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He trembled, not from any superstitious dread, but from an undefined sense of approaching danger. She felt that she had passed a difficult corner, and that now she could go on talking with him again, just as she had been used to do before she understood what was the matter with her. The first of these, the Press Room, a dark close chamber, near Waterman's Hall, obtained its name from an immense wooden machine kept in it, with which such prisoners as refused to plead to their indictments were pressed to death—a species of inquisitorial torture not discontinued until so lately as the early part of the reign of George the Third, when it was abolished by an express statute. He leaned back in a low chair, and watched her graceful movements, the play of her white hands as she bent over some wonderful machine. The arrangement had been made by the town matchmaker, a frightening old oak of a man. ‘You are extremely empty-headed, Lucy. " "More blood! more blood!" cried Trenchard, passing his hand with agony across his brow. Lucy thought he was the most handsome man in the entire world.
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