n the great stone fireplace a log fire was spurting and crackling,
throwing out a ruddy glare which, with the four bracket-lamps which
stood at each corner of the room, gave a bright and lightsome air to the
whole apartment. Above was a wreath-work of blazonry, extending up to
the carved and corniced oaken roof; while on either side stood the high
canopied chairs placed for the master of the house and for his most
honored guest. The walls were hung all round with most elaborate and
brightly colored tapestry, representing the achievements of Sir Bevis
of Hampton, and behind this convenient screen were stored the tables
dormant and benches which would be needed for banquet or high festivity.
The floor was of polished tiles, with a square of red and black diapered
Flemish carpet in the centre; and many settees, cushions, folding
chairs, and carved bancals littered all over it. At the further end was
a long black buffet or dresser, thickly covered with gold cups, silver
salvers, and other such valuables. All this Alleyne examined with
curious eyes; but most interesting of all to him was a small ebony
table at his very side, on which, by the side of a chess-board and the
scattered chessmen, there lay an open manuscript written in a right
clerkly hand, and set forth with brave flourishes and devices along the
margins. In vain Alleyne bethought him of where he was, and of those
laws of good breeding and decorum which should restrain him: those
colored capitals and black even lines drew his hand down to them, as
the loadstone draws the needle, until, almost before he knew it, he
was standing with the romance of Garin de Montglane before his eyes, so
absorbed in its contents as to be completely oblivious both of where he
was and why he had come there.

He was brought back to himself, however, by a sudden little ripple of
quick feminine laughter. Aghast, he dropped the manuscript among the
chessmen and stared in bewilderment round the room. It was as empty and
as still as ever. Again he stretched his hand out to the romance, and
again came that roguish burst of merriment. He looked up at the ceiling,
back at the closed door, and round at the stiff folds of motionless
tapestry. Of a sudden, however, he caught a quick shimmer from the
corner of a high-backed bancal in front of him, and, shifting a pace
or two to the side, saw a white slender hand, which held a mirror of
polished silver in such a way that the concealed observer could