days of Spring were coming, I was brought out, and again set on an horse. We went north this time; and one even, after passing by certain monastical buildings, we stayed at the door of a stately palace. Here I was bidden to 'light, for that we should go no further. They carried me away through many lobbies, and down stairs, and at length we came unto a chamber where was a gaoler sitting, with his keys at his girdle. He and my guide spake together, and he then bare me unto a cell, wherein I was locked. I asked again where I was, but to no end beyond being bidden to hold my peace, and stricken on the head with his keys. Here I passed not many days, ere one even the gaoler came unto me, and bade me to follow him. He led me down further stairs, and at the very bottom opened a heavy door. I could see nothing within. `Go in,' said he, gruffly, `and fall no further than you can help. You were best to slide down.' I marvelled whither I were going; but I took his avisement, and grasping the door-sill with mine hands, I slid down into the darkness. At length my feet found firm ground, though I were a little bruised in the descent; but I lighted on no floor, but a point only--all the walls sloping away around me. `Are you there?' growls the gaoler--but his voice sounded far above me. `I am some whither,' said I, `but I can find no floor.' He laughed a rough laugh, and saith `You can find as much as there is. There is _little ease_ yonder.' And he shut to the door and left me. All at once it flashed on me where I was: and so terrible was the knowledge, that a cold sweat brake forth all over me. I had heard of the horrible prison in the Bishop of Lincoln's Palace of Woburn, called Little Ease [Note 1], which tapered down to a point, wherein a man might neither stand, nor sit, nor lie. Somewhat like despair came over me. Were they about to leave me to lie here and die of hunger? I shouted, and my voice came back to me with a mocking echo. I held my breath to listen, and I heard no sound. I was an outcast, a dead man out of mind; `the earth with her bars was about me for ever.' I had borne all easily (so to speak) save this. But now I covered my face with mine hands, and wept like a child." "My poor Robin!" said Isoult. "Tell me when this was." "It was at the beginning of the hot weather," he answered. "I fancy it might be about June. I thanked God heartily that it was not winter." "Ay," said she, "thou wouldst have more light." "Light!" he said, and smiled. "No light ever came into Little Ease. I never knew day from night all the while I was there. Once in three days my gaoler unlocked the door, and let down to me a rope, at the end whereof was a loaf of bread, and after a tin pitcher of water; and I had to fasten thereto the empty pitcher. Such thirst was on me that I commonly drank the water off, first thing." "But how didst thou go to bed?" asked Walter. Robin smiled, and told the child there was no bed to go to.