WITNESS FROM A DUNGEON
High up above the little town of Gisors, in Normandy, there stands an ancient castle. It is very beautiful with it’s crumbling turrets, and ivy-grown battlements. But it is not of it’s beauty that we would write. It must have been very strong for it stands on a lofty place, and it’s walls are extremely thick. But it is not of it’s strength that we would write. It has a history full of interest, brimming with brave deeds and desperate adventures, a history with the names of Richard the Lion-hearted and many other gallant knights. But, again, it is not of them that we would write. It is not of battles that re-echo in the pages of history, nor of any brave deed on which the sun shone that we would write, but of a battle that was fought in a long silence, unheard, unseen, uncheered by any shouting, a deed done in the lonely silence of a dungeon, a…
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