I am not the man to break my word. Begone! quit this town instantly! If in two hours hence you are found here, your blood be on your own heads! Begone, I say!” These words, aided by a countenance well adapted at all times to expressions of a menacing and ruthless character, at once astounded and appalled the accomplices. They left the room in hasty confusion; and Brandon, now alone, walked with uneven steps (the alarming weakness and vacillation of which he did not himself feel) to and fro the apartment. The hell of his breast was stamped upon his features, but he uttered only one thought aloud,-- “I may,--yes, yes,--I may yet conceal this disgrace to my name!” His servant tapped at the door to say that the carriage was ready, and that Lord Mauleverer had bid him remind his master that they dined punctually at the hour appointed. “I am coming!” said Brandon, with a slow and startling emphasis on each word. But he first sat down and wrote a letter to the official quarter, strongly aiding the recommendation of the Jury; and we may conceive how pride clung to him to the last, when he urged the substitution for death of transportation for life! As soon as he had sealed this letter, he summoned an express, gave his orders coolly and distinctly, and attempted with his usual stateliness of step to walk through a long passage which led to the outer door. He found himself fail. “Come hither,” he said to his servant, “give me your arm!” All Brandon's domestics, save the one left with Lucy, stood in awe of him; and it was with some hesitation that his servant ventured to inquire if his master felt well. Brandon looked at him, but made no reply. He entered his carriage with slight difficulty, and telling the coachman to drive as fast as possible, pulled down (a general custom with him) all the blinds of the windows. Meanwhile Lord Mauleverer, with six friends, was impatiently awaiting the arrival of the seventh guest. “Our August friend tarries!” quoth the Bishop of -------, with his hands folded across his capacious stomach. “I fear the turbot your lordship spoke of may not be the better for the length of the trial.” “Poor fellow!” said the Earl of --------, slightly yawning. “Whom do you mean?” asked Lord Mauleverer, with a smile,--“the bishop, the judge, or the turbot?” “Not one of the three, Mauleverer,--I spoke of the prisoner.” “Ah, the fine dog! I forgot him,” said Mauleverer. “Really, now you mention him, I must confess that he inspires me with great compassion; but, indeed, it is very wrong in him to keep the judge so long!” “Those hardened wretches have such a great deal to say,” mumbled the bishop, sourly. “True!” said Mauleverer; “a religious rogue would have had some bowels for the state of the church esurient.” “Is it really true, Mauleverer,” asked the Earl of ------, “that Brandon is to succeed?” “So I hear,” said Mauleverer. “Heavens, how hungry I am!” A groan from the bishop echoed the complaint.