t they never repeal any. They save themselves
from the consequences of their veneration by never putting them into
execution. An old law falls into disuse like an old woman, and they
never think of killing either one or the other. They cease to make use
of them; that is all. Both are at liberty to consider themselves still
young and beautiful. They may fancy that they are as they were. This
politeness is called respect.

Norman custom is very wrinkled. That does not prevent many an English
judge casting sheep's eyes at her. They stick amorously to an antiquated
atrocity, so long as it is Norman. What can be more savage than the
gibbet? In 1867 a man was sentenced to be cut into four quarters and
offered to a woman--the Queen.[18]

Still, torture was never practised in England. History asserts this as
a fact. The assurance of history is wonderful.

Matthew of Westminster mentions that the "Saxon law, very clement and
kind," did not punish criminals by death; and adds that "it limited
itself to cutting off the nose and scooping out the eyes." That was all!

Gwynplaine, scared and haggard, stood at the top of the steps, trembling
in every limb. He shuddered from head to foot. He tried to remember what
crime he had committed. To the silence of the wapentake had succeeded
the vision of torture to be endured. It was a step, indeed, forward; but
a tragic one. He saw the dark enigma of the law under the power of which
he felt himself increasing in obscurity.

The human form lying on the earth rattled in its throat again.

Gwynplaine felt some one touching him gently on his shoulder.

It was the wapentake.

Gwynplaine knew that meant that he was to descend.

He obeyed.

He descended the stairs step by step. They were very narrow, each eight
or nine inches in height. There was no hand-rail. The descent required
caution. Two steps behind Gwynplaine followed the wapentake, holding up
his iron weapon; and at the same interval behind the wapentake, the
justice of the quorum.

As he descended the steps, Gwynplaine felt an indescribable extinction
of hope. There was death in each step. In each one that he descended
there died a ray of the light within him. Growing paler and paler, he
reached the bottom of the stairs.

The larva lying chained to the four pillars still rattled in its throat.

A voice in the shadow said,--

"Approach!"

It was the sheriff addressing Gwynplaine.

Gwynplaine took a step forward.

"Clos