My mother turned pale, and I could see the fringe of her sleeve barely aquiver in the candlelight. She opened her mouth to speak in reproof of Marvin; but found no words, and sat gazing toward him with wide and glistening eyes. Truth to tell, it was a fearsome thing, and for myself I had but the smallest wish to face the dungeon passages on that black night. ’Twas not so long since I would not have faced them by my lone on the most quiet and peaceful of nights with no armed enemies within a day’s journey; and a great round lump came up into my throat as I thought of it. Yet, even as we sat eying one another in fear, a thought came to my mind of the duty of a Mountjoy. ’Twas but natural that our serving men should fear the evil sprites let loose by darkness and troublous times; and e’en my mother, a fair and gracious lady, and withal none too strong of body, was not made to face such things. But I was the Heir of Mountjoy; and my father had knelt before a King of France and been made Knight of a holy order for his deeds on the Plains of Jerusalem. I started up and cried: “Tush! good Marvin. Methought thee far too bold for frightening with old wives’ tales. Come! I’ll go before thee bearing a candle to fright away thy imaginings.” “Spoken like a true Montmorency,” said my mother with a strange little laugh, “truly, Dickon, thou’lt shame us all.” Then she rose and reached to the shelf behind her for a candlestick. “Oh, now, my lady!” cried old Dame Franklin. “Go not to the dungeons on such a night. The men can better want their sup of ale. ’Tis an ill night for all uneasy sprites. Bide here by the fire, for soon we go to the battlements again.” But my lady already stood with her hand on the great latch of the door at the head of the stairway which led to the donjon keep. I took my cross-bow. “If any of the Imps of Darkness challenge us,” I said, “I’ll see whether or no they can stand before a good steel bolt.” But even in the midst of my confident words, I had a thought anent the spectral tappings which chilled the blood in my veins. Ghostly visitants I was ready then to challenge; but I had heard my father tell how the Crusaders took one Saracen stronghold by means of a mine or tunnel, dug with weeks of toil under the walls and into the passages of the ancient keep. Why should not the Old Wolf of Carleton have planned a like attack? During the weeks when his men had seemed so quiet and had given the Mountjoys scarcely a chance for a long bowshot, might they not have been driving such a tunnel under their very feet? Suppose that tapping that Gavin thought the work of the Evil One were the sound of the tools of the servants of one scarcely less evil and with even more cause to wish us ill! “Come then,” said my mother, her face white but firm. Opening the great oak door, she led the way toward the dungeons.