In the crimson court the last trial was over, and Lady Castlemaine, a slender little beauty of eighteen stood condemned to die.
"Now for our other prisoner!" exclaimed the dwarf with sprightly animation; "and while I go to the cell, you, fair ladies, and you my lord, will seek the black chamber and await our coming there." Ordering one of his attendants to precede him with a light, the dwarf skipped jauntily away, to gloat over his victim.

He reached the dungeon door, which the guards, with some trepidation in their countenance, as they thought of what his highness would say when he found her majesty locked in with the prisoner, threw open.
"Come forth, Sir Norman Kingsley!" shouted the dwarf, rushing in.

"Come forth and meet your doom!" But no Sir Norman Kingsley obeyed the pleasant invitation, and a dull echo from the darkness alone answered him.

There was a lamp burning on the floor, and near it lay a form, shining and specked with white in the gloom.

He made for it between fear and fury, but there was something red and slippery on the ground, in which his foot slipped, and he fell.