At her half-uttered cry he turned around—and their eyes met—met for the first time since that cruel parting on the wedding-night! But he recognized her with a cold, uncompromising stare. And then, seeing that the regards of her whole party were drawn upon him, he seemed resolved to face the situation. Walking deliberately towards them, he raised his hat slowly, bowed deeply, passed them, and went down to the opposite end of the armory. “Humph, humph, humph, humph!” muttered the General to himself, “that is what I call cool impudence!” Drusilla could not speak or move. She stood transfixed and motionless as any one of those grim effigies before them. She stood thus until General Lyon kindly broke the spell that bound her, by lightly laying his hand upon her shoulder and whispering: “My dear, recollect yourself!” She started, and recovered her self-possession at once, and in time to see little Lenny, whom Dick led by the hand, pulling at his protector, and pointing down the hall, and shouting: “Man, man! div Lenny that _hoo_!” putting up his lips and describing in pantomime the whistle whose name he had forgotten. “Little Lenny knew him again!” murmured Drusilla to herself. All this did not quite escape the notice of the guide. He saw what passed, but apparently without understanding it; for, turning to General Lyon, he said: “Lord Killcrichtoun, sir! His face is as well known here as any of these images. He is in almost every day.” Then, reverting to his own especial business, and pointing out another effigy, he said: “Henry the Eighth, ladies and gentlemen. Pray observe this magnificent suit of armor, damaskeened or inlaid with pure gold. It is said to be the same he wore on that famous occasion of his meeting with Francis I. on the field of the Cloth of Gold.” “Oh, the horrid monster! I would rather look upon Lucifer’s self than Henry the Eighth’s effigy! Let us pass on,” said Anna impatiently. And they passed on, pausing now and then to gaze upon the armed and mounted effigy of some knight or king, famous or, perhaps, infamous in history or tradition, until they reached the last one in the line—James II.—after whose day fire-arms came in and armor went out. And so they passed from the Horse Armory to Queen Elizabeth’s Armory, occupying an apartment in the lower floor of the White Tower. At the upper end was an equestrian effigy of the Royal Fury of Tudor, who cut off her lovers’ heads as her father before her had cut off his wives’. She was dressed in the preposterous costume of her court, mounted on a carved charger, and attended by her page. She was most appropriately surrounded by curious chains and manacles, ingenious instruments of torture, and judicial implements of death. Conspicuous among these was the thumb-screw, the rack, the headsman’s axe, and the heading block upon which the old Lord Lovat and his companions had been decapitated.