another glass of rum, which Manners eagerly, if rashly, devoured. Then
the liveryman wrapped himself in his furs, bade them good-night, and
started out again into the storm for his drive back to Monday Port.

All this time the old gentleman stood warming his feet and hands at the
fire, watching his two companions with quickly-shifting eyes, or glancing
curiously over the great bar which the light of the fire and the few
candles but faintly illuminated.

Having barred the door, Tom turned back to the hearth. "It is a bad
night, sir."

"But yes," exclaimed the Marquis. "I think I perish. Oh! that dreary
tavern at your Monday Port. I think when I arrive there I prefer to
perish. But this, this is the old Inn at the Red Oak, is it not? And it
dates, yes,--from the year 1693? The old inn, eh, by the great tree?"

"Yes, certainly," Pembroke answered; "at least, that is the date that
some people claim is on the old cornerstone. You have been here before
then, sir?"

"I?" exclaimed Monsieur de Boisdhyver. "Oh, no! not I. I have heard from
my friend who was here some years ago."

"Oh, I see. And you have come far to-day?"

"From Coventry, monsieur--Monsieur--?"

"Pembroke," Tom replied, with a little start.