At once the footstep of a person was heard ascending the stairs in haste and trepidation; the door of the hall was thrown violently open, and, terrified to a degree of ecstasy, Caspar, the head of the baron’s stable, or his master of horse, stumbled up almost to the foot of the table at which his lord was seated, with the exclamation in his mouth—­’My lord, my lord, a fiend is in the stable!’ ’What means this folly?’ said the baron, arising, surprised and displeased at an interruption so unusual.  ‘Let me endure your displeasure,’ said Caspar, ‘if I speak not truth!  Apollyon—­’ Here he paused.  ’Speak out, thou frightened fool,’ said the baron; ‘is my horse sick, or injured?’ The master of the stalls again gasped forth the word ‘Apollyon!’ ‘Say on,’ said the baron; ’were Apollyon in presence personally, it were nothing to shake a brave man’s mind.’  ‘The devil,’ answered the master of the horse, ‘is in Apollyon’s stall!’ ‘Fool!’ exclaimed the nobleman, snatching a torch from the wall; ’what is it that could have turned thy brain in such silly fashion?’

“As he spoke, he crossed the courtyard of the castle, to visit the stately range of stables, where fifty gallant steeds stood in rows, on each side of the ample hall.  At the side of each stall hung the weapons of offence and defence of a man-at-arms, as bright as constant attention could make them, together with the buff-coat which formed the trooper’s under garment.  The baron, followed by one or two of the domestics, who had assembled full of astonishment at the unusual alarm, hastened up betwixt the rows of steeds.  As he approached the stall of his favourite horse, which was the uppermost of the right-hand row, the good steed neither neighed, nor shook his head, nor stamped with his foot, nor gave the usual signs of joy at his lord’s approach; a faint moaning, as if he implored assistance, was the only acknowledgment of the baron’s presence.  Sir Herman held up the torch, and discovered that there was indeed a tall, dark figure standing in the stall, resting his hand on the horse’s shoulder.  ‘Who art thou?’ said the baron, ‘and what dost thou here?’ ’I seek refuge and hospitality,’ replied the stranger; ’and I conjure thee to grant it me, by the shoulder of thy horse, and by the edge of thy sword, and so as they may never fail thee when thy need is at the utmost.’  ’Thou art, then, a brother of the Sacred Fire,’ said Baron Herman of Arnheim; ’and I may not refuse thee the refuge which thou requirest of me, after the ritual of the Persian Magi.  From whom, and for what length of time, dost thou crave my protection?’ ‘From those,’ replied the stranger, ’who shall arrive in quest of me before the morning cock shall crow, and for the full space of a year and a day from this period.’  ’I may not refuse thee,’ said the baron, ’consistently with my oath and my honour.  For a year and a day I will be thy pledge, and thou shall share with me roof and chamber, wine and food.  But thou, too, must obey the law of Zoroaster, which, as it