“Have no fear, my lord,” said Father Norham. “The malice of your enemies will not extend to that length. All shall be done as you desire. When the tragedy is over, the body shall be conveyed by slow stages--and only by night--to Dilston. During the day it shall rest in some Catholic chapel, and masses shall be said.” “I will accompany it, and see the last sad rites performed,” said the countess. “You give me inexpressible comfort,” said the earl. “It was the sole request I had to prefer.” Shortly afterwards the earl retired with Father Norham into the cell adjoining the prison-chamber, where the priest heard his confession, and gave him absolution. During this interval, the countess knelt down and prayed fervently. At length, the earl came forth, and she arose, perceiving from his looks that the moment of parting was come. He extended his arms, and flying towards him, she was clasped to his breast. Thus they remained for some minutes amid a silence, broken only by her sobs. He then made a slight effort to loosen her embrace, but she clung to him even more tenaciously. “We must part, my best beloved,” he said, printing a kiss upon her brow. “Oh! I knew not the anguish of this hour,” she cried. “Would my heart would break and relieve me!” “For your husband's sake, calm yourself, dear daughter, I implore you!” said the priest. But her grief was too violent to be restrained, and a paroxysm ensued that found vent in a fearful shriek, that burst through the grated windows of the fortification, and almost froze the blood of such as heard it. She then became insensible. On regaining consciousness, she no longer beheld her husband. She had parted from him for ever. She had been carefully removed to the Lieutenant's lodgings, where restoratives were applied. As soon as her strength permitted, she left the Tower with Father Norham, and returned to Dagenham Park; feeling as if her heart were broken. II.--HOW LORD WIDDRINGTON TOOK A LAST LEAVE OF THE EARL OF DERWENTWATER. |GLOOMY was the morn, and in unison with the sombre deed about to take place. Already a scaffold, draped in black, on which the Earl of Derwentwater and Lord Kenmure were to pay the forfeit of their lives, had been erected on Tower-hill. At an early hour three strong detachments of Life Guards marched from Whitehall, and posted themselves round the scaffold. At the same time, a crowd of curious observers of both sexes began to assemble, and increased so rapidly that within an hour the whole summit of the eminence was densely thronged. Some sympathy was expressed for the unfortunate lords about to suffer, but it would almost seem that the majority of the spectators were drawn thither by curiosity rather than by any other feeling. Like all other crowds they exhibited great impatience because they supposed they were kept waiting, and manifested their displeasure by groaning at the Life Guards, who, however, treated them with supreme contempt.