“There spoke the woman of my love--of my heart’s choice. Katharine, I do own to thee, that when I did engage with this last band to strike a blow for freedom, and when discovery came, and chains and judgment followed, the thought that you would know my last true effort, would call it constant, honest, and drop a tear upon my grave, was a strong cordial to my wearied spirit, and did enable me to look at Cromwell in all his state and power with a bright defiance. I do marvel that he granted 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 so the scaffold lose a victim, and baser men an example for their terror.” “And what said you in answer?” “I told him that you had a nobler scorn of death, and a holier fear of God, 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 place ennobled 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 lady daughter entered. She whispered him, and, as I think, did plead for me--for, after she went forth, he wrote the permission instantly and more. The after-sentence is remitted:--then, when the axe hath done its cruel work, thou art mine, Francis--these hands shall fold thy grave-clothes.” “Angels of heaven! are ye listening, are ye present? Yes, her steps are compassed round with holy guardians; her strength is more than mortal. Am I then helped in this my only trouble? this the last weakness of my shrinking nature? Have my prayers been heard, and have I been cared for as a timid child, by him who sitteth on the mercy seat? The tyrant told you truly, Katharine; for he, half hypocrite, half hero, is brave as his own sword:--yes--brave men may shrink from the rude shames done on their lifeless bodies. Remember, noble woman, that this last great charity doth take away the only bitterness that made my cup to taste of terror. Now my heart is light, and leaps within me, as if I felt its pinions struggling to be free. To-morrow is as a bridal-day to me.” During this speech Katharine was so much overcome that big tears rolled down her marble cheeks, and she sought relief in prayer. Her eyes were raised to heaven in silence, and for a few brief minutes not a word was spoken by either; for Francis kneeled beside her, and his heart was lifted up in devout and still communion with hers. Being calmed and strengthened by this exercise of faith, Katharine was again able to address him. “Your hours are now precious, Francis; let me not dare to waste one golden moment of them: whatever may be your last desires and wishes, tell me, that they may be religiously observed.”