"Poor girl!" said Hortensia, clasping her hands together, "what hast thou done? They have been very cruel to thee. Thou hast done all to save him thou lovest, but at the expense of peace and happiness, and perhaps life."
It is probable Margaret heard the murmur of her voice; but she stirred not in the least, and Hortensia quitted the room in deep sadness.
CHAPTER XLII.
A large table was set in a rich and costly room, and round it were seated a number of persons very dignified in station, but certainly not at that moment very dignified in demeanor. At the head of the table was an elderly gentleman, well fattened and of rubicund face, which had evidently lost none of its roses by the accessories of the meal. This was Mr. Mayor, entertaining the judges at supper. On his right hand sat Lord Chief-justice Jeffries, with his wig a good deal on one side, a curious sort of tightness about one corner of his mouth and a depression of the other corner, as if he had been slightly affected by palsy. There was a merry leer in his eyes, however, and a robustious jollity about his whole appearance, which contrasted strangely with his savage and ferocious look upon the bench. Yes, it did afford a strange contrast; but yet it was nothing, compared with the harsh, jarring discord of his light, licentious levity at the table, when closely opposed to the savage cruelty which occupied the morning. There he was, laughing, and drinking, and jesting, and singing, immediately after having condemned half a score of innocent men to death.
Judges, like undertakers, I believe, get hardened to the idea of death.
"How many are you going to pardon, my lord?" asked the worthy mayor, with a half-suppressed hiccough.
"That depends upon their circumstances, Master Mayor," replied Jeffries, with a broad laugh.
"That young man, I hope," said the good-natured magistrate; "I mean the Mr. Woodhall who was convicted of seeing Monmouth before the rebellion broke out. His case was not half as bad as the rest, and he seemed a fine young fellow."
"His case will be worse before Saturday night," said Jeffries. "A knave--an arrant knave, sir! Why, they tell me his father is not worth five hundred a year. Was there ever such a knave? By God's wounds! the son of such a knave ought to hang for having such a father, and the father ought to hang for having such a son. Ha! what is this? Say I am supping; I will not be disturbed. I have done work enough for one day, and cut out work enough for a few others."
"The lady says she must and will see you, my lord," replied the servant to whom his last words were addressed, and who the moment before had slipped a note into his hand.