A pity really; however, it is not my business.
"Number four, in the south tower," he said, and Rupert was led away.
Number four was a cell on the third story of the south tower.

More than that Rupert did not know.

There was no looking out from the loopholes that admitted light, for they were boarded up on the outside.

There was a fireplace, a table, a chair, and a bedstead.
Twice a day a gaoler entered with provisions; he made no reply to Rupert's questions, but shook his head when spoken to.
For the first week Rupert bore his imprisonment with cheerfulness, but the absolute silence, the absence of anything to break the dreary monotony, the probability that he might remain a prisoner all his life, was crushing even to the most active and energetic temperament.
At the end of a month the gaoler made a motion for him to follow him.

Ascending the stairs to a great height, they reached the platform on the top of the tower.
Rupert was delighted with the sight of the sky, and of the wide-spreading fields--even though the latter was covered with snow.