She took the light, opened the door and went out, motioning Philippa to follow her. They traversed several softly carpeted passages, and at length arrived at a great door. Royda turned the handle and it opened noiselessly, disclosing, not, as Philippa expected, the open air, but the broad flight of steps leading down into the rock. She drew back. “That is not the way,” she said, full of suspicion and fear of a trap.
“Not the way you came in,” Royda replied sharply under her breath. “It is a private passage out of the castle.”
The dark, grim, rock-hewn stairway was not inviting, especially when dimly seen by the light of a solitary candle.
“I will not go down there,” Philippa said.
Royda stood eyeing her in resentful impatience.
“No,” she sneered. “You would doubtless rather take your departure by a more open way that Aubray Zarka might catch sight of you. This is the only outlet for you. Fool! What are you afraid of? I will go first. Now, come!”
Philippa felt that almost any risk was preferable to that of encountering Zarka, and at least she might trust this jealous girl to keep her from that. So, after a moment’s hesitation, she followed Royda warily, resolved to be on the alert for a trick.
The descent into the rock was not reassuring, but Philippa by an effort kept up her courage, feeling herself, at any rate physically, a match for her guide. At length the end was reached, and the great door of the armoury pushed open. As she saw the immense room with its rows of ghostly mailed figures Philippa started in horrible fear and stopped on the threshold.
“Where is this? What is in there?” she demanded.
“You need not be afraid,” Royda answered, with a touch of exultant scorn at her rival’s terror. “It is only the armoury. We are in the heart of the rock. But there is a passage from here leading out into the valley. I will show you.”