ient crest of Walladmor--by which marks it
had been advertized through Europe.

"Where had you this, Mrs. Godber?"
said he commanding his emotions: but at that instant Sir Charles
Davenant entered the room; and he turned to him with a convulsive
eagerness.--

"The verdict. Sir Charles? What is the verdict?"

"Guilty: judgment has passed: the prisoner is to be executed on
Wednesday next."

Sir Morgan still controled himself:---he turned back to Mrs. Godber;
and, taking both her withered hands into his, he said in the fervent
accents of one who supplicates for liberation from torment, but in
whispering tones that were audible to none but her--

"Mrs. Godber, as you hope hereafter to rejoin your own boy, tell
me--where is that unhappy child of mine that once wore this dress?"

Slowly she released her hands: slowly her face relaxed into a smile:
she looked down into the court: the escort of dragoons had formed in
two ranks, leaving a lane to the door of the Falcon tower: the
sheriff's carriage had drawn up: the prisoner was descending: the
torch-light glared upon him. She drew in her breath with a hissing
sound; pressed her hands together; and then, with an energy that seemed
to crowd the whole luxury of her long vengeance into that single action
and that single word, she threw out both arms at once, pointed to
Edward Nicholas, and, with a yell, she ejaculated--"_There!_"

Sir Morgan fell to the ground like one smitten by lightning; and long
weeks of unconsciousness gave to him the balm of oblivion.

FOOTNOTES TO "CHAPTER XX.":

[Footnote 1: Harlech, if we remember, is the true county-town of
Merionethshire: but, Dolgelly being the larger and more central place,
if a man has any county business (for example, if he wants hanging or
so) he goes to Dolgelly.]

[Footnote 2: This is a satiric hit of the German author at an English
foible which cannot be denied: we wish no nation that we could mention
had worse. That the satire in this case however is not carried beyond
the limits of probability--is evident from the following paragraph
which appeared in many of the morning papers during the third week of
last October:

"It is scarcely credible, and yet we are positively assured of the
fact, that bets to a large amount are depending upon the issue of Mr.
Fauntleroy's trial; and that the books of some of the frequenters of
Tattersall's and the One Tun, are not less occupied with wagers upon
the fate of a fellow-cre