> more than puncheons smoothed down with the adze and supported by wooden

trestles.



The main table ran nearly the full length of the hall, and was intended

to accommodate the men-at-arms and the superior servants, together with

such strangers of low degree as might chance to be present. The

furniture was of the rudest pattern--platters of bass and white wood,

which were daily scoured with sand to keep them clean and sweet,

earthenware pitchers of a bricklike hue, drinking-cups of pewter and

leather, and clumsy iron forks. There was no provision of cutlery;

evidently the guests were expected to use their hunting-knives and

daggers for the dismemberment of the viands.



At the upper or dais end of the hall there was a second table, placed at

right angles to the long one and elevated above it by the height of the

superior flooring upon which it stood. This principal board was, of

course, for the exclusive use of the family and distinguished guests,

and from the circumstance of its being raised above the main level the

master could command an unobstructed view of the entire household in the

event of any overt disorder or indecorum.



The viands were quite in keeping with the simplicity of the table-gear.

Huge chines of beef and mutton, with spare-rib and fowl in apparently

unlimited quantity, formed the staple of the repast, and were reinforced

by vast bowls of the commoner garden vegetables and by bread made of

unbolted flour. Sweetmeats were scarce, for the products of the

sugarcane are difficult to procure in these northern latitudes. Maple

sugar and honey serve as the ordinary substitutes, and even these are

regarded as luxuries, since maple-trees are few in number and

bee-keeping is but little practised. Finally, there were the drinkables,

these including hard cider and a thin, acid wine made from the wild

grape.



Annoyed by the clatter of the dishes and the half-whispered conversation

of the domestics, Constans rose and walked to the dais end of the hall,

where his mother and sister were seated, engaged in the agreeable

occupation of inspecting the contents of a peddler's pack. It was an

imposing array to the eye, and the chapman, kneeling on the floor close

by Issa's stool, kept handing up one article after another for closer

examination. The stuff seemed worthless enough to Constans--trumpery

pieces of quartz crystal set in copper and debased silver, rings and

bangles of a hue unmistakably brassy, hair ribbons, parti-colored dress

goods, pins, needles, and a miscellaneous assortment of useless

trinkets. Constans was genuinely astonished that Issa, who had been

hitherto something of a good-fellow, should seem interested in such

rubbish; but then women were all alike when it was a question of pretty

things to buy. He looked sharply at the peddler, but the latter appeared

commonplace enough, a man of forty or thereabouts, and dressed in the

looped-up gray gaberdine peculiar to the guild of itinerant chapmen.

Possibly he was bald, for he wore a close-fitting skull-cap; his beard,

however, was luxuriant and effectually hid the contour of the lower half

of his face. Constans stood by frowning lightly, but he had no

reasonable pretext for interfering with his sister's amusement, and in

the feminine catalogue of diversions the peddler's infrequent visit held

a prominent place.



The major-domo, wearing a silver chain about his neck by virtue of his

office, advanced to his mistress's chair and announced that the meal was

ready for serving. The Lady Rayne nodded, a brazen gong sounded, the big

folding-doors at the south end were thrown open, and the hall was

quickly filled with the customary throng of retainers and hangers-on.

But all remained standing in silence until the master and mistress had

taken their places. Sir Gavan entered from his workshop, and, offering

his hand to his wife, led her ceremoniously to her seat, Issa and

Constans following.



To Constans's indignant amazement the peddler stepped forward, as though

to take the vacant seat alongside of Issa. But before Constans could

move or speak the chapman appeared to recognize the impropriety of

which he had been so nearly guilty; with a profound genuflection, he

withdrew from the dais and found a place at the lower table. The

incident had been so momentary that it had passed entirely unnoticed by

his father and the Lady Rayne; Constans could not even be sure that Issa

had understood, and certainly she gave no sign of discomposure.



"What presumption!" muttered Constans, under his breath. "These fellows

are becoming more insufferable every day, and my father sees nothing."

Constans resolved that the man should be packed off immediately upon the

conclusion of the meal. He could easily persuade Sir Gavan that the

fellow had none too honest a look, while his wares were assuredly the

cheapest trash. He must be got rid of before the women had been beguiled

into spending all their pin-money.



The repast dragged out to its end, and the women withdrew to the upper

end of the hall, comparative privacy being secured by large leather

screens set up along the edge of the dais. The men remained at the table

for deeper potations and the smoking of rank black kinnectikut tobacco in

huge wooden pipes.



A heavy thunderstorm, the first of the season, had come up, and Constans

recognized, to his vexation, that he would have no decent excuse for

turning the peddler out-of-doors. So he kept his seat at the table in

sulky silence, watching the man closely, and ready to note anything of

further suspicion in his actions and bearing. But he had his trouble for

his pains, for the fellow was the itinerant chapman to the life, even to

the stock of gross stories with which he kept his bucolic audience in an

uninterrupted guffaw. Pah! would Sir Gavan never finish his second pipe

and give the signal to rise?



The storm had turned into a heavy downpour, and the peddler was

consequently sure of his night's lodging. He had been summoned again to

the presence of the ladies, and, as before, Constans stood aloof and

wondered irritably how his fastidious sister could find aught in common

with this wayside huckster. She was talking to him now with an animation

rare with her, her checks flushed and her eyes glowing.



"And you have been in Doom--in the city itself?" she asked,

incredulously.



"Yes, gracious lady; and not once, but a score of times. The brocades

that I promised to show you after supper will be my witness. And there

are some superlative satin and silk lengths which my Lady Rayne wished

particularly to see. Will you allow me, then?"



The peddler, opening an inner compartment of his pack, drew out several

pieces of stuff wrapped up in brown linen. Removing the covering, he

spread the goods upon the rug before the ladies, holding up each

separate piece to the light and expatiating upon its merits in the

approved fashion of the shopman. The two women gave a little gasp of

astonishment; never had they seen such wondrous beauty of color and

finish; their little market-town of Croye held nothing to compare to

this.



"I must send for Meta to advise me," said the Lady Rayne, glancing

fondly from one rich fabric to another. "She ought to know good silk

when she sees it, after living so long in Croye; and you, Issa, seem

strangely indifferent to-night. You hardly looked at this piece of

brocade."



Meta, the Lady Rayne's bedwoman, speedily appeared, and mistress and

maid fell into earnest converse. Issa, as in duty bound, listened; then

her attention seemed to flag again. She bent over the open pack and

picked up a chain of filigree work. It was beautifully fashioned and

looked like gold.



"It is gold," said the chapman, answering the question in her eyes. "The

pure gold of the ancients; you never see that pale yellow nowadays. Ah,

yes, a pretty trinket to have brought from the heart of Doom for the

delight of a fair woman's eyes, and well worth its price of a man's

life. But, then, fortune was kind, and I did not have to pay."



"Tell me about it," said the girl, beseechingly, and her breath came

short and hot.



Whereupon the chapman drew a little nearer and began a wondrous tale of

a secret visit that he had lately made to Doom, the Forbidden; of how he

had crossed the river on a raft, the moon being in its dark quarter; of

his landing upon a shaking wharf, where each foot-fall left a print of

phosphorescent fire on the rotting planks; then of the marvels that he

had seen there--vast warehouses covering whole acres of ground and

filled with incalculable store of goods; lofty buildings, whose

chimney-pots were in the clouds; palaces of sculptured stone, now empty

and despoiled, the habitation of foxes and unclean nocturnal creatures.



Then again of hidden treasure, heaps and heaps of yellow gold; of the

fierce Doomsmen who guarded it so well; of pitfalls and gins and siren

voices that lured the soul astray; of ghastly shapes that crept along

the crumbling walls; of mystery in every sound and shadow; of

treacheries and alarms and the ever present terror of death--a tale of

amazing wonder, at which the blood ran alternately warm and cold and the

heart fluttered with a certain fearful joy.



How the maid hung upon the word, her little breasts heaving and her lips

parted! "You have seen all these things?" she panted. "How wonderful!

And you were not afraid? That was like a man--to be brave----" She

blushed deeply, stammered, and turned to the neglected brocades.

Constans, standing close at hand, was moved to new anger. The

impertinent, how dared he! Yet he had listened himself, and in spite of

himself, for assuredly the fellow talked well.



The evening was now well advanced and the customary hour of retirement

was at hand. It was still raining, but Guyder Touchett, who came in

dripping from his nightly task of posting the watch, remarked that the

wind was changing and that it was likely to clear when the moon rose. Of

course the peddler would now spend the night at the keep, and at his own

request he was allowed to remain in the hall, a straw pallet being

brought in for his accommodation.



* * * * *



"The Rat's-Hole!"



Constans repeated the words half aloud, holding the paper close to the

guttering candle. It was but a tiny scrap, scarce large enough for the

writing that it held. But paper of any kind is rare in these days, and

so the gleam of white had caught his eye as he went up-stairs to his

sleeping apartment. The handwriting was unfamiliar, and besides it was

in back-hand, and it may be disguised as well; he was hardly an expert

in such fine distinctions. But it was plainly a message, and its

possible import startled him. For the Rat's-Hole was the secret exit

that existed behind the jamb of the fireplace at the upper end of the

hall. So cunningly had the panelled door been joinered into the

wainscoting that a man might search for hours and yet not discover the

spring that threw it open. Furthermore, the wainscoting was but a screen

for the real door of iron-bound oak giving passage directly through the

outer wall of the keep to the open country. A jealously guarded secret,

this matter of the Rat's-Hole, and supposed to be known only to the

master of the household and his immediate family. Even among them its

existence was never referred to in ordinary conversation, while its

actual use was restricted to the gravest of emergencies.



"The Rat's-Hole!" A message, an agreement, an appointment? By whose hand

had these words been written? For whose eye had they been intended?



It would have been the wiser course to have communicated at once with

Sir Gavan, but the latter, feeling somewhat indisposed, had retired

early, and Constans hesitated to disturb him. Moreover, the boy stood in

awe of his father, and of late a feeling of estrangement had been

growing up between them. To Sir Gavan, Constans, with his dreamy,

inactive nature, was a keen disappointment--so different from his

brother Tennant. And Constans felt that his father did not understand

him nor, indeed, cared to do so. Latterly, they had gone their own ways,

and now at this perplexing juncture Constans could not bring himself to

take his father into his confidence.



When, a few moments later, the lights had been formally extinguished for

the night, Constans made his way back to the hall; he had to pass close

by the pallet occupied by the peddler, and he paused an instant to

listen to his deep and measured breathing. Surely the man slept.



Even in the dark Constans knew how to put his hand on the spring in the

wainscoting, and it yielded to his touch. It was discomposing to find

the key of the real door standing, ready for turning, in the lock. In

theory, the key was never out of the master's immediate possession. An

oversight, then? Constans's mind reverted to the one occasion in his

remembrance on which the Rat's-Hole had been used, that day a fortnight

back, when his sister Issa came out of the birch-copse, with her hands

full of May-bloom and Quinton Edge had waited under cover of the alders.

It was possible; his father might have forgotten. And yet----



Constans took the key and slipped it into the bosom of his doublet. Then

closing the secret door in the wainscoting, he drew one of the big

leather screens into convenient position and crouched down behind it.

The dying fire gave out a flickering and uncertain light; he watched the

grotesque procession of the shadows on the opposite wall until his eyes

grew heavy. The odor of a smouldering bough of balsam-fir hung in the

air--warm, spicy, soporific. He slept.