"I did but say," protested the grizzled knight in all seriousness, "that the scholar's nose was an uncommon long member, ... eh! And that his bookish business made him to be devilishly thin and pallid. I have a strong liking for tales, let me tell you that, Sir Dick. You'll read me out of them, ... eh?" "Sorry I am to deny you, my good friend," the young knight replied, "but I dare not steal the time from the doing of my errand. I shall but tarry in the Stag and Hounds to feed and rest my barb. But here's a challenge for you, de Claverlok," he added, gathering his loose reins well within his grasp. "The last man to dismount before the steps of the tavern shall foot up score for horse and man. What say you? Come, my hearty warrior, show me the vaunted mettle of your steed!" "I have you, Sir Dick!" instantly agreed the grizzled knight; whereupon they started off together, with dust and pebbles flying thick in their train from the swiftness of their flight. De Claverlok's animal was exceptionally deep-breasted and powerful, and a near match for Sir Richard's in speed. For quite a distance they clipped it neck and neck along the road. About midway between them and the goal against which they were flinging there rode a solitary horseman. He was garbed in the habit of a monk, with the cowl drawn well down over his head. The mad volleying of hoofs caused the rider to uncover, as the racers drew near, and shoot a glance of wonderment in their direction. Even with the fleeting view thus afforded him, Sir Richard remarked that the rugged, lean, and livid-scarred countenance appeared singularly incongruous within the brown frame of a monk's hood. It was like anything but that of a peace-loving ascetic. So intent was the young knight upon winning his race, however, that he failed to notice the unusually sharp angles where the robe fell away from the horseman's knees and elbows. Neither was he sufficiently acute to observe that his rapidly forging to the fore of de Claverlok was coincident with the swift uplifting of the traveler's cowl. He swept on down to the door of the Stag and Hounds, and reining his stallion to its haunches beneath the creaking sign that hung above it, he flung himself from off his saddle in time to see the monk look rather hastily back toward the tavern, mark the stations of the cross in the air with exaggerated gestures above de Claverlok's bowed head, and disappear at a round gallop over the hill. The grizzled knight then rode leisurely down to where Sir Richard stood waiting for him, his rugged face beaming with smiles.