But with fear itself came a strange excitement of pleasure,--to grapple, if necessary, he a mere child, with such a man! His heart swelled at the thought.

So at last he fell asleep, and dreamed that he saw his mother's trunkless face dripping gore and frowning on him,--dreamed that he heard her say: "Goest thou to the scene of my execution only to fawn upon my murderer ?" Then a nightmare of horrors, of scaffolds and executioners and grinning mobs and agonized faces, came on him,--dark, confused, and indistinct.
And he woke, with his hair standing on end, and beard below, in the rising sun, the merry song of the poor canary,--trill-lill-lill, trill-trill-lill-lill-la! Did he feel glad that his cruel hand had been stayed?
EPILOGUE TO PART THE FIRST.
It is a year since the November day on which Lucretia Clavering quitted the roof of Mr.Fielden.And first we must recall the eye of the reader to the old-fashioned terrace at Laughton,--the jutting porch, the quaint balustrades, the broad, dark, changeless cedars on the lawn beyond.

The day is calm, clear, and mild, for November in the country is often a gentle month.

On that terrace walked Charles Vernon, now known by his new name of St.John.Is it the change of name that has so changed the person?
Can the wand of the Herald's Office have filled up the hollows of the cheek, and replaced by elastic vigour the listless languor of the tread?
No; there is another and a better cause for that healthful change.

Mr.Vernon St.John is not alone,--a fair companion leans on his arm.