“You will remember my lord’s instructions, Simon,” interrupted the page.

“Yes, yes, of course; be off, I know.  I am not going to hurt her,” replied the chamberlain.  “Well, Mistress Dorothy, I have got to take particular care of you,” he continued, ironically.

“And of Master Manners, too, I hope,” she fearlessly replied, not noticing the hidden meaning of his remark.  “Remember that he is a gentleman.”

“Yes, oh yes,” returned the man, with a hideous grin, “we have got to take particular care of him as well.  He will sleep downstairs for awhile,” and he laughed with a coarse guffaw, again and again repeated, at his own joke.

“Enough of this, sirrah,” broke in Manners, sternly.

“We are not here to amuse you.  There will be a host of our friends here soon to deliver us, so thou had’st best beware of what thou do’st.”

Simon scowled darkly, but Manners’s threat had its effect, and he restrained his temper.

“I care not,” he replied, “so long as Sir Henry be here.  I shall but obey my instructions nor more nor less.”

“And what are they?”

“You shall find that out for yourself in good time.”

“And remember that though I am within your power, I am the nephew of an earl, and have friends at Court who will avenge me on your lord,” Manners pursued.

“Then I shall put you in a safe place.”

The man was longing to assert his authority, but the bearing of the prisoner thoroughly cowed him, and he felt helplessly bound to be more civil to him than he wished.

“And what about this lady?” asked Manners.

“Sir Henry’s instructions apply equally to her as to you,” he replied.

“If she is treated ill you shall answer for it,” said Manners, fiercely, “so I bid you look to it that you treat her well.”

“Teach me not,” Simon hastily broke in.  “I know what is expected of me, and, mark me, I shall do it.  Captives ought not to be too conceited, mark that, too, an it please you.”

“Enough, sirrah, cease thy prating.  I am no fool.”

“Take him away; take him to the old dungeon,” cried Simon, whose wrath was fast gaining mastery over him; “and mind you double lock the door.”

“The dungeon!” shrieked Dorothy.  “No, not the dungeon.”

Manners looked round, but there was no chance of escape, nor would he have cared to have left Dorothy in such a position, even had the way been clear.

“Sir Henry said he was to be kept in the North Tower,” ventured Eustace.

“Did he, indeed,” sneeringly retorted the chamberlain.  “You had better be off or I will have you whipped;” and smarting under the rejoinder, Eustace, who considered prudence the better part of valour, took the hint so broadly given and retired.

An hour later, as Manners sat brooding in his deep and lonely dungeon, he was startled by hearing the key turn slowly in the lock, and a moment later Eustace slipped into the cell and the door was closed and locked again.