CHAPTER XL: THE DEIL'S WINNOCK
Florimel was disappointed, for she longed to hear Malcolm's tale.
But amid such surroundings it was not so very difficult to wait.
They set out to have a peep at the ruins, and choose a place for
luncheon.
From the point where they stood, looking seawards, the ground sunk
to the narrow isthmus supposed by Malcolm to fill a cleft formerly
crossed by a drawbridge, and, beyond it, rose again to the grassy
mounds in which lay so many of the old bones of the ruined carcass.
Passing along the isthmus, where on one side was a steep descent to
the shore of the little bay, and on the other the live rock hewn
away to wall, shining and sparkling with crystals of a clear irony
brown, they next clambered up a rude ascent of solid rock, and
so reached what had been the centre of the seaward portion of the
castle. Here they came suddenly upon a small hole at their feet,
going right down. Florimel knelt, and peeping in, saw the remains
of a small spiral stair. The opening seemed large enough to let
her through, and, gathering her garments tight about her, she was
halfway buried in the earth before her father, whose attention had
been drawn elsewhere, saw what she was about. He thought she had
fallen in, but her merry laugh reassured him, and ere he could
reach her, she had screwed herself out of sight. He followed her in
some anxiety, out, after a short descent, rejoined her in a small
vaulted chamber, where she stood looking from the little square
window Malcolm had pointed out to them as they neared the shore.
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