” There was a moment’s silence. "You'll be as good as your word, my charmer," whispered the executioner. ‘Here you, Pottiswick. Treading with noiseless step over the soft mould, they soon reached the building. By this time, several of the terrified domestics appeared with lights. He dragged it out, and perceiving, in spite of the decayed frame, that it was the body of Sir Rowland Trenchard, commanded his attendants to convey it up stairs—an order which was promptly obeyed. Let him be sure. She had gone into Morgan's one afternoon for a bag of salt. Even the children jeer.
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