Among these antique inscriptions he observed two bright and clean ones, consisting of the words 'De Stancy' and 'W.

Dare,' crossing each other at right angles.
From the state of the stone they could not have been cut more than a month before this date, and, musing on the circumstance, Somerset passed the time until the sun reached the slit in that side of the tower, where, beginning by throwing in a streak of fire as narrow as a corn-stalk, it enlarged its width till the dusty nook was flooded with cheerful light.

It disclosed something lying in the corner, which on examination proved to be a dry bone.

Whether it was human, or had come from the castle larder in bygone times, he could not tell.

One bone was not a whole skeleton, but it made him think of Ginevra of Modena, the heroine of the Mistletoe Bough, and other cribbed and confined wretches, who had fallen into such traps and been discovered after a cycle of years.
The sun's rays had travelled some way round the interior when Somerset's waiting ears were at last attracted by footsteps above, each tread being brought down by the hollow turret with great fidelity.