At this juncture, the sergeant commands his subordinates, whom he has halted for a moment, to ‘present arms;’ and the Beefeater takes post a little in advance of his protectors, who forthwith set off in the direction of the gates. The first sentry to be passed stands expectant under the veranda at the entrance to the guardroom, where is also the whole guard not elsewhere engaged: it has been ‘turned out’ to do honour to the Keys. When the sentry sees the escort, headed by the lantern, coming very near to his post, he calls out: ‘Halt! who comes there?’ not, ‘Who _goes_ there?’ the popular acceptation of a military challenge, perhaps derived from the words used in like contingencies by sentinels of certain continental armies. The advancing party is brought to a stand-still by this summons; and the warder, who, as a rule, is enveloped in the folds of an antiquated-looking cloak, replies, in a kind of sepulchral tone of voice: ‘Keys.’—‘Whose keys?’ inquires the soldier, who is meanwhile standing with his piece at the ‘port’—an attitude preparatory to assuming that of the ‘charge.’ The warder answers: ‘Queen Victoria’s Keys.’ But even now the escort is not permitted to proceed on its journey; for the obdurate sentry, coming down to the charge, makes the demand: ‘Stand, Queen Victoria’s Keys. Advance one and give the countersign.’ The password, being well known to the warder, is of course given, and the sentry cries: ‘Pass, Queen Victoria’s Keys. All’s well.’ After the above dialogue has come to a termination, the Keys are conveyed past the guardhouse, being in their transit saluted by the assembled guard, which is then ‘turned in.’