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
"Dear Constance, I must needs obey those who have a right to command
me, such as his grace my good father and my husband; and they are both
very urgent and resolved that by all means I shall conform to the
times. So I do go to Protestant service; but I use at home my prayers,
as my grandmother did teach me; and Phil says them too, when I can get
him to say any."
"Then you do not hear mass," I said, sorrowfully, "or confess your
sins to a priest?"
"No," she answered, in a sad manner; "I once asked my Lady Lumley, who
is a good Catholic, if she could procure I should see a priest with
that intent at Arundel House; but she turned pale as a sheet, and said
that to get any one to be reconciled who had once conformed to
the Protestant religion, was to run danger of death; and albeit for
her own part she would not refuse to die for so good a cause, she
dared not bring her father's gray hairs to the block."
As we were holding this discourse--and she so intent in speaking, and
I in listening, that we had not heard the door open--Lord Surrey
suddenly stood before us. His height made him more than a boy, and his
face would not allow him a man; for the rest, he was
well-proportioned, and did all things with so notable a grace, that
nature had stamped him with the mark of true nobility. He made a
slight obeisance to me, and I noticed that his cheek was flushed, and
that he grasped the handle of his sword with an anger which took not
away the sweetness of his countenance, but gave it an amiable sort of
fierceness. Then, as if unable to restrain himself, he burst forth,
"Nan, an order is come for his grace to be forthwith removed to the
Tower, and I'll warrant that was the cause he was suffered to see us
yesterday. God send it prove not a final parting!"
"Is his grace gone?" cried the countess, starting to her feet, and
clasping her hands with a sorrowful gesture.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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