Alas! he was doomed to another disappointment.
Though it was but little past eleven o'clock, King George the Fourth had already retired to rest,—or rather had been borne away in a senseless state from one of those beastly orgies in which the filthy voluptuary so often indulged.
This much was intimated to the Earl by a nobleman attached to the royal person, and with whom Arthur was well acquainted.
Quitting the palace in disgust combined with despair, Lord Ellingham returned home.
But, no—we were wrong: he did not entirely despair. One hope of saving Rainford's life—one faint hope remained,—a hope so wild—so extravagant—and involving a chance with such fearful odds against it, that it could only have been conceived by one who was determined to leave no means, however difficult, unadopted, in order to attain a particular end.
On crossing the threshold of his door, Arthur's first inquiry was whether Doctor Lascelles had arrived.
The reply was an affirmative; and the Earl hastened to the apartment to which the physician had been shown.
It is not however necessary to relate the particulars of their interview; inasmuch as the nature of the conversation which passed between them will be developed hereafter.
CHAPTER LIII.
THE EXECUTION.
The fatal Monday morning broke, yellow—heavily—and gloomily; and the light stole—or rather struggled by degrees into the convict's cell.