e yet explained, for, like you, I had
incurred the displeasure of Sir Giles Mompesson, and was by him
delivered to these hellish tormentors. Acting under cover of the
Star-Chamber, and in pursuance of its iniquitous decrees, he nailed me
to the pillory, and so fast, that the ears through which the spikes were
driven were left behind. Think how you would like that, Sir Jocelyn?
Think what you would feel, if you stood there on that infamous post, a
spectacle to the base and shouting rabble, with a paper fastened to your
breast, setting forth your crimes, and acquainting all that you were a
Star-Chamber delinquent?"

"Enough, Sir," interrupted Sir Jocelyn.

"Ay, enough--more than enough," rejoined the other; "but I cannot spare
you the whole of the recital, however painful it may be to you. My own
sufferings will be yours, if you heed not. So I shall go on. In robbing
me of my ears, the executioner had only half done his work. He had still
further to deface the image of his Maker,--and he hesitated not in his
task. No savage in the wilds could have treated his deadliest enemy
worse than he treated me; and yet the vile concourse applauded him, and
not a word of pity escaped them. My sentence was fully carried out; my
features for ever disfigured; and the letters of shame indelibly stamped
upon my cheek. You may read them there now if you will look at me."

"You thrill me with horror," said Sir Jocelyn.

"Ay, mine is not a mirthful history, though that fiend in human form,
Sir Giles, hath often laughed at it," rejoined the promoter. "It might
make you shudder, and perchance move you to tears, if you could hear it
all; but for the present, I shall confine myself to such portions of it
as bear upon your own perilous position--and I therefore hold myself out
as a lesson to you. Again, I bid you look upon this ravaged countenance,
and say, if by any stretch of fancy you can persuade yourself it was
once as comely as your own. You find it difficult to believe my
words--yet such was the fact. Ay," he continued, in a tone of
profoundest melancholy, "I was once proud of the gifts nature had
vouchsafed me; too proud, alas! and I was punished for my vanity and
self-boasting. In those days I loved--and was beloved in return--by a
damsel beautiful as Aveline. After my horrible punishment, I beheld her
no more. Knowing she must regard me with aversion, I shunned her. I
desired not to be an object of pity. Bring this home to your own b