Tom sighed, and said—
“Take him away—he hath earned his death. ’Tis a pity, for he was a brave heart—na—na, I mean he hath the look of it!”
The prisoner clasped his hands together with sudden energy, and wrung them despairingly, at the same time appealing imploringly to the ‘King’ in broken and terrified phrases—
“O my lord the King, an’ thou canst pity the lost, have pity upon me! I am innocent—neither hath that wherewith I am charged been more than but lamely proved—yet I speak not of that; the judgment is gone forth against me and may not suffer alteration; yet in mine extremity I beg a boon, for my doom is more than I can bear. A grace, a grace, my lord the King! in thy royal compassion grant my prayer—give commandment that I be hanged!”
Tom was amazed. This was not the outcome he had looked for.
“Odds my life, a strange boon! Was it not the fate intended thee?”
“O good my liege, not so! It is ordered that I be boiled alive!”
The hideous surprise of these words almost made Tom spring from his chair. As soon as he could recover his wits he cried out—
“Have thy wish, poor soul! an’ thou had poisoned a hundred men thou shouldst not suffer so miserable a death.”
The prisoner bowed his face to the ground and burst into passionate expressions of gratitude—ending with—