“And mine for you, dear Jane,” replied her husband, pressing her to his bosom—“Heaven grant me your patience and resignation!” “Amen!” she fervently ejaculated. And with another embrace, they parted. For a short distance the two escorts walked close together, during which the afflicted pair kept their eyes fondly fixed on each other. After passing the north-west corner of the White Tower, Lord Guilford’s attendants took a straight-forward course, while Jane’s guards proceeded to the right. Still but a short distance intervened between them, until Jane beheld her husband disappear beneath the low-arched entrance of the Bowyer Tower. A convulsive movement passed over her frame; but the next moment she was apparently as calm as ever, and followed the officer into the structure destined for her reception. This, as has already been intimated, was the Brick Tower, the next turret on the east of the Bowyer Tower. The upper story, which is of brick—whence its name—was erected in the reign of Edward the Fourth, or Richard the Third: the basement story is of stone, and of much greater antiquity. Entering a narrow passage, she was ushered by the officer into a small room, which he informed her was prepared for her reception. Everything that circumstances would admit appeared to have been done to lessen the rigour of her confinement. The stone walls were hung with arras; and much of the furniture a carved oak table, and velvet-covered scats, placed in the deep embrasures of the windows—had been brought from Jane’s late chamber in the palace. “This seat, said the officer, pointing to a curiously-carved chair, * was used by Queen Anne Boleyn during her imprisonment. I had it brought hither for your ladyship’s accommodation.” “I thank you for your consideration, sir,” replied Jane; “it will serve to support one as unhappy as that ill-fated princess.” Having inquired whether she had any further commands with which it was possible for him to comply, and being answered in the negative, the officer took his departure, and Jane was left alone. 0171 Alone! the thought struck chill to her heart. She was now a solitary captive. She heard the door of her prison bolted—she examined its stone walls, partly concealed by the tapestry—she glanced at its iron-barred windows, and her courage forsook her. She had no bosom to lean upon—no ear to which she could impart her sorrows. Her husband, though not far from her, was, like her a prisoner. She pictured him in his solitary room—and she would have given worlds to be near him—if only for a few moments. The thought occasioned her so much anguish, that she burst into tears, and for some time was a prey to despair. She then knelt down beside the chair, and burying her face in her clasped hands, prayed deeply and fervently for support through her trial. And she prayed not in vain. She soon afterwards arose tranquil and refreshed.