by Moyle Sherer
CHAP. XX.
Nor death, nor sleep, nor any dismall shade Of low, contracting life, she then doth fear; No troubled thoughts her settled mind invade: The immortal root of life she seeth clear, Wisheth she ever were engrafted here. HENRY MORE.
It had been arranged between Katharine and her ever-constant friends,the Juxons, who had accompanied her from London on this melancholyoccasion, that she should go to the palace alone, while they awaitedher return on the bank of the river. They had come from Westminster bywater in the morning; and, in the event of her petition being attendedwith success, were to go back in the same manner direct to the Tower.
They had been provided with a swift four-oared boat, well manned,hired for the day; and while Katharine was in the palace, Jane and herhusband sat under the trees not fifty yards from the river, and insight of the boat. The men had been cautioned against drinking orstraying, and having shown all civility and attention, rested idly onthe bank, to all seeming in contented obedience. But whether theirpatience had been exhausted, or the mournfulness of the party wasdispleasing to them, or they felt bribed by the chances of feastingand merriment with some party of pleasure, just before Katharine camedown to the river, they suddenly took boat and rowed swiftly away,unheeding the loud and vain remonstrance of Juxon.
By this petty perplexity she was for some time delayed. It was longbefore any conveyance could be found. Every horse--everycarriage--every boat was out. It was one of those delicious days, whenall the world, as by common consent, keeps holyday:--when sorrows,disappointments, wrongs, and sordid cares are left within doors; whengrass is in its greenest beauty; when hedges are white andsweet-scented; when lovely blossoms cover all the orchards; andflowers are every where, and foliage is fresh and young, and birdsare in full song.
Absorbed, patient, unconscious, Katharine sat still, her hand withinthat of Jane. Juxon at last returned, rowing a small wherry himself,and placing them in it, made for the Tower with his best vigour. Hesaid little; but as he passed the numberless boats, which were crowdedwith glad and joyous groups, here noisy with laughter, there vocalwith sweet and innocent songs, the natural expression of youthfulenjoyment, his heart bled for Katharine. But, in truth, all thesesights and sounds gave her little disturbance--they were unheeded. Herspirit was preparing for a great trial, and was lying low before ahidden throne, imploring strength.
As soon as they reached the neighbouring wharf, Juxon accompanied herto the gate of the Tower, promised to provide a lodging for the nightin that neighbourhood, where they might all remain, and to return forher.
And now this sad and gracious woman was left to pass through all theslow and cold formalities of admission alone. By no less than fivedifferent officers was her paper examined; and with some there wasunkind delay, and with others, the rude questioning of an unfeelingcuriosity. At last came the prison itself. Here the order from thelieutenant of the Tower having been duly recognised was obeyed insurly silence, by a stern-faced gaoler and his assistants. Heavy doorswere slowly unlocked; and harsh and grating sounds, and the clank ofkeys, and the turning of strong bolts, made her blood chill.
A lighter door, as of an apartment, was at length unlocked quietly,and she was ushered into a chamber, where her cousin sat at a tablewriting, with his back to the entrance. He did not, at first, turnround, fancying it was one of the gaolers. One grated window in hisfront, having a northern aspect, looked out upon a wall so close toit, that not even sunshine could be ever visible upon it. There were afew books upon his table:--here, too, there was an hour-glass. Alittle very ancient furniture, of oak, relieved the nakedness of thewalls; and there was an aspect in the gloomy room which did properlybelong to the prison of a state criminal of rank.
The conductor of Katharine respectfully announced a visiter, and asimmediately withdrew, and turned the lock. Francis rose:--herecognised Katharine at once, and with a mute embrace; then placed herwith reverent tenderness in a seat, and went for a moment to thewindow, to recover his composure, after which he came and sat downbeside her. Katharine was collected, and did not shed a single tear;but the first words she would have uttered died within her, and foundno voice. Francis took her hand in a grave, calm manner:--
"Remember," said he, "my dear, beloved Katharine, that this must be nomelancholy parting. If any thing on earth could make me loth to quitit, most true it is, the thought that it must yet, for a brief season,be your dwelling-place, would make me cast a lingering look behind.But even that I have struggled with and conquered; nor does yourpresence shake my resolution. You must rejoice with me--not weep. Itis a bad world, sweet cousin, and I have been among the worst upon it.But I have found the Great Deliverer; or, rather, have been found ofhim; and I do look beyond it now:--ay, Katharine, and have done so formany years. My spirit panteth to be gone; and well I know that thouart only kept on earth, as angels are, to minister God's mercy to thewretched. I knew that I should have thy charitable prayers, but didnot think to see thee. How didst thou gain admission? It has beendenied to some of my true friends. Besides, I thought thee far away,and wrote especially to the tyrant's private secretary to say that wehad had no intercourse for years; and that you knew nothing of myactions, nor were you even acquainted with any of the Royalistsengaged. I marvel much this favour hath been granted me, and humblythank my God for this last blessing."
The while he spoke she looked upon him steadily, and at every word didgather strength and peace.
"How is it, Francis, that I feel no grief? How is it that I havestood face to face today with Cromwell without a falter of the tongue?How is it that I feel this nearness of thy death as if it were theappointment of some hallowed honour to wipe out all the noble errorsof thy deceived heart, and write upon thy tomb their gloriousconfession? I did ever love you well, Francis--now better than ever.We are no longer young: I can read in your worn lineaments, as in amirror, the lines of care, which Heaven has traced upon mine own. Yourhair is grey, and war and woe have done their work upon you, andquenched the brightness of your eye of fire. Now you are dear tome;--now that you stand upon the verge of the invisible world,prepared, with prostrate heart, and with courageous faith, to enterin. I do not come to weep with thee:--your spirit kindles mine--I willrejoice."
"There spoke the woman of my love--of my heart's choice. Katharine, Ido own to thee, that when I did engage with this last band to strike ablow for freedom, and when discovery came, and chains and judgmentfollowed, the thought that you would know my last true effort, wouldcall it constant, honest, and drop a tear upon my grave, was a strongcordial to my wearied spirit, and did enable me to look at Cromwell inall his state and power with a bright defiance. I do marvel that hegranted me this favour:--what said he?"
"He did not do it readily. He spoke you fair and justly as a soldier;but only in one point he did you grievous wrong."
"In what? I pray you name it."
"He seemed to fear that I might bring you poison or a dagger--and sothe scaffold lose a victim, and baser men an example for theirterror."
"And what said you in answer?"
"I told him that you had a nobler scorn of death, and a holier fear ofGod, than so to sin against your soul.
"He said that bravest men might dread the dishonours of the scaffold.
"I told him these now were no dishonours--that it was a placeennobled by the blood of a royal martyr."
"Dared you so much? How looked he?"
"He loured and bent his eyes upon the ground. Just then his ladydaughter entered. She whispered him, and, as I think, did plead forme--for, after she went forth, he wrote the permission instantly andmore. The after-sentence is remitted:--then, when the axe hath doneits cruel work, thou art mine, Francis--these hands shall fold thygrave-clothes."
"Angels of heaven! are ye listening, are ye present? Yes, her stepsare compassed round with holy guardians; her strength is more thanmortal. Am I then helped in this my only trouble? this the lastweakness of my shrinking nature? Have
my prayers been heard, and haveI been cared for as a timid child, by him who sitteth on the mercyseat? The tyrant told you truly, Katharine; for he, half hypocrite,half hero, is brave as his own sword:--yes--brave men may shrink fromthe rude shames done on their lifeless bodies. Remember, noble woman,that this last great charity doth take away the only bitterness thatmade my cup to taste of terror. Now my heart is light, and leapswithin me, as if I felt its pinions struggling to be free. To-morrowis as a bridal-day to me."
During this speech Katharine was so much overcome that big tearsrolled down her marble cheeks, and she sought relief in prayer. Hereyes were raised to heaven in silence, and for a few brief minutes nota word was spoken by either; for Francis kneeled beside her, and hisheart was lifted up in devout and still communion with hers. Beingcalmed and strengthened by this exercise of faith, Katharine was againable to address him.
"Your hours are now precious, Francis; let me not dare to waste onegolden moment of them: whatever may be your last desires and wishes,tell me, that they may be religiously observed."
"They are not many: these papers, which one broken hour of the nightwill give me time enough to seal, I would have conveyed by a safe handto New England; and perhaps one line from you might comfort myfather's heart. These few books I would also have sent to him. This,Katharine, is my Psalter: take it; and till we meet in a better worlduse no other. Now hear me; and, for both our sakes, observe my lastdirections strictly. To-morrow morning, from the hour of eight tonine, keep closely to thy chamber, and shut thy door, and do not lookabroad; but make this Psalter thy companion, and read therein thechoicest words of praise and thanksgiving. Yes, praise andthanksgiving:--remember this. If that I am a pardoned sinner, and thatI am pardoned a humble voice within me whispers, and visionary handsdo point to him the blessed of the Father, who hung on the accursedtree, and died that we might live. If it be so, then to-morrow I shallcross Jordan at the narrowest point, and see that heavenly Canaanwhere happy spirits dwell: there we shall meet again. Hark! there befootsteps. One last embrace:--farewell."
The door was unlocked, and a minister of a countenance most kind andholy did softly enter. He paused, irresolute at the sight ofKatharine, and would have withdrawn till their interview might end.
"Nay, my reverend and dear friend, come in, I prithee:--this is thelady of whom I spoke to you: my only relative in England. She hathcome to do me the last charitable offices of earthly love. You areprepared, I see, to comfort and refresh me. My cousin will keep thisfeast with us."
At these words the good man entered, bearing a salver and a cup, overwhich a white napkin was decently spread; and when the door had againbeen closed, and the clank of the keys at the gaoler's girdle had diedaway in the long passages, and the world and the world's sounds wereall shut out, that dull and grated prison became a temple,--and theythree in a mournful humility did make their meek confession, and infaith, hope, and charity, did feast upon a Saviour's love.