Nor voice was heard, nor wight was seen in bower or hall.

At last, with creeping crooked pace forth came
An old, old man with beard as white as snow;
That on a staff his feeble steps did frame,
And guide his weary gate both to and fro,
For his eyesight him failed long ago;
And on his arm a bunch of keys he bore,
The which unused rust did overgrow;
Those were the keys of every inner door,
But he could not them use, but kept them still in store."

And what was strange and terrible about this old man was that his
head was twisted upon his shoulders, so that although he walked
towards the knight his face looked backward.

Seeing his gray hairs and venerable look Prince Arthur asked him
gently where all the folk of the castle were.

"I cannot tell," answered the old man. And to every question he
replied, "I cannot tell," until the knight, impatient of delay,
seized the keys from his arm. Door after door the Prince Arthur
opened, seeing many strange, sad sights. But nowhere could he
find the captive Knight.

"At last he came unto an iron door,
That fast was locked, but key found not at all,
Amongst that bunch to open it withal."

But there was a little grating in the door through which Prince