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 bei