Tea being over, the party broke up to amuse itself in various ways, most of the children playing at hide-and-seek among the crumbling walls, or chasing each other up the winding staircase, while a few more adventurous spirits took the opportunity of exploring the dungeons with a candle. It was deliciously creepy down there; you could still see the iron stanchions by which the wretched prisoners had been chained to the wall, and the little hole through which their daily portions of food had been handed in to them, and could imagine, if you were fond of recalling the past, how from their beds of straw they would watch the light fading from the tiny barred window, and shiver as they heard the rats gnawing at the stout oak door, or felt a toad crawl over their feet in the murky darkness. Some of the grown-ups had been busy marking out bounds in the courtyard, and soon enlisted every one in an exciting game of prisoner's base. Mr. Chester and the curate made the most successful captains, directing the proceedings with great spirit, and sometimes by a bold dash rescuing the more important of their prisoners, and Bertie Rokeby covered himself with glory by quietly walking to the "prison" while the opposite side was occupied in a hardly-contested struggle, and unsuspectedly freeing all the captives one by one. It was warm work, however, on a hot August day, and after a time the Wrights, never good runners, subsided, panting, on to a piece of ruined wall, and even the enthusiastic curate, who had pulled off his coat, and was prosecuting the game in his shirt sleeves, began to show signs of flagging zeal. "I'm done up!" cried Mr. Chester at last, flinging himself under the shade of a small elder tree near the banqueting-hall. "I haven't a leg left to stand on, and I'm hoarse with shouting orders. You'd better give in, and do something quiet. I don't want to see another boy or girl for the space of the next half-hour, so scoot, all of you, anywhere, and leave Mr. Browne and myself to enjoy a smoke in peace." CHAPTER X. WILD MAIDENHAIR. "On our other side is the straight-up rock, And a path is kept 'twixt the gorge and it By boulder stones, where lichens mock The marks on a moth, and small ferns fit Their teeth to the polished block."