The night had set in, dark and cloudy; a high wind made the lights flicker in the lanterns which were used to receive the new guests.  But the description given to Morok had been so exact, that it was impossible to mistake them.  Sure of his prey, he closed the window.  Having remained in meditation for another quarter of an hour—­for the purpose, no doubt, of thoroughly digesting his projects—­he leaned over the aperture, from which projected the ladder, and called, “Goliath!”

“Master!” replied a hoarse voice.

“Come up to me.”

“Here I am—­just come from the slaughter-house with the meat.”

The steps of the ladder creaked as an enormous head appeared on a level with the floor.  The new-comer, who was more than six feet high, and gifted with herculean proportions, had been well-named Goliath.  He was hideous.  His squinting eyes were deep set beneath a low and projecting forehead; his reddish hair and beard, thick and coarse as horse-hair, gave his features a stamp of bestial ferocity; between his broad jaws, armed with teeth which resembled fangs, he held by one corner a piece of raw beef weighing ten or twelve pounds, finding it, no doubt, easier to carry in that fashion, whilst he used his hands to ascend the ladder, which bent beneath his weight.

At length the whole of this tall and huge body issued from the aperture.  Judging by his bull-neck, the astonishing breadth of his chest and shoulders, and the vast bulk of his arms and legs, this giant need not have feared to wrestle single-handed with a bear.  He wore an old pair of blue trousers with red stripes, faced with tanned sheep’s-skin, and a vest, or rather cuirass, of thick leather, which was here and there slashed by the sharp claws of the animals.

When he was fairly on the floor, Goliath unclasped his fangs, opened his mouth, and let fall the great piece of beef, licking his blood-stained lips with greediness.  Like many other mountebanks, this species of monster had began by eating raw meat at the fairs for the amusement of the public.  Thence having gradually acquired a taste for this barbarous food, and uniting pleasure with profit, he engaged himself to perform the prelude to the exercises of Morok, by devouring, in the presence of the crowd, several pounds of raw flesh.

“My share and Death’s are below stairs, and here are those of Cain and Judas,” said Goliath, pointing to the chunk of beef.  “Where is the cleaver, that I may cut it in two?—­No preference here—­beast or man—­every gullet must have it’s own.”

Then, rolling up one of the sleeves of his vest, he exhibited a fore-arm hairy as skin of a wolf, and knotted with veins as large as one’s thumb.

“I say, master, where’s the cleaver?”—­He again began, as he cast round his eyes in search of that instrument.  But instead of replying to this inquiry, the Prophet put many questions to his disciple.

“Were you below when just now some new travellers arrived at the inn?”