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Rh, before going up to the night scenery from the Castle tower, was put prominently in our programme, and we encouraged the old man to believe he could get it up for us without his daughter's help, or at least with ours. So we set to work, each doing his part. I manned the toasting-fork, and did the several halves of a couple of muffins in capital style. Capern took to the little black tea-pot and charged it appropriately for two, the old woman throwing in a timely suggestion as to quantity. So we drew up to the little round table before the fire, and had as genial a tea as ever two men enjoyed. All the surroundings were just of the right kind to season the meal with a happy relish. The two small yellow candles and the fire, light filled the low-ceiled room with that bland mixture of illuminated darkness so well suited to stories and snatches of legendary lore.

After our tea in the cottage, we ascended to "where the Castle holds its state" in the gray silence of a grand ruin. We first passed through the deep, massive archway, with its double portcullis, into the green court-yard, to look first at the brave old monument of past centuries and feel or imagine the presence of their spirits revisiting it. And it were well worth such a visit if they were permitted to come back again to the scenes of long ago. As we walked up and down the irregular line of the structure, and