They passed the hazel-bank, and rounded the castlecrag, washed by the brook and, beneath the advancing moon, standing in a ring of brawling silver.  The youth with his fervid eyes marked the old weather-stains and scars of long defiance coming into colour.  That mystery of wickedness which the towers had worn in the dusk, was dissolved, and he endured no more the almost abashed sensation of competing littleness that made him think there was nought to do, save die, combating single-handed such massive power.  The moon shone calmly superior, like the prowess of maiden knights; and now the harsh frown of the walls struck resolution to his spirit, and nerved him with hate and the contempt true courage feels when matched against fraud and villany.

On a fallen block of slate, cushioned with rich brown moss and rusted weather-stains, the Water-Lady sat, and pointed to Farina the path of the moon toward the round tower.  She did not speak, and if his lips parted, put her cold finger across them.  Then she began to hum a soft sweet monotony of song, vague and careless, very witching to hear.  Farina caught no words, nor whether the song was of days in dust or in flower, but his mind bloomed with legends and sad splendours of story, while she sang on the slate-block under sprinkled shadows by the water.

He had listened long in trance, when the Water-Lady hushed, and stretched forth a slender forefinger to the moon.  It stood like a dot over the round tower.  Farina rose in haste.  She did not leave him to ask her aid, but took his hand and led him up the steep ascent.  Halfway to the castle, she rested.  There, concealed by bramble-tufts, she disclosed the low portal of a secret passage, and pushed it open without effort.  She paused at the entrance, and he could see her trembling, seeming to wax taller, till she was like a fountain glittering in the cold light.  Then she dropped, as drops a dying bet, and cowered into the passage.

Darkness, thick with earth-dews, oppressed his senses.  He felt the clammy walls scraping close on him.  Not the dimmest lamp, or guiding sound, was near; but the lady went on as one who knew her way.  Passing a low-vaulted dungeon-room, they wound up stairs hewn in the rock, and came to a door, obedient to her touch, which displayed a chamber faintly misted by a solitary bar of moonlight.  Farina perceived they were above the foundation of the castle.  The walls gleamed pale with knightly harness, habergeons gaping for heads, breastplates of blue steel, halbert, and hand-axe, greaves, glaives, boar-spears, and polished spur-fixed heel-pieces.  He seized a falchion hanging apart, but the lady stayed his arm, and led to another flight of stone ending in a kind of corridor.  Noises of laughter and high feasting beset him at this point.  The Lady of the Water sidled her head, as to note a familiar voice; and then drew him to a looped aperture.