hill.

The four walls of the room were grim and forbidding of aspect. The
tapestry covering them in places was old and of somber design. There
were two doors opening to the room: one on the right and one on the
left. At the far side of the room there was a deep-silled window with
leaded panes through which a dreary light struggled.

At first you would have said that the room was empty; and then you
would have perceived the Masked Lady and Mr. Literal, occupying a
position among the shadows, not far from the deep-silled window.

The Masked Lady was again wearing the white garment in which we first
beheld her. She was seated before a desk, writing in a large book in
which you could see a few initial letters in red, outlined in gold.

Mr. Literal stood by her, regarding her with an impatient, puzzled air.
And presently it would have seemed that he could no longer endure her
silence; for he asked in a fault-finding tone:

"Can you tell me what you're doing here? This place is--is genuine.
And of late it has been your fancy to haunt places which have existed
only in the imaginations of the story-tellers."

Without looking up from the Book of Truth (for this was the volume in
which she was writing) the Masked Lady replied: "Did you say that this
place is genuine?"

"Of course," said Mr. Literal. "We are in a medieval castle in
Northampton--the castle of King John of England. King John or his