tis too much, this, I tell you. Give me nothing above a padded lance and a sword of lath, and I'd do battle with the whole of you together. Here have I suffered all manner of insults from every blessed soul within this tavern​—​and now you, Sir Dick, must say to me, what have I done with your girth, ... eh!"

"Mayhap," whined the stable-boy, who was squirming to get loose from de Claverlok's grasp, "I mislaid me it in yon hay-cock."