“As when a Gryphon through the wilderness

With winged step, o’er hill and moory dale

Pursues the Arimaspian.”

“As when a Gryphon through the wilderness With winged step, o’er hill and moory dale Pursues the Arimaspian.”

He jumped round as my step rung on the keystone, and I saw a pleasant sunburnt boyish face.

“Good evening to you,” he said gravely. “It’s a fine night for the road.”

The smell of peat smoke and of some savoury roast floated to me from the house.

“Is that place an inn?” I asked.