Chapter 28 - Page 2

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. There the slender
hand of the unfortunate Jane Grey, whose fate was to draw tears from
future generations, might be contrasted with the bolder touch which
impressed deep on the walls the Bear and Ragged Staff, the proud
emblem of the proud Dudleys. It was like the roll of the prophet, a
record of lamentation and mourning, and yet not unmixed with brief
interjections of resignation, and sentences expressive of the firmest
resolution.[Footnote: These memorials of illustrious criminals, or of
innocent persons who had the fate of such, are still preserved, though
at one time, in the course of repairing the rooms, they were in some
danger of being whitewashed. They are preserved at present with
becoming respect, and have most of them been engraved.--_See_ BAYLEY'S
_History and Antiquities of the Tower of London._]

In the sad task of examining the miseries of his predecessors in
captivity, Lord Glenvarloch was interrupted by the sudden opening of
the door of his prison-room. It was the warder, who came to inform
him, that, by order of the Lieutenant of the Tower, his lordship was
to have the society and attendance of a fellow-prisoner in his place
of confinement. Nigel replied hastily, that he wished no attendance,
and would rather be left alone; but the warder gave him to understand,
with a kind of grumbling civility, that the Lieutenant was the best
judge how his prisoners should be accommodated, and that he would have
no trouble with the boy, who was such a slip of a thing as was scarce
worth turning a key upon.--"There, Giles," he said, "bring the child
in."

Another warder put the "lad before him" into the room, and, both
withdrawing, bolt crashed and chain clanged, as they replaced these
ponderous obstacles to freedom. The boy was clad in a grey suit of the
finest cloth, laid down with silver lace, with a buff-coloured cloak
of the same pattern. His cap, which was a Montero of black velvet, was
pulled over his brows, and, with the profusion of his long ringlets,
almost concealed his face. He stood on the very spot where the warder
had quitted his collar, about two steps from the door of the
apartment, his eyes fixed on the ground, and every joint trembling
with confusion and terror. Nigel could well have dispensed with his
society, but it was not in his nature to behold distress, whether of