“Queen Anne entered by that postern at the water side, when she came here in state before her coronation; but the last time she was here she was brought in by the Traitors’ Gate, a few days before her execution,” said the literal warder, speaking just as if he had been an eyewitness to both proceedings. Drusilla stared at him, and thought he really might have been an actor in those long past tragedies; in his costume of that day he looked like a ghost of the past. “Where was Lady Jane Grey brought in when she was brought here a prisoner!” “Through the Traitors’ Gate.” “Ah, it seems that all who offended majesty in those palmy days, however innocent they might have been, were traitors. Where is that Traitors’ Gate?” “Some distance down the southern side, my lady. We will come around to it presently, when I will show it to you.” They were now making the circuit of the Outer Ward, passing up the west side. “There, sir, are the old buildings once appropriated to the Mint, which is now removed to a handsome edifice on Tower Hill, which I will show you,” said the guide, turning to General Lyon. And the General and Dick gave him their attention. But Anna and Drusilla were not interested in the mint, and remembered Tower Hill only as the scene of the execution of Lord Guilford Dudley. Passing on, the guide pointed out many objects of interest; the two strong bastions—the Legge Mount and the Brass Mount—defending the north-western and north-eastern angles of the outer wall; the Iron Gate and Tower at the south-eastern angle; the site of the ancient Well Tower, and the remains of the Cradle Tower. Thus they came at last to St. Thomas’s Tower, which guards the Traitors’ Gate. “There it is, ladies and gentlemen,” said the guide. “Oh, how many fair and stately heads have passed under that awful arch!” murmured Anna. As for Drusilla, the time for talking of these things was passed with her. She was too deeply impressed for speech. General Lyon and Mr Hammond instinctively uncovered their heads in the presence of this dread monument of human suffering. “Yes, ladies and gentlemen, here passed to their deaths the beautiful Queen Anne Boleyn, the fair Queen Katharine Howard, the lovely Lady Jane Gray, the courtly Norfolk, the accomplished Burleigh, the venerable Thomas More——” “And hundreds and hundreds more—the victims of tyranny and bigotry,” said General Lyon cutting short the list. “That’s so, sir,” admitted the guide. “Ah, if you had lived in those days!” “Did _you_?” inquired Anna, turning upon him. The guide smiled. “I almost think I did, ma’am, sometimes—what with living here, and what with going over the history so many times a day. This way, ladies and gentlemen.” And he led the way from the Traitors’ Gate straight across the ward to an imposing gateway defended by the Bloody Tower, leading through the embattled wall that encloses the inner ward.