"I see no inn," she murmured apprehensively.
"Look aloft, your highness. That great black canopy is the roof; we are
standing upon the floor, and the dark shadows just beyond the circle of
light are the walls of the Hawk and Raven. This is the largest tavern in
all Graustark. Its dimensions are as wide as the world itself."
"You mean that there is no inn at all?" the girl cried in dismay.
"Alas, I must confess it. And yet there is shelter here. Come with
me. Let your servant follow." He took her by the hand, and led her away
from the coach, a ragged lantern-bearer preceding. Beverly's little
right hand was rigidly clutching the revolver in her pocket. It was a
capacious pocket, and the muzzle of the weapon bored defiantly into a
timid powder-rag that lay on the bottom. The little leather purse from
which it escaped had its silver lips opened as if in a broad grin of
derision, reveling in the plight of the chamois. The guide's hand was at
once firm and gentle, his stride bold, yet easy. His rakish hat, with
its aggressive red feather, towered a full head above Beverly's Parisian
violets.
"Have you no home at all--no house in which to sleep?" Beverly managed
to ask.
"I live in a castle of air," said he, waving his hand gracefully. "I
sleep in the house of my fathers,"
"You poor fellow," cried Beverly, pityingly. He laughed and absently
patted the hilt of his sword.
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