A SHELTER FROM THE STORM
The morning of the second day found Francis once more on her way without having seen any of the queen’s men. The day was unusually warm, and both the girl and her horse, wearied by the hard riding, showed the effects of the journey. But fatigued though she was she pushed resolutely on, pausing only to care for the tired animal. At length the road entered a deep wood and she gave a sigh of relief as the grateful shade of the trees enveloped her. The horse too seemed to revive somewhat and went forward with more briskness.
So dense was the shade that Francis was not aware that the sky had become overcast with clouds until a distant peal of thunder broke upon her ear.
“A storm is coming,” she cried. “I must seek shelter; but where?”
It was a problem that would have puzzled a 204 head older and wiser than that of Francis Stafford. She was in the midst of a dense forest. She looked about her in dismay.
“Beshrew me!” she uttered, “these woods are impenetrable enough to furnish hiding-place for Robin Hood and all his men. Surely there must be an inn or house somewhere near. Patience! I will find shelter. On, good horse!”
The mutterings of the thunder became louder and deeper as the storm approached. The clouds scudded across the heavens swiftly, borne on the wings of a heavy wind. Suddenly a blinding flash of lightning zigzagged across the sky followed by a deafening crash of thunder, and the storm broke in all its force. The rain came down in torrents. The trees bent and swayed in the wind, tossing their proud heads as if in defiance to the storm king. The horse snorted in terror as flash after flash of lightning blazed across the road. Francis was drenched to the skin, but she struggled on, soothing the frightened animal as best she could.
Presently she thought she saw an opening in the trees. Drawing closer she was overjoyed 205 to find that there really was a path through the wood. Turning into it she followed it for some distance, finally coming to an open glade where stood what looked to be an ancient inn.
One wing had fallen into decay. The rose covered trellis of the porch lay rotting on the ground. All about the building hung an air of dilapidation and decay that forbade the thought of cheer. One part of the tumbled down structure looked as though it might serve as a shelter, and the girl hastened to the door of this portion and knocked.
There was no response, and Francis rapped again; this time more loudly than before, resolving to force the door should there be no answer. She waited a few moments, and then there came a high shrill voice from behind the closed door.