The lighted brand which Chartley carried in his hand hardly remained unextinguished till he and Iola had passed through the deep gateway into the large hall; but there they found much more light than they had expected, for the fire in the courtyard threw a broad glare over the two large windows, and served, in some degree, to illuminate the interior. It was one of those vast old halls, of which but few are now remaining, though at that time no great baronial residence was without one of them. Some indeed were of greater extent than the one I now speak of; but few, if any, had a bolder sweep of arch than was displayed by the vaulted roof which now covered the young nobleman and his companion. Time had spared it; and ruin had not as yet laid any hand upon it, so that the eye could roam through the framework of richly carved oaken beams above, without detecting any flaw in the slating which overspread the whole. No columns or obstructions of any kind interrupted the sight from one end to the other; and, by the flickering of the fire-light, Chartley could perceive two doors opening out of the opposite end of the hall, one upon the right hand and another upon the left. To the door upon the right, two or three stone steps led up from the pavement; and he inquired at once, remembering that Iola had boasted a thorough knowledge of the building, if she could tell him whither that entrance led. "To the great square tower," she replied, "by a staircase in the little turret that you might see at the side of the keep. It is very narrow, but quite good and perfect still." "If the door be still there and sound," replied Chartley, "it will be as good a place of refuge as any; for the mouth of a narrow staircase is no bad spot for defence." "I think the door is there," replied Iola; "but we can soon see." "Thanks to the fire without, we can, sweet Iola," replied Chartley, walking forward by her side; but, as he did so, his foot struck against something lying on the pavement, which he sent rattling to the other side of the hall. "Why, what is here?" he exclaimed, stooping down. "Some one has been lighting a fire here, not very long ago. And on my life here is a lamp too, seemingly not very long extinguished; at all events, there is oil in it." "Oh yes, it is long ago," answered Iola, "as long ago as Christmas. I remember all about it now. The nuns come up here every year, on the morrow of Christmas, for there is still a mass kept up once a-year in the chapel; and, the last time, sister Bridget left her lamp behind her, which she brought to light the tapers on the altar. It may now serve us in good stead; and I do not see why we should not light a fire here too; for they do so every Christmas day, and heat a flagon of Malvoisie, for the priest who says the mass."