The prisoner bowed his face to the ground and burst into passionate expressions of gratitude—ending with—
"If ever thou shouldst know misfortune—which God forefend!—may thy goodness to me this day be remembered and requited!"
Tom turned to the earl of Hertford, and said—
"My lord, is it believable that there was warrant for this man's ferocious doom?"
"It is the law, your grace—for poisoners. In Germany coiners be boiled to death in oil—not cast in of a sudden, but by a rope let down into the oil by degrees, and slowly; first the feet, then the legs, then"—
"O prithee no more, my lord, I cannot bear it!" cried Tom, covering his eyes with his hands to shut out the picture. "I beseech your good lordship that order be taken to change this law—O, let no more poor creatures be visited with its tortures."
The earl's face showed profound gratification, for he was a man of merciful and generous impulses—a thing not very common with his class in that fierce age. He said—
"These your grace's noble words have sealed its doom. History will remember it to the honor of your royal house."
The under-sheriff was about to remove his prisoner; Tom gave him a sign to wait; then he said—
"Good sir, I would look into this matter further. The man has said his deed was but lamely proved. Tell me what thou knowest."
"If the king's grace please, it did appear upon the trial, that this man entered into a house in the hamlet of Islington where one lay sick—three witnesses say it was at ten of the clock in the morning and two say it was some minutes later—the sick man being alone at the time, and sleeping—and presently the man came forth again, and went his way. The sick man died within the hour, being torn with spasms and retchings."
