Lord Dunoran said nothing, he only bowed his head.

So Dangerfield, when his statement respecting the murder of Beauclerc had been placed clearly in writing, made oath of its truth, and immediately when this was over (he had, while they were preparing the statement, been walking up and down his flagged chamber), he grew all on a sudden weak, and then very flushed, and they thought he was about to take a fit; but speedily he recovered himself, and in five minutes’ time was much as he had been at the commencement.

After my lord and Mr. Armstrong went away, he had the gaoler with him, and seemed very sanguine about getting his pardon, and was very brisk and chatty, and said he’d prepare his petition in the morning, and got in large paper for drafting it on, and said, ’I suppose at the close of this commission they will bring me up for judgment; that will be the day after to-morrow, and I must have my petition ready.’  And he talked away like a man who had got a care off his mind, and is in high spirits; and when grinning, beetle-browed Giant Despair shook his hand, and wished him luck at parting, he stopped him, laying his white hand upon his herculean arm, and, said he, ’I’ve a point to urge they don’t suspect.  I’m sure of my liberty; what do you think of that—­hey?’ and he laughed.  ’And when I get away what do you say to leaving this place and coming after me?  Upon my life, you must, Sir.  I like you, and if you don’t, rot me, but I’ll come and take you away myself.’

So they parted in a sprightly, genial way; and in the morning the turnkey called the gaoler up at an unseasonable hour, and told him that Mr. Dangerfield was dead.

The gaoler lay in the passage outside the prisoner’s cell, with his bed across the door, which was locked, and visited him at certain intervals.  The first time he went in there was nothing remarkable.  It was but half-an-hour after the gaoler had left.  Mr. Dangerfield, for so he chose to be called, was dozing very quietly in his bed, and just opened his eyes, and nodded on awaking, as though he would say, ‘Here I am,’ but did not speak.

When, three hours later, the officer entered, having lighted his candle at the lamp, he instantly recoiled.  ‘The room felt so queer,’ said he, ’I thought I’d a fainted, and I drew back.  I tried it again a bit further in, and ’twas worse, and the candle almost went out—­’twas as if the devil was there.  I drew back quick, and I called the prisoner, but no word was there.  Then I locks the door, and called Michael; and when he came we called the prisoner again, but to no purpose.  Then we opened the door, and I made a rush, and smashed the glass of the window to let in air.  We had to wait outside a good while before we could venture in; and when we did, there he was lying like a man asleep in his bed, with his nightcap on, and his hand under his cheek, and he smiling down on the flags, very sly, like a man who has won something cleverly.  He was dead, and his limbs cold by this time.’