“Have thy wish, poor soul! an’ thou had poisoned a hundred men thou shouldst not suffer so miserable a death.”

The prisoner bowed his face to the ground and burst into passionate expressions of gratitude—ending with—

“If ever thou shouldst know misfortune—which God forefend!—may thy goodness to me this day be remembered and requited!”

Tom turned to the Earl of Hertford, and said—

“My lord, is it believable that there was warrant for this man’s ferocious doom?”

“It is the law, your Grace—for poisoners. In Germany coiners be boiled to death in _oil_—not cast in of a sudden, but by a rope let down into the oil by degrees, and slowly; first the feet, then the legs, then—”

“O prithee no more, my lord, I cannot bear it!” cried Tom, covering his eyes with his hands to shut out the