t once. The man who
let us in was tall and stout, but had a puffy face, and too much flesh on
him to be very strong, though he was not, I think, more than thirty years
of age. He gave Elzevir a smile, and passed the time of day civilly
enough, nodding also to me; but I did not like his oily black hair, and a
shifty eye that turned away uneasily when one met it.

'Good-morning, Master Well-wright,' he said to Elzevir. 'You have brought
ugly weather with you, and are drowning wet; will you take a sup of ale
before you get to work?'

Elzevir thanked him kindly but would not drink, so the man led on and we
followed him. We crossed a bailey or outer court where the rain had made
the gravel very miry, and came on the other side to a door which led by
steps into a large hall. This building had once been a banquet-room, I
think, for there was an inscription over it very plain in lead: _He led
me into his banquet hall, and his banner over me was love_.

I had time to read this while the turnkey unlocked the door with one of a
heavy bunch of keys that he carried at his girdle. But when we entered,
what a disappointment!--for there were no banquets now, no banners, no
love, but the whole place gutted and turned into a barrack for French
prisoners. The air was very close, as where men had slept all night, and
a thick steam on the windows. Most of the prisoners were still asleep,
and lay stretched out on straw palliasses round the walls, but some were
sitting up and making models of ships out of fish-bones, or building up
crucifixes inside bottles, as sailors love to do in their spare time.
They paid little heed to us as we passed, though the sleepy guards, who
were lounging on their matchlocks, nodded to our conductor, and thus we
went right through that evil-smelling white-washed room. We left it at
the other end, went down three steps into the open air again, crossed
another small court, and so came to a square building of stone with a
high roof like the large dovecots that you may see in old stackyards.

Here our guide took another key, and, while the door was being opened,
Elzevir whispered to me, 'It is the well-house,' and my pulse beat quick
to think we were so near our goal.

The building was open to the roof, and the first thing to be seen in it
was that tread-wheel of which Elzevir had spoken. It was a great open
wheel of wood, ten or twelve feet across, and very like a mill-wheel,
only the space between the rims was