The great door of the Stone Hall was thrown open, and the sheriffs, preceded by the javelin-men, entered the room.

They were followed by Jonathan, who carried a stout stick under his arm, and planted himself near the stone.

Not a word was uttered by the assemblage; but a hush of expectation reigned throughout.
Another door was next opened, and, preceded by the ordinary, with the sacred volume in his hand, the prisoner entered the room.

Though encumbered by his irons, his step was firm, and his demeanour dignified.
His countenance was pale as death, but not a muscle quivered; nor did he betray the slightest appearance of fear.

On the contrary, it was impossible to look at him without perceiving that his resolution was unshaken.
Advancing with a slow firm step to the stone-block he placed his left foot upon it, drew himself up to his full height, and fixed a look so stern upon Jonathan, that the thief-taker quailed before it.
The black, meantime, began to ply his hammer, and speedily unriveted the chains.