Suddenly she came out upon a broader, cleaner way, which led out beyond the houses and up, by a sweep, to the low gate of the castle; close before her was the great lower bastion which she had seen from a distance.  She saw now that there was a trellis high up, all over it, on which grew a vine; but the leaves were scarcely budding yet.  She had not time to see much, for the crowd would not let her stop, and as the way widened, many ran before her, up to the gate, where they stopped short, for there were half a dozen men there in dark green coats, and silver buttons, foresters of the estate, who kept them back.

Veronica would have turned once more, to nod to the people and smile at the poor women who pressed close upon her, but the crowd was so great that as the foresters made way for her, she found herself driven almost violently into her own gate, and in the rush, Elettra nearly fell to her knees as they got in.  The gate clanged behind her, and she heard the great bolts sliding into their sockets, as it was made fast.  Her men had known well enough what to expect from the curiosity of the people.  They opened a little postern and let in the few who carried her things, and who had been shut out with the crowd.

She drew a long breath and looked upward, before her.  It was very unlike what she had expected.  She was in the dark, vaulted way, scarcely eight feet broad, and paved with flagstones, which led up to the first small court.  The masonry was rough, enormous, damp, and blackened with dampness and age.  From the building around the little enclosure small, dark windows looked down upon her.  A narrow door was on her right.  On the left, rough stone steps led up to the keep, and to the eastern side of the castle.  The door stood open, and there was a lamp in the small entry.  Before entering, she glanced up at the lintel and saw that the ancient arms of the Serra were roughly sculptured in the old marble, and she knew that she was on the threshold of her home.

It was more like a gloomy dungeon than the princely castle of which she had dreamed.  That, indeed, was what it had been through many ages, and nothing else.  She wondered where the great staircase could be where the poor ghost of Queen Joanna sat and shrieked at midnight on the twelfth of May.  It was near the day, and not being at all timid, she smiled at the thought, as she went in.  Three or four decently clad women in black came forward into the vaulted passage, and smiled and nodded awkwardly.  They were the people Don Teodoro had engaged for her service.  She had a word for each and patted them on the shoulder, and they led the way, two and two, carrying a light between them, for it was very dark within, though there was still broad daylight without.