The fire had raged there, and the floors had been sawn, and hewn, and beaten down, besides.

It was open to the night; but a part of the staircase still remained, winding upward from a great mound of dust and cinders.

Fragments of the jagged and broken steps offered an insecure and giddy footing here and there, and then were lost again, behind protruding angles of the wall, or in the deep shadows cast upon it by other portions of the ruin; for by this time the moon had risen, and shone brightly.
As they stood here, listening to the echoes as they died away, and hoping in vain to hear a voice they knew, some of the ashes in this turret slipped and rolled down.

Startled by the least noise in that melancholy place, Solomon looked up in his companion's face, and saw that he had turned towards the spot, and that he watched and listened keenly.
He covered the little man's mouth with his hand, and looked again.
Instantly, with kindling eyes, he bade him on his life keep still, and neither speak nor move.

Then holding his breath, and stooping down, he stole into the turret, with his drawn sword in his hand, and disappeared.
Terrified to be left there by himself, under such desolate circumstances, and after all he had seen and heard that night, Solomon would have followed, but there had been something in Mr Haredale's manner and his look, the recollection of which held him spellbound.