the darkening road. No moving thing broke the monotony of the depressing
outlook, and the groom turned to his work of bedding down for the night
the few animals that happened to be in his charge. They were not many;
most of those that so frequently of late had stood here were away with
their owners, following the fortunes of the Earl of Derwentwater;
business was dull at the inn. Well, let the weather be what it liked, at
least the groom's work was over for the night, and he might go sit by
the cheerful peat fire in the kitchen, and drink a health to the
King--the rightful King, God bless him; and it was little harm, thought
he, if he drank another to the Earl--whom might the Saints protect.

Even as he turned to go, in the dusk at the door, framed, as it were, in
a picture, there appeared a horseman leading a tired horse, the reins
loose over his arm. Though seen only in that half light, the outline of
man and beast were familiar to the stableman. Both seemed far spent; the
horse held low its head, and sweat stood caked and thick on neck and
heaving flanks, and dripped off inside down by the hocks.

"Ye've ridden hard, sir," said the groom, bustling forward to take the
horse.

The stranger said no word, but himself led the tired animal into an
empty stall. Yet, as the groom remembered later, of the other horses in
the stable, not one raised its head, or whinnied, or took any notice
whatever as the new-comer entered.

The stableman turned to lift his lantern, and when, an instant later, he
again faced about, he stared to find himself alone; the strange horseman
was nowhere to be seen. And the horse in the stall? Him the groom knew
well; there was no possibility of mistake; it was the well-known grey on