Into this the lads silently lowered themselves.

There they were perfectly concealed, and through an arrow-loophole commanded a view upon the farther side.
Peering through this, they were struck stiff with terror at their predicament.

To retreat was impossible; they scarce dared to breathe.
Upon the very margin of the ditch, not thirty feet from where they crouched, an iron caldron bubbled and steamed above a glowing fire; and close by, in an attitude of listening, as though he had caught some sound of their clambering among the ruins, a tall, red-faced, battered-looking man stood poised, an iron spoon in his right hand, a horn and a formidable dagger at his belt.

Plainly this was the singer; plainly he had been stirring the caldron, when some incautious step among the lumber had fallen upon his ear.

A little further off, another man lay slumbering, rolled in a brown cloak, with a butterfly hovering above his face.