Constance Sherwood: An Autobiography of the Sixteenth CenturyFullerton, Georgiana
History
Constance Sherwood: An Autobiography of the Sixteenth Century
Fullerton, Georgiana
Great Britain -- History -- Elizabeth, 1558-1603 -- Fiction
Loud murmurs were here raised by some present, which Sir Hammond again
silencing, he then inquired if he would take the oath of allegiance to
the queen? He answered (my straining ears taking note of every word he
uttered) that he would gladly pay most willing obedience to her
majesty in all civil matters; but the oath of allegiance, as it was
worded, he could not take, or hold her majesty to possess any
supremacy in spiritual matters. He was beginning to state the reasons
thereof, but was not suffered to proceed, for Sir Hammond,
interrupting him, said he was an escaped prisoner, and by his own
confession condemned, so he should straightway commit him to the gaol
in Norwich. Then I lost my senses almost, and seizing Lady
l'Estrange's arm, I cried, "Save him! he is mine own father, Mr.
Sherwood!" She uttered a sort of cry, and said, "Oh, I have feared
this, since I saw his face!" and running forward, I following her,
affrighted at what should happen, she called out, "It shall not be! He
shall not do it!" and with a face as white as any smock, runs to her
husband, and perceiving the constables to be putting chains on my
father's hands and feet, which I likewise beheld with what feelings
you who read this may think, she falls on her knees and gasps out
these words in such a mournful tone, that I shuddered to hear her,
"Oh, sir! if this man leaves this house a chained prisoner, I shall
never be the like of my-self again. There shall be no more joy for me
in life." And then faints right away, and Sir Hammond carries her in
his arms out of the hall. Mine eyes the while met my father's; who
smiled on me with kind cheer, but signed for me to keep away. I
stretched my arms toward him, and with his chained hand he contrived
yet once more for to bless me; then was hurried out of my sight. Far
more time than I ever did perceive or could remember the length of I
remained in that now deserted hall, motionless, alone, near to the
dying embers, the darkness still increasing, too much confused to
recall at once the comforts which sacred thoughts do yield in such
mishaps, only able to clasp my hand and utter broken sentences of
prayer, such as "God, ha' mercy on us," and the like; till about the
middle of the night, Sir Hammond comes down the stairs, with a lamp in
his hand, and a strange look in his face.
"Mistress Sherwood," he says, "come to my lady. She is very ill, and
hath been in labor for some time. She doth nothing but call for you,
and rave about that accursed priest she will have it she hath
murthered. Come and feign to her he hath escaped."
"O God!" I cried, "my words may fall on her ear, Sir Hammond, but my
face cannot deceive her."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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