nd turret,
bastion and guard house, crumbling now indeed into ruins, but
picturesque in their decay, and full of historical associations. Here
proud Queen Margaret, hard pressed by her enemies, had found a timely
shelter for herself and her little son, till an escort could convey her
to a spot of greater safety; here Richard II. had pursued sweet
unwilling Anne of Warwick, and forced her to accept his hated suit;
Princess Mary had passed a part of her unhappy childhood within its
walls, and Anne Boleyn's merry laugh had rung out there. The situation
of the Castle was magnificent. It stood on the summit of a wooded cliff
which ran sheer into the river, and commanded a splendid prospect of the
country round, and a bird's-eye view of the little town that clustered
at the foot of the crag.

"It's like an eagle's nest!" commented Winona, as leaving the car at the
bottom of the hill they climbed on foot up the zigzag pathway to the
keep. "It must have been a regular robber-baron's stronghold in the
Middle Ages!"

Miss Beach had bought a guide-book, and rejecting the services of a
persistent little girl who was anxious to point out the various spots of
interest, with an eye to a tip, they strolled about, trying to
reconstruct a fancy portrait of the place for themselves. Canute's tower
was still left, a squat solid piece of masonry, with enormously thick
walls and tiny lancet windows. It was rather dark, but as it was the
only portion remaining intact, it was used as a museum, and various
curiosities were preserved there. The great fire-place held a spit for
roasting an ox whole, and had a poker five feet long; stone
cannon-balls were piled up on the floor, and on the walls hung a
medieval armory of helmets, gorgelets, breast-plates, coats of mail,
shields and swords, daggers and lances. A special feature of the museum
was a wax-work figure of a knight clad in full armor which gave an
excellent idea of what Sir Bevis of Wickborough must have looked like
somewhere about the year 1217. Another figure, dressed in rich velvet
and fur, with flowered silk kirtle, represented his wife Dame Philippa,
in the act of offering him a silver goblet of wine, while a hound stood
with its head pressed to her hand. The group was so natural that it was
almost startling, and took the spectator back as nothing else could have
done to the ancient medieval days which it pictured. A small stair in
the corner of the tower led down to a dungeon, wher