Still he knelt on, peering eagerly into the darkness. At last his eyes grew bright and keen, for he saw a shadowy form come floating through the air, driven by the wind. He knew now that his charm had worked, and that this was his familiar spirit--the spirit over whom he had most control--who had come in the form of a great black horse, with flaming eyes, and flowing mane, to carry him over the sea to France. With one bound he flew through the window, and alighted on its back. "Now woe betide thee, Diabolus," he said, "if thou fliest not swiftly. For I must be in Paris by daylight to-morrow." The huge black horse shook its mane, and snorted fiercely, as if it understood, and without more ado it flew on its way, its uncanny black-cloaked rider seated on its back. As soon as they had disappeared, the storm died away, and the moon rose, and the little stars shone out over Oakwood Tower as clearly and quietly as if there had never been a cloud in the sky. Meanwhile Sir Michael Scott and his huge black charger were flying over hills, and valleys, and rivers, in the darkness. They even flew over the sea itself, and never halted until the day broke, and there, far below, lay the city of Paris, dimly seen in the gray morning light. In the King's Palace the lackeys were hardly awake. They gazed at one another in astonishment when the heavy iron knocker on the great gate fell with a knock that echoed through the courtyard. "Who dares to knock so loudly at this early hour?" asked the fat old porter in great indignation. "Whoever it be, I trow he may e'en wait outside till I have broken my fast." But before he had done speaking the knocker fell once more, and there was something so commanding in the sound that the little man hurried off, grumbling to himself, to get the key. "Beshrew me if it doth not sound like a messenger from some great king," said a man-at-arms who was standing by, and the porter's heart misgave him at the thought that perhaps by his tardiness he had got himself into trouble. But when he opened the great door, instead of the company of armed men whom he dreaded to see, there was only a solitary rider, muffled in a great black cloak, and wearing a hairy cap drawn down over his face, seated on an enormous black horse. The stranger's dress was so outlandish, and his horse so big, that the porter crossed himself. "Surely 'tis the Evil One himself," he muttered; and when the lackeys heard his words, they crowded round the doorway. They, too, were puzzled at Sir Michael's appearance, and began to laugh and jeer at him. "He is like a hooded crow," cried one. "Nay, 'tis an old wife in her husband's clothes," shouted another. "Surely the cloak belonged to Noah," cried a third. But they started back in dismay when the muffled figure pushed up his cap, and demanded an audience of the King. "I come from the King of Scotland," he said haughtily, "and his business brooks no delay." A shout of laughter greeted his demand.