The air struck cold when we first
came out, but trudging over the heavy road soon made us remember that it
was July, and we were very hot and soaking wet when we stood at the
gateway of Carisbrooke Castle. Here are two flanking towers and a stout
gate-house reached by a stone bridge crossing the moat; and when I saw it
I remembered that 'twas here Colonel Mohune had earned the wages of his
unrighteousness, and thought how many times he must have passed these
gates. Elzevir knocked as one that had a right, and we were evidently
expected, for a wicket in the heavy door was opened at 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.
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