The air of absolute confidence with which the inn-keeper presently entered the room; the deliberate manner in which he went about unfastening and intruding his hand within the traveler's wallet seemed adequately to indicate that the entire circumstance had grown out of a well meditated plan of action. As he withdrew King Henry's warrant and clapped his eyes upon the great red seal his eyebrows went up in token of astonishment. With extreme deliberation he broke the seal and proceeded to acquaint himself with its purport. "'Tis a passing strange and untoward business, this," he muttered, after having read and read again the contents of the singular document. "Aye, a passing strange business. Is it but an idle frolic of a king? some cruel wager, conceived in wanton jest? Certes, and this youth were an enemy to the throne, his fair head, ere this, had fallen beside the tower block. I would that we could attach men as stanch, devoted and incorruptible to our great cause. But now, since the young prince is dead, what cause have we?" Folding carefully the parchment, he vented a deep sigh. "The labor of these seven years is gone for naught. Aye, for naught. And the great army that is bivouaced here to-night in Scotland is like unto an avenging Juggernaut with none to guide its course. A beast of prey bereft of a head wherewith to devour its enemy." Concluding his meditations, the inn-keeper, moving toward the fire, took up a blazing splinter and addressed himself to the task of mending the broken seal. Having accomplished this to his apparent satisfaction, he returned the parchment whence it had been taken, seated himself beside the table opposite to the sleeping young knight and resumed the thread of his gloomy thoughts. "'Tis passing strange that I--I, James Tyrrell--wearing the stigma of a murderer, expatriate and outlawed from my country, should feel toward this comely youth a sentiment akin to pity. Even would I make attempt to save him, and I could. But, I fear me, 'tis impossible. The very nature of his errand furnishes such proof of his stubborn integrity that 'twere but folly to make trial of dissuading him from going on. An I had awakened him to display the violated parchment, he would have had at me with his sword for an arrant traitor. Even as he bent me that pretty bow, I could see the fighting-man in his gray eye. An I caused him to be trussed up as he sleeps to hold it before his conscious eyes, he would dub me liar and base imitator of King Henry's signature to my very teeth. Reluctant though I am thus to do, I must perforce allow him to fare away upon his pilgrimage to death."