Chartley went first, lighting her by the way; and the stairs, narrow and worn with many feet, soon afforded a fair excuse for taking her hand to lead her up. When once it was in his, it was not easy to part with it; and, as he held it neither very loosely nor very tightly, there seemed no plea for withdrawing it, so that it remained where it was, even after they had reached the top of the stairs, and had entered a low-roofed stone corridor, and a large old-fashioned vaulted chamber, which had probably been the state bedroom of the former possessors of the castle. There, still, remained the great bedstead which Iola had mentioned, probably of the reign of Edward III., formed of dark black wood, apparently ebony, richly carved and inlaid with ivory upon the lower cornices. The rich hangings, with which it had been at one time adorned, had all been torn down and carried off with the bedding; but the framework was so artificially joined, that no means of removing it were apparent, without breaking it all to pieces; and it is probable that the rude soldiers, who had sacked the castle, were not disposed to burden themselves with any heavy booty. Marks on the floor showed where three truckle beds had stood, but not one now remained; and the only seat to be seen was a large chair, of the same materials as the bed, with a footstool, from which the embroidery that once covered it had been ripped.
"These will do," cried Chartley. "The chair must have come up, and so it can go down the stairs. Then we will set it by the fire; and it shall be your throne, queen of the May, while I sit on the footstool at your feet, and Ibn Ayoub crouches, as is his wont, upon the dry hearth. But you must be my lamp-bearer, or I shall never get them down;" and; giving the light to Iola, he raised the chair in his strong arms. "It is as heavy as iron," he said, "but it shall come down, if it were made of adamant."
As he spoke, an extraordinary sort of sound, like a low groan, echoed through the room, so clear and distinct, that there could be no doubt their ears deceived them not. Iola started, and well, nigh dropped the lamp, while Chartley set down the chair, and laid his hand upon his sword.
"It is some door, moving on its rusty hinges," he said, after listening for a moment. "The wind is blowing it backwards and forwards;" and taking up the chair again, he bore it into the corridor, while Iola went before with the light, gazing timidly around.
Nothing occurred to disturb them however; and at length, though not without difficulty, Chartley got the cumbrous seat down the narrow stairs. The Arab was now standing in the midst of the hall, gazing towards the door, with his naked scimitar in his hand.
"What is the matter, son of Ayoub?" asked Chartley. "What have you heard?"
"Feet, and a groan," answered the Arab, with his dark eyes glaring in the fire light.
"Pooh, 'tis some rusty hinge," said Chartley, "and the feet of rats or martins, driven to take shelter here by this long continued wintry weather.--Seat yourself here, sweet Iola. Put your feet to the fire, and dream of pleasant things, while I go up again and bring the stool."
Thus saying, he took the lamp from her hand, and re-ascended. He was not long absent; but Iola listened anxiously for his returning step. She felt safe while he was near her, but fearful the moment he was away.
Chartley was soon at her side again, and placing the stool close to her feet, he seated himself thereon, and, leaning upon the arm of her chair, gazed up into her face with a gay smile.