The double doors were unlocked, the prisoner ascended a few
steps, followed by the Lieutenant, and a warder of the higher class.
They entered a large, but irregular, low-roofed, and dark apartment,
exhibiting a very scanty proportion of furniture. The warder had
orders to light a fire, and attend to Lord Glenvarloch's commands in
all things consistent with his duty; and the Lieutenant, having made
his reverence with the customary compliment, that he trusted his
lordship would not long remain under his guardianship, took his leave.
Nigel would have asked some questions of the warder, who remained to
put the apartment into order, but the man had caught the spirit of his
office. He seemed not to hear some of the prisoner's questions, though
of the most ordinary kind, did not reply to others, and when he did
speak, it was in a short and sullen tone, which, though not positively
disrespectful, was such as at least to encourage no farther
communication.
Nigel left him, therefore, to do his work in silence, and proceeded to
amuse himself with the melancholy task of deciphering the names,
mottoes, verses, and hieroglyphics, with which his predecessors in
captivity had covered the walls of their prison-house. There he saw
the names of many a forgotten sufferer mingled with others which will
continue in remembrance until English history shall perish. There were
the pious effusions of the devout Catholic, poured forth on the eve of
his sealing his profession at Tyburn, mingled with those of the firm
Protestant, about to feed the fires of Smithfield.
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