“With the greatest pleasure!” said the duke, who had been scrawling on another ominous roll of vellum, and now passed it to the dwarf. “I never knew anyone it gave me more delight to condemn. Will your highness pass that to her majesty for signature, and pronounce his sentence.” His highness, with a grin of most exquisite delight, did as directed; and Sir Norman looked steadfastly at the queen as she received it. One of the gauzy nymphs presented it to her, kneeling, and she took it with a look half bored, half impatient, and lightly scrawled her autograph. The long, dark lashes did not lift; no change passed over the calm, cold face, as icily placid as a frozen lake in the moonlight--evidently the life or death of the stranger was less than nothing to her. To him she, too, was as nothing, or nearly so; but yet there was a sharp jarring pain at his heart, as he saw that fair hand, that had saved him once, so coolly sign his death warrant now. But there was little time left for to watch her; for, as she pushed it impatiently away, and relapsed into her former proud listlessness, the dwarf got up with one of his death's-head grins, and began: “Sir Norman Kingsley, you have been tried and convicted as a spy, and the paid-hireling of the vindictive and narrow-minded Charles; and the sentence of this court, over which I have the honor to preside, is, that you be taken hence immediately to the place of execution, and there lose your head by the axe!” “And a mighty small loss it will be!” remarked the duke to himself, in a sort of parenthesis, as the dwarf concluded his pleasant observation by thrusting himself forward across the table, after his rather discomposing fashion, and breaking out into one of his diabolical laughter-claps. The queen, who had been sitting passive, and looking as if she were in spirit a thousand miles away, now started up with sharp suddenness, and favored his highness with one of her fieriest fiery glances. “Will your highness just permit somebody else to have a voice in that matter? How many more trials are to come on tonight?” “Only one,” replied the duke, glancing over a little roll which he held; “Lady Castlemaine's, for poisoning the Duchess of Sutherland.” “And what is my Lady Castlemaine's fate to be?” “The same as our friend's here, in all probability,” nodding easily, not to say playfully, at Sir Norman. “And how long will her trial last?” “Half an hour, or thereabouts. There are some secrets in the matter that have to be investigated, and which will require some time.” “Then let all the trials be over first, and all the beheadings take place together. We don't choose to take the trouble of traveling to the Black Chamber just to see his head chopped off, and then have the same journey to undergo half an hour after, for a similar purpose. Call Lady Castlemaine, and let this prisoner be taken to one of the dungeons, and there remain until the time for execution. Guards, do you hear? Take him away!”