There was, indeed, no trace of ghostly occupants of the house; but on the contrary, the rooms, upstairs and down, speedily became the scene of much jollity. It seemed, also, that the old man had spread the report among the townspeople that a band of children had taken refuge in the house for the night; and many kindly-disposed folk came and brought food and drink, so that there was an abundance for all the children. After eating heartily, and looking from the windows to observe the castle wherein the king dwelt, they all sought a good night's rest. And now once again we must leave Everychild and his companions for a little while, and take our place among surroundings at once strange and cruel. CHAPTER XVIII HOW THE HAND OF A CHAMBERLAIN TREMBLED We are now in a room in the castle of the cruel king, on top of the hill. The four walls of the room were grim and forbidding of aspect. The tapestry covering them in places was old and of somber design. There were two doors opening to the room: one on the right and one on the left. At the far side of the room there was a deep-silled window with leaded panes through which a dreary light struggled. At first you would have said that the room was empty; and then you would have perceived the Masked Lady and Mr. Literal, occupying a position among the shadows, not far from the deep-silled window. The Masked Lady was again wearing the white garment in which we first beheld her. She was seated before a desk, writing in a large book in which you could see a few initial letters in red, outlined in gold. Mr. Literal stood by her, regarding her with an impatient, puzzled air. And presently it would have seemed that he could no longer endure her silence; for he asked in a fault-finding tone: "Can you tell me what you're doing here? This place is--is genuine. And of late it has been your fancy to haunt places which have existed only in the imaginations of the story-tellers." Without looking up from the Book of Truth (for this was the volume in which she was writing) the Masked Lady replied: "Did you say that this place is genuine?" "Of course," said Mr. Literal. "We are in a medieval castle in Northampton--the castle of King John of England. King John or his chamberlain is likely to enter at any moment. And goodness knows what they'd say at finding you here." The Masked Lady turned a page. "King John would not see me here if he were to enter," said she; "no, neither here nor anywhere. And as for honest old Hubert de Burgh . . . well, perhaps I have a purpose in being here. You have said this place is genuine; yet I sometimes wonder if any place in all the world is so unreal as the palace of a king." She gazed before her dreamily for an instant and added, "I can see a day coming when all such palaces will be viewed by wondering, emancipated people, their minds filled with incredulity: because they will realize that kings' palaces have represented the most terrible delusion of all."