Then followed four agonizing days. The King, who had given Strafford a solemn promise that he should not be harmed, became more and more terrified (not so much for himself as for those whom he loved, for he was no coward) as he realized the implacability of those who sought his faithful servant's life. On the other hand, he felt the shame of the descendant of a long line of kings at the very thought of breaking his royal pledge. In his struggle he knew not where to turn for help or comfort. Strafford himself, imitating the heroic conduct of the simple priest John Goodman, wrote to Charles, begging to die rather than that his safety should prejudice the King's interests. As for Henrietta, at this crisis she had no strength to supplement her husband's weakness. She sat shivering at Whitehall, feeling around her the atmosphere of hatred, and hearing at last that most terrible of all sounds, the howling of an infuriated mob. Long Charles hesitated, but at last he dared do so no longer, for he believed that his wife and his children would pay the ransom of Strafford. Impelled by fear, justified by subtle counsellors, he seized his pen and signed the fatal death-warrant; "and in signing it he signed his own,"[252] commented a Frenchman many years later. Strafford did not fear death. His state of health was such that probably in any case his remaining days would have been few. With one bitter comment, "Put not your trust in princes," he turned resolutely to the regulation of his temporal affairs and to preparation for death. His last day on earth was troubled by the well-meant solicitude of certain Catholics who, by some means, gained access to him, but when they found their efforts unavailing they departed, and he was left in peace. The fatal twelfth of May dawned. He was led out to meet first the blessing of his fellow-prisoner, Archbishop Laud, and then the angry faces of the populace, which he despised to the end, but to which was passing the power he was unable to hold. There were a few moments of tension, of waiting for death; then the axe fell, and the one man who might have saved Charles' throne was for ever beyond the reach of warring factions. "They have committed murder with the sword of justice,"[253] cried out one Englishman, expressing the silent thoughts of others less courageous than himself. "The people," commented Salvetti, who was not unworthy to be the countryman of Machiavelli, "now that it knows its own strength, and that nothing is denied to it, will not stop here, but will claim more."[254] Indeed, the revolution came on apace. The power was in the hands of Pym and his friends, and behind them were the London mob and the Scotch army. The abolition of the Star Chamber and High Commission Courts was only one among the many blows which were shattering Charles' throne.