But even this good news Merrylips only half listened to. She was gazing up at the vast walls under which they rode and the gateways through which they passed. She shivered as she thought how like a prison was this great castle of Ryeborough.
Dick Fowell drew rein at last in a little gravelled court, in front of a great house. It would have been a pleasant dwelling-place, if the walls of the castle had not hemmed it round on every side. A serving-man came bustling to take the horse, another lifted Merrylips to the ground, and as Fowell himself dismounted, a corporal of dragoons hurried forward and spoke to him in a low voice.
Scarcely had Fowell heard three sentences when he laughed and glanced at Merrylips.
"Faith," said he, "this falleth pat as a stage-play! You say yonder, corporal?"
The man nodded, and pointed to the stone gatehouse by which they had entered the court.
"Ten minutes hence, then," bade Fowell, "send him unto me in the long parlor."
When he had dismissed the corporal, Fowell took Merrylips by the hand, and motioned to Rupert to walk at his side.
"Since you are not afraid of what we may do to you," he said, smiling down at Rupert.
Neither Rupert nor Merrylips felt much like smiling, but they went obediently whither they were led. They entered the great house, and found themselves in a dim entrance hall, where one or two lackeys were loitering, and a trooper in muddy boots stood waiting on the hearth. At the farther end of the hall was a door, and when Fowell had brought them to it, he halted them on the threshold.
"Now wait you here like good lads for one minute," he said, "and seek not to run away a second time, for I am not Kit Woolgar."