"Why, this is Sir Julian Harnwood's horse," I cried, leaping towards it--"his favourite horse!" "Yes," he said, looking at me with some surprise, "that was the name--Sir Julian Harnwood. 'Tis the horse I told you of last night." And in a flash the truth came upon me. "It waits for me," I said. "Quick, man, saddle it! Sir Julian's life hangs upon your speed." But he planted himself sturdily before me. "Not so fast, young master," he said. "That trick will not serve your turn. 'Tis Sir Julian's horse, sure enough, and it waits its rider, sure enough; but that you are he, I must have some better warrant than your word." "My name may prove it," I replied. "It is Buckler--Morrice Buckler. Sir Julian's servant came to me in Holland." "Buckler!" the man repeated, as though he heard it for the first time. "Morrice Buckler! Yes, sir, that may be your name. I have nothing against it beyond that it is unfamiliar in these parts. But a strange name is a poor thing to persuade a man to forego his trust." I looked at the man. Though elderly and somewhat bent, he was of a large frame, and the sinews stood out in knots upon his bared arms. Plainly I was no match for him if it came to a struggle; and a sickening feeling of impotence and futility surged up within me. At every turn of the road destiny had built up its barrier. I understood that the clue to the matter lay hidden in that untold message which had been vainly conveyed to Leyden; that Swasfield had some pass-word, some token to impart whereby I might make myself known along the road. "The horse waits for me," I cried, my voice rising as I beseeched him. "In very truth it waits for me. Doubtless I should have some proof of that. But the man that bid me come fell in a swoon or ever he could hand it me." The innkeeper smiled, and sat him down on a corn-bin. Indeed, the explanation sounded weak enough to me, who was witness of its truth. I should hardly have credited it from another's lips. "Oh, can't you see," I entreated, in an extremity of despair, "can't you feel that I am telling you God's truth?" "No, master," he answered slowly, shaking his head, "I feel nought of that sort." His words and stolid bumpkin air threw me into a frenzy of rage. "Then," cried I, "may the devil's curse light on you and yours! That horse was left with you in trust. You have dinned the word into my ears; there's no gainsaying it. And I claim the fulfilment of your trust. Understand, fellow!" I went on, shaking my hand at him, for I saw his mouth open and his whole face broaden out into a laugh. "It's not a horse you are stealing; it is a life--a man's innocent life!" Thereupon he broke in upon my passion with a great gust of mirth that shook him from head to foot.