After a moment it was opened, and a head looked out.

The face was Sir Thomas Clifford's; the door was flung wide, a gesture from Darrell bade me enter.

I stepped in, he followed, and the door was instantly shut close behind us.
I shall not readily forget the view disclosed to me by the flaring oil lamps hung in sconces to the ancient smoky walls.

I was in a narrow room, low and not large, scantly furnished with faded richness, and hung to half its height with mouldering tapestries.

The floor was bare, and uneven from time and use.