“Readily,” replied Xit. “I am excessively hungry, and began to think I was quite forgotten.” “We have been employed in making all ready for you,” rejoined Wolfytt. “We were taken a little by surprise. It is not often we have such a prisoner as you.” “I should think not,” returned Xit, whose vanity was tickled by the remark. “I was determined to let posterity know that one dwarf had been confined within the Tower. Bring your lantern this way, Master Nightgall, and you will perceive I have already carved my name on the wall.” “So I see,” growled Nightgall, holding the light to the inscription. “Bring him along, Wolfytt.” “He will not need, sir,” returned Xit, with dignity. “I am ready to attend you.” “Good!” exclaimed Wolfytt. “Supper awaits us, he! he!” They then passed through the door, Xit strutting between the pair. Descending a short flight of stone steps, they came to another strong door, which Nightgall opened. It admitted them to a dark narrow passage, which, so far as it could be discerned, was of considerable extent. After pursuing a direct course for some time, they came to an opening on the left, into which they struck. This latter passage was so narrow that they were obliged to walk singly. The roof was crusted with nitrous drops, and the floor was slippery with moisture. “We are going into the worst part of the Tower,” observed Xit, who began to feel his terrors revive. “I have been here once before. I recollect it leads to the Torture Chamber, the Little-Ease, and the Pit. I hope you are not taking me to one of those horrible places?” “Poh! poh!” rejoined Wolfytt, gruffly. “You are going to Master Nightgall’s bower.” “His bower!” exclaimed Xit, surprised by the term—“what! where he keeps Cicely?” At the mention of this name, Nightgall, who had hitherto maintained a profound silence, uttered an exclamation of anger, and regarded the dwarf with a withering look. “I can keep a secret if need be,” continued Xit, in a deprecatory tone, alarmed at his own indiscretion. “Neither Cuthbert Cholmondeley, nor Dame Potentia, nor any one else, shall hear of her from me, if you desire it, good Master Nightgall.” “Peace!” thundered the jailor. “You will get an extra turn of the rack for your folly, you crack-brained jackanapes,” laughed Wolfytt. Luckily the remark did not reach Xit’s ears. He was too much frightened by Nightgall’s savage look to attend to anything else. They had now reached a third door, which Nightgall unlocked and fastened as soon as the others had passed through it. The passage they entered was even darker and damper than the one they had quitted. It contained a number of cells, some of which, as was evident from the groans that issued from them, were tenanted. “Is Alexia here?” inquired Xit, whose blood froze in his veins as he listened to the dreadful sounds. “Alexia!” vociferated Nightgall, in a terrible voice. “What do you know of her?”