My lord might have remembered me that have served him faithfully these
thirty years, opening and shutting without mistake. He might have
named me captain of the guard, and not this limber Jack. But the young
love the young, and in truth 'tis natural. But what Landless Jock will
say when he comes to have this sprat set over him, I know not but I
can guess!"

Satisfied that all was safe there, Sholto stepped gingerly over the
reclining forms of the first relief guard, who lay wrapped in their
cloaks, every man grasping his arms. Most of these were lying in the
dead sleep of tired men, whilst others restlessly moved about this
way and that, as if seeking an easier adaptation of their bones to the
corners of the blue whinstones and rough shell lime than had been
provided for when the castle was built by Archibald the Grim, Lord of
Thrieve and Galloway.

Close by the last turn of the turret staircase yawned the iron-sparred
mouth of the dungeon, in which in its time many a notable prisoner had
been immured. It was closed with a huge grid of curved iron bars, each
as thick as a man's arm, cunningly held together by a gigantic
padlock, the key of which was nightly taken to the sleeping-room of
the Earl--whether, as was now the case, the cell stood empty, or
whether it contained an English lord waiting ransom or a rebellious
baron expectant of his morning summons to the dule tree of the Black
Douglas.

Then taking the master-key from his belt, Sholto unlocked the sparred
gate leading from the _salle de garde_ into the turret stair which was
the sole communication with the upper floors of the castle.