It was a moonlit night,--the Paschal moon was nearly at the full,--and the whiteness made each separate iron rivet in the door stand out distinct, thrown into relief by its own small shadow on the seamed oak.

My guide produced a ponderous key, which screamed hoarsely in the lock under the pressure of his two hands, as he made it turn in the rusty wards.
The noise frightened me, but the man laughed, and said they could not hear where they sat, far up in the vaulted chamber, telling long stories over their wine.

We entered, and I had to mount a little way up the dark steps to give him room to close the door behind us, by which we were left in total darkness.

I confess I was very nervous and frightened until he lighted a taper which he had brought and made enough light to show the way.

The stairs were winding and steep, but perfectly dry, and when he had passed me I followed him, feeling that at all events the door behind was closed, and there was someone between me and any danger ahead.
The man paused in front of me, and when I had rounded the corner of the winding steps I saw that a brighter light than ours shone from a small doorway opening directly upon the stair.