urning at the sound, beheld a
Franciscan friar, for so his habit of the coarsest grey cloth, tied
with a cord round the waist, proclaimed him. The friar was very tall
and gaunt, and his cowl was drawn over his face so as to conceal his
features.

"What would you, brother?" inquired the canon, halting. "I have a
request to make of you, reverend sir," replied the friar, with a lowly
inclination of the head. "I have just arrived from Chertsey Abbey,
whither I have been tarrying for the last three days, and while
conversing with the guard at the gate, I saw a prisoner brought into the
castle charged with heinous offences, and amongst others, with dealings
with the fiend."

"You have been rightly informed, brother," rejoined the canon.

"And have I also been rightly informed that you desire a priest to pass
the night with him, reverend sir?" returned the friar. "If so, I would
crave permission to undertake the office. Two souls, as deeply laden as
that of this poor wretch, have been snatched from the jaws of Satan by
my efforts, and I do not despair of success now."

"Since you are so confident, brother," said the canon, "I commit him
readily to your hands. I was about to seek other aid, but your offer
comes opportunely. With Heaven's help I doubt not you will achieve a
victory over the evil one."

As the latter words were uttered a sudden pain seemed to seize the
friar. Staggering slightly, he caught at the railing of the cloisters
for support, but he instantly recovered himself.

"It is nothing, reverend sir," he said, seeing that the good canon
regarded him anxiously. "Long vigils and fasting have made me liable to
frequent attacks of giddiness, but they pass as quickly as they come.
Will it please you to go with me, and direct the guard to admit me to
the prisoner?"

The canon assented; and crossing the quadrangle, they returned to the
gateway.

Meanwhile, the prisoner had been removed to the lower chamber of the
Garter Tower. This fortification, one of the oldest in the castle, being
coeval with the Curfew Tower, is now in a state of grievous neglect and
ruin. Unroofed, unfloored, filled with rubbish, masked by the yard walls
of the adjoining habitations, with one side entirely pulled down, and
a great breach in front, it is solely owing to the solid and
rock-like construction of its masonry that it is indebted for partial
preservation. Still, notwithstanding its dilapidated condition, and
that it is the mere