porch heavily ogival, of which the four mouldings united in the
interior of the porch, something like the inside of a mitre. This porch,
similar to the pinnacles under which sarcophagi were formerly placed,
rose nearly to the top of the vault, and made a sort of central chamber
in the cavern, if that could be called a chamber which had only pillars
in place of walls.

From the key of the arch hung a brass lamp, round and barred like the
window of a prison. This lamp threw around it--on the pillars, on the
vault, on the circular wall which was seen dimly behind the pillars--a
wan light, cut by bars of shadow.

This was the light which had at first dazzled Gwynplaine; now it threw
out only a confused redness.

There was no other light in the cell--neither window, nor door, nor
loophole.

Between the four pillars, exactly below the lamp, in the spot where
there was most light, a pale and terrible form lay on the ground.

It was lying on its back; a head was visible, of which the eyes were
shut; a body, of which the chest was a shapeless mass; four limbs
belonging to the body, in the position of the cross of Saint Andrew,
were drawn towards the four pillars by four chains fastened to each foot
and each hand.

These chains were fastened to an iron ring at the base of each column.
The form was held immovable, in the horrible position of being
quartered, and had the icy look of a livid corpse.

It was naked. It was a man.

Gwynplaine, as if petrified, stood at the top of the stairs, looking
down. Suddenly he heard a rattle in the throat.

The corpse was alive.

Close to the spectre, in one of the ogives of the door, on each side of
a great seat, which stood on a large flat stone, stood two men swathed
in long black cloaks; and on the seat an old man was sitting, dressed in
a red robe--wan, motionless, and ominous, holding a bunch of roses in
his hand.

The bunch of roses would have enlightened any one less ignorant that
Gwynplaine. The right of judging with a nosegay in his hand implied the
holder to be a magistrate, at once royal and municipal. The Lord Mayor
of London still keeps up the custom. To assist the deliberations of the
judges was the function of the earliest roses of the season.

The old man seated on the bench was the sheriff of the county of Surrey.

His was the majestic rigidity of a Roman dignitary.

The bench was the only seat in the cell.

By the side of it was a table covered with papers a