The main gateway that gave entrance to the outer bailey was impressively wide and lofty. Once inside, postern gates opening upon either hand admitted into the great halls, rooms of state, and the donjon-keep. Besides these, and at regular intervals along the vaulted, winding passageway, the walls were pierced by iron-clad doors giving upon the same premises. When the opening of this main artery had been sealed by the drawbridge, which fitted tight against it, nothing of daylight filtered in, and it received its only illumination from a number of huge cressets, two of which were set high overhead at every turning, and kept constantly filled with glowing coals by the castle attendants. Before each of the nail-studded doors stood two guards armed at point, their halberds planted firm before them, grim and motionless. In the dim radiation from the iron baskets they assumed the appearance of a rank of immovable and awesome statues that might well have been hewn out of the smoke-distained walls before which they were stationed. When Sir Richard and de Claverlok had ridden past the second turning they were confronted by a solid line of them, stretching from wall to wall across the flagged floor directly in their path. To the right, one of the doors stood wide ajar; a bevy of men and women, sumptuously garbed, appeared within the bright rectangle. A fool in motley was posing against the pillared casement. It was like a painted picture, vivid, touched with brilliant colors, set within an enormous, dark, and gloomy frame. A train of pages, dressed in liveries of slashed silk and velvet, stood ready to conduct the two travelers before the lord of the castle. At a sign from one, who, because of his distinctive uniform, one would have taken to be the major domo, they dismounted and relinquished their horses into the care of equerries; then, bringing up in the rear of the train of pages, they made their way up the steps and through the thronged doorway. "God's sake! Sir Dick," exclaimed de Claverlok in an agitated whisper as they were traversing the length of the vast hall into which they were come, "Give not that paper to Douglas. Let me have but a word with you in private before adventuring an act so deadly dangerous to your person, ... eh?" In the extremity of his eagerness to gain his young friend's consent he caught his arm in a viselike grip, as though meaning forcibly to detain him. "Take your hand from off my arm," warned Sir Richard sullenly. "'Twould be most unseemly to have out our quarrel here, de Claverlok." "Quarrels? What quarrel, ... eh? There's no quarrel between us, my boy." "Aye--but I tell thee there is," maintained Sir Richard. "Much hath thy treachery grieved and amazed me, worthy knight, whom I had come to consider my stanch friend." "Treachery, ... eh? What the devil! God wot, my son," de Claverlok hurriedly pursued, "I am not traitor--listen----"