Thin slits in the walls and two round windows high up appeared to the mind of the Kentuckian (humorous in the face of the unknown danger) as "architectural bungholes." On either side of the great arched door jutted a turret, slit with many smaller openings and possessing castellated tops. As they rumbled over the planking of the open drawbridge Rusty's chattering teeth were audible to the rider close at his side, and Jarvis muttered angrily, drawing up his horse by the gate which led to the inner courtyard. "If you're still too much of a coward to go on, you can ride back, Rusty. This is the first time you've ever failed me in a time of danger." The negro remonstrated nervously. "I'm not skeered--Marse Warren, I'm jes' gittin' straight hair fer de fust time in my life. I'm goin' wid you. I'ze jes' mighty onhappy." A doorway somewhere swung shut with an iron clang. Rusty's nerves were stronger now. He breathed hard but said nothing. "They used to hitch their horses here, I suppose," said Jarvis, as he slid from the saddle. The moonlight gave them a better illumination by this time. He hitched his horse, and Rusty followed his example with trembling fingers. "Now, light the lamps. My, but those lamps would sell for a fortune in a Fourth Avenue antique shop!" Rusty obeyed silently. Then followed the most horrible experience of Rusty's life, in what seemed an endless exploration. They trod along weirdly echoing corridors, through spacious chambers, where ancient tapestries hung from the walls, while strange _débris_ lay about amidst the curious carved furniture. Everything was covered by a pall of dust. Squealing and scurrying, the shining eyes and ghastly noises betrayed the presence of myriad rats. "What can they find to live on?" wondered Warren. From the high battlements they peered into the valley, and could see a few faint lights in the distant inn. Warren felt sure that one of those lights was in the room of her Highness. They explored the bedchambers of the lords and ladies of the castle, the little pigeonholes in which the men-at-arms must have slept. Strange subtle odors met them like an actual presence as they peered into dungeons, stone chambers, and horrid vaults. "I don't even see why a ghost would want ter hang around dis misserable place, Marse Warren," ventured Rusty, as for the second time they entered the largest room of all, within the central keep. "We've been here before, Rusty," replied Warren, sitting down for a moment on an old bench. Rusty looked around with rolling eyes. Suddenly Jarvis jumped up and sniffed. "Yes, and someone else has been here before. Do you smell that, Rusty?" "Marse Warren, I'm so skeered dat I can't smell nuthin',--I can' see nuthin', hear nuthin'--except dem moans and yowls in all dose powerful big rooms we was in."