above the inside of the gate a scaffolding, on the top of which was
piled a mountain of huge stones. This scaffold was arranged in such a
way that a man pulling a lever caused it to collapse, thus piling the
stones instantly against the inside of the gate, rendering it
impregnable against assault by battering rams. The Baron was always
jubilant when his neighbours attempted to force the gate, for he was
afforded much amusement at small expense to himself, and he cared
little for the damage the front door received, as he had built his
castle not for ornament but for his own protection. He was a man with
an amazing vocabulary, and as he stood on the wall shaking his mailed
fist at the intruders he poured forth upon them invective more personal
than complimentary.

While thus engaged, rejoicing over the repulse of the besiegers, for
the attack was evidently losing its vigour, he was amazed to note a
sudden illumination of the forest-covered hill which he was facing. The
attacking party rallied with a yell when the light struck them, and the
Baron, looking hastily over his shoulder to learn the source of the
ruddy glow on the trees, saw with dismay that his castle was on fire
and that Count Herbert followed by his men had possession of the
battlements to the rear, while the courtyard swarmed with soldiers, who
had evidently scaled the low wall along the river front from rafts or
boats.

"Surrender!" cried Count Herbert, advancing along the wall. "Your
castle is taken, and will be a heap of ruins within the hour."

"Then may you be buried beneath them," roared the Baron, springing to
the attack.