cold, standing still, and the hospitable barn looked so enticing, that at last he resolved to risk everything and enter.  He started swiftly and stealthily, and just as he was crossing the threshold he heard voices behind him.  He darted behind a cask, within the barn, and stooped down.  Two farm-labourers came in, bringing the lantern with them, and fell to work, talking meanwhile.  Whilst they moved about with the light, the King made good use of his eyes and took the bearings of what seemed to be a good-sized stall at the further end of the place, purposing to grope his way to it when he should be left to himself.  He also noted the position of a pile of horse blankets, midway of the route, with the intent to levy upon them for the service of the crown of England for one night.

By-and-by the men finished and went away, fastening the door behind them and taking the lantern with them.  The shivering King made for the blankets, with as good speed as the darkness would allow; gathered them up, and then groped his way safely to the stall.  Of two of the blankets he made a bed, then covered himself with the remaining two.  He was a glad monarch, now, though the blankets were old and thin, and not quite warm enough; and besides gave out a pungent horsey odour that was almost suffocatingly powerful.

Although the King was hungry and chilly, he was also so tired and so drowsy that these latter influences soon began to get the advantage of the former, and he presently dozed off into a state of semi-consciousness.  Then, just as he was on the point of losing himself wholly, he distinctly felt something touch him!  He was broad awake in a moment, and gasping for breath.  The cold horror of that mysterious touch in the dark almost made his heart stand still.  He lay motionless, and listened, scarcely breathing.  But nothing stirred, and there was no sound.  He continued to listen, and wait, during what seemed a long time, but still nothing stirred, and there was no sound.  So he began to drop into a drowse once more, at last; and all at once he felt that mysterious touch again!  It was a grisly thing, this light touch from this noiseless and invisible presence; it made the boy sick with ghostly fears.  What should he do?  That was the question; but he did not know how to answer it.  Should he leave these reasonably comfortable quarters and fly from this inscrutable horror?  But fly whither?  He could not get out of the barn; and the idea of scurrying blindly hither and thither in the dark, within the captivity of the four walls, with this phantom gliding after him, and visiting him with that soft hideous touch upon cheek or shoulder at every turn, was intolerable.  But to stay where he was, and endure this living death all night—­was that better?  No.  What, then, was there left to do?  Ah, there was but one course; he knew it well—­he must put out his hand and find that thing!