“To speak honestly, Miss Enright,” said Victor, “I am little acquainted with the construction of mediæval castles. I have learned more from your short description than I ever knew before.”
“I shall be pleased to enlighten you further,” said Miss Enright. “The moat was a deep ditch filled with water which surrounded the castle and rendered it inaccessible. The drawbridge was what its name indicates, and was let down across the moat in order that those who lived in the castle could reach the mainland, or return.”
“Ah! I see,” said Victor, “without wetting their feet.”
“Your remark, Lieutenant Duquesne,” said Miss Enright, with a frown which added to the classic severity of her features, “is entirely irrelevant. Do you wish me to proceed, or shall we stop at the drawbridge?”
“By no means, Miss Enright. Do not leave us upon the drawbridge or we may fall into the hands of the enemy, and I do not care to become a prisoner.”
“They did not take prisoners in those days,” said Miss Enright. “Dead enemies cost nothing for the keeping. Besides, what they had on them became lawful booty. They had not learned in those days our expensive manner of carrying on warfare.”
“Then so much the more reason,” said Victor, “why you should point out some means of escape from that drawbridge.”
“Then,” said Miss Enright, “come within the castle and we will let the portcullis fall. Allow me to explain that the portcullis was a heavy wooden gate or door, made of double timbers securely bolted together. It was impervious to culverins, and it took a ponderous stone from a catapult to shatter it.”
“Thank you, Miss Enright,” said Victor. “Now that we are within the castle, with the drawbridge up and the portcullis down, I beg you to let them remain where they are.”
“Your experiences this morning, Lieutenant Duquesne, have made you flippant, and you know I have told you many times that I cannot endure useless levity in a man—especially a young one. So with your kind permission, and that of my honoured father, I will retire to my own room.”