At one end some garments hung against the wall, and, as their eyes grew accustomed to the shadows, they could see dimly the shapes of old-fashioned armour, swords, and spears, arranged in set patterns, against the oak panelling.
In one corner a knight, with a coat of mail, stood up gaunt and still, his visor down, his hand clasping his sword, his foot advanced, as if ready to step forward to the fight.
"I don't like it much, Agnes," whispered Minnie, clinging to her side. "I wish you would not make it so dark."
"There is nothing in the world to be afraid of," said her sister, "and, if you will come here between me and Alice, you will feel all right, shall you not? But, if you are afraid, I will take you downstairs again, only I did want you to hear about it, too, Minnie."
The little girl was reassured by the loving arms wrapped round her, and by the warm kisses pressed on her flushed cheeks.
"That knight in armour, who looks so terrible there," explained Agnes, "is not a real man, though he has on real armour, which was used in real warfare, long ago. So, before I tell you my story, Minnie and Florence shall have a good look at him to make sure that it is only a wooden man, and not a hero of bygone ages come to life again."
Florence laughed a little nervously as she advanced to where John's light shone brightly, but she was sufficiently courageous to touch the steel-clad foot with her hand, and to peep up earnestly to see if there might be any face behind those iron bars.
But no eyes looked out from the dark cavity, and no movement came from those rigid arms. Florence stepped back to Minnie's side with a whispered:
"It's all right, Minnie; you needn't be one bit afraid—he's not real."
"Now for the story!" said Hugh, who had been impatient all this time, if not to get it over, at any rate to find out what it was.