archways appeared at the extremity, one to the right and left, and one
directly before them. The procession passed through the one to the left,
and Sir Norman started in dismay to find himself in the most gloomy
apartment he had ever beheld in his life. It was all covered with
black--walls, ceiling, and floor were draped in black, and reminded
him forcibly of La Masque's chamber of horrors, only this was more
repellant. It was lighted, or rather the gloom was troubled, by a
few spectral tapers of black wax in ebony candlesticks, that seemed
absolutely to turn black, and make the horrible place more horrible.
There was no furniture--neither couch, chair, nor table nothing but a
sort of stage at the upper end of the room, with something that looked
like a seat upon it, and both were shrouded with the same dismal
drapery. But it was no seat; for everybody stood, arranging themselves
silently and noiselessly around the walls, with the queen and the dwarf
at their head, and near this elevation stood a tall, black statue,
wearing a mask, and leaning on a bright, dreadful, glittering axe. The
music changed to an unearthly dirge, so weird and blood-curdling, that
Sir Norman could have put his hands over his ear-drums to shut out the
ghastly sound. The dismal room, the voiceless spectators, the black
spectre with the glittering axe, the fearful music, struck a chill to
his inmost heart.

Could it be possible they were really going to murder the unhappy
wretch? and could all those beautiful ladies--could that surpassingly
beautiful queen, stand there serenely unmoved, to witness such a crime?
While he yet looked round in horror, the doomed man, already apparently
almost dead with fear, was dragged forward by his guards. Paralyzed
as he was, at sight of the stage which he knew to be the scaffold, he
uttered shriek after shriek of frenzied despair, and struggled like
a madman to get free. But as well might Laocoon have struggled in the
folds of the serpent; they pulled him on, bound him hand and foot, and
held his head forcibly down on the block.

The black spectre moved--the dwarf made a signal--the glittering axe was
raised--fell--a scream was cut in two--a bright jet of blood spouted up
in the soldiers faces, blinding them; the axe fell again, and the Earl
of Gloucester was minus that useful and ornamental appendage, a head.

It was all over so quickly, that Sir Norman could scarcely believe his
horrified senses, until the de