"And that is?"
"A room in black, and a chop with an axe--the Earl of Gloucester's
fate, in a word!"
"You have said it! Have you any reason why such a sentence should not be
pronounced on you?"
"None; pronounce it as soon as you like."
"With the greatest pleasure!" said the duke, who had been scrawling on
another ominous roll of vellum, and now passed it to the dwarf. "I never
knew anyone it gave me more delight to condemn. Will your highness pass
that to her majesty for signature, and pronounce his sentence."
His highness, with a grin of most exquisite delight, did as directed;
and Sir Norman looked steadfastly at the queen as she received it. One
of the gauzy nymphs presented it to her, kneeling, and she took it with
a look half bored, half impatient, and lightly scrawled her autograph.
The long, dark lashes did not lift; no change passed over the calm, cold
face, as icily placid as a frozen lake in the moonlight--evidently the
life or death of the stranger was less than nothing to her. To him she,
too, was as nothing, or nearly so; but yet there was a sharp jarring
pain at his heart, as he saw that fair hand, that had saved him once, so
coolly sign his death warrant now. But there was little time left for to
watch her; for, as she pushed it impatiently away, and relapsed into her
former proud listlessness, the dwarf got up with one of his death's-head
grins, and began: "Sir Norman Kingsley, you have been tried and convicted as a spy, and
the paid-hireling of the vindictive and narrow-minded Charles; and the
sentence of this court, over which I have the honor to preside, is, that
you be taken hence immediately to the place of execution, and there lose
your head by the axe!"
"And a mighty small loss it will be!" remarked the duke to himself, in a
sort of parenthesis, as the dwarf concluded his pleasant observation
by thrusting himself forward across the table, after his rather
discomposing fashion, and breaking out into one of has diabolical
laughter-chips.
The queen, who had been sitting passive, and looking as if she were in
spirit a thousand miles away, now started up with sharp suddenness, and
favored his highness with one of her fieriest fiery glances.
"Will your highness just permit somebody else to have a voice in that
matter? How many more trials are to come on tonight?"
"Only one," replied the duke, glancing over a little roll which he held;
"Lady Castlemaine's, for poisoning the Duchess of Sutherland."
"And what is my Lady Castlemaine's fate to be?"
"The same as our friend's here, in all probability," nodding easily, not
to say playfully, at Sir Norman.