He was quite aware, moreover, that none of his countrymen had ever journeyed through Scotland without being bedeviled by somewhat of these same gruesome tales. While it was true that the wily Lord Bishop Kennedy had succeeded in effecting a truce of seven years' duration between England and Scotland, it was obviously beyond him to beguile the yeomanry into viewing an Englishman with anything approaching favor. Nor yet, by any possible chance or subterfuge, could he have set a truce to their wagging tongues. Legends and superstitions were a part of their daily existence, and in proportion as they were fearsome they enjoyed spreading them about. Revolving these matters within an uneasy mind, Sir Richard gave small heed to his surroundings. By now, he had laid the moor well behind him. Through a slight rift in the rolling cloud-pall peered the last segment of the setting sun; and away to the westward could be caught an occasional glinting of the sea as the waves billowed through its golden reflection. Just ahead of him the road dipped into a valley. Along its bowl-like bed lay a morass, which gave off continuously a heavy, bluish, and probably poisonous vapor. To the north of the morass the road ascended in easy gradients till it clipped the sky line at the distance of a league and a half, or thereabouts, from where he rode. At the precise point where the road showed bold and clear against the clouds he fancied that he saw the expiring rays of the sun gleaming against a point of vivid color. As he descended into the valley to where the road divided the morass, the point of color disappeared from view, and all of the landscape resumed its gray and monotonous appearance. Not wishing to inhale the miasmic vapor, in which, he feared, might lurk some dire fever, Sir Richard drank long and deep of untainted air. So much so indeed that the flesh of his back and breast impinged strong upon his steel harness. Then, setting spurs to his stallion, he galloped through the dank cloud without a breath of it reaching into his nostrils. As he drew near the northern reaches of the valley and rounded a gigantic boulder that stood sentinel to the upper plain, he came full upon a tavern that he at once surmised to be the same of which he had heard so much. Upon the instant that he did so, he reined in his steed to a dead stand. Aside from its brilliant though somewhat weather-beaten coat of scarlet, it differed in many respects from the taverns then commonly to be seen along the highways. Saving at the very apex of its steep gable, its front was unpierced by windows. Above its single, narrow door, which opened beneath the jut of the upper story, hung a signboard bearing upon its surface the device of a vulture feeding its young. Withal, however, it appeared to be material enough, and this made it impossible for Sir Richard to account for a feeling of unutterable dread that took complete possession of his mind.