Cholmondeley saw at once that he had entered the torture-chamber, and hastily surveying these horrible contrivances, was about to withdraw, when he noticed a trap-door in one corner. Advancing towards it, he perceived a flight of steps, and thinking they might lead him to the cell he was in search of, he descended, and came to a passage still narrower and gloomier than that he had quitted. As he proceeded along it, he thought he heard a low groan, and hurrying in the direction of the sound, arrived at a small door, and knocking against it, called “Alexia,” but was answered in the feeble voice of a man.
“I am not Alexia, but whoever you are, liberate me from this horrible torture, or put me to death, and so free me from misery.”
After some search, Cholmondeley discovered the key of the dungeon and unlocking it, beheld an old man in a strange stooping posture, with his head upon his breast, and his back bent almost double. The walls of the cell, which was called the Little Ease, were so low, and so contrived, that the wretched inmate could neither stand, walk, sit, nor he at full length within them.
With difficulty,—for the poor wretch’s limbs were too much cramped by his long and terrible confinement, to allow him to move,—Cholmondeley succeeded in dragging him forth.
“How long have you been immured here?” he inquired.
“I know not,” replied the old man. “Not many weeks perhaps—but to me it seems an eternity. Support me—oh! support me! I am sinking fast!”
“A draught of water will revive you,” cried Cholmondeley. “I will bring you some in a moment.”
And he was about to hurry to his cell for the pitcher, when the old man checked him..
“It is useless,” he cried. “I am dying—nothing can save me. Young man,” he continued, fixing his glazing eyes on Cholmondeley. “When I was first brought to the Tower, I was as young as you. I have grown old in captivity. My life has been passed in these dismal places. I was imprisoned by the tyrant Henry VIII. for my adherence to the religion of my fathers—and I have witnessed such dreadful things, that, were I to relate them, it would blanch your hair like mine. Heaven have mercy on my soul!” And, sinking backwards, he expired with a hollow groan.