The ceremony was ended, and the proselyte arose. At this moment, he met the glance of Renard—that triumphant and diabolical glance—its expression was not to be mistaken. Northumberland shuddered, he felt that he had been betrayed. VII.-HOW THE DUKE OF NORTHUMBERLAND WAS BEHEADED ON TOWER HILL. Three days after Northumberland’s reconciliation with the Church of Rome, the warrant for his execution was signed by Queen Mary. The fatal intelligence was brought him by the lieutenant, Sir John Gage, and though he received it with apparent calmness, his heart sank within him. he simply inquired when it was to take place, and, being informed on the following day at an early hour, he desired to be left alone. As soon as the lieutenant was gone, he abandoned himself wholly to despair, and fell into a state bordering on distraction. While he was in this frenzied state, the door of his cell opened, and the jailor introduced Gunnora Braose and a tall man muffled in the folds of an ample black cloak. “Wretch!” cried the Duke, regarding the old woman fiercely. “You have deceived me. But the device shall avail you little. From the scaffold I will expose the snare in which I have been taken. I will proclaim my Protestant opinions; and my dying declaration will be of more profit to that faith than my recent recantation can be to yours.” “Your grace is mistaken,” rejoined Gunnora. “I do not deserve your reproaches, as I will presently show. I am the bearer of a pardon to you.” “A pardon!” exclaimed Northumberland, incredulously. “Ay, a pardon,” replied the old woman. “The Queen’s highness will spare your life. But it is her pleasure that her clemency be as public as your crime. You will be reprieved on the scaffold.” “Were I assured of this,” cried Northumberland, eagerly grasping at the straw held out to him, “I would exhort the whole multitude to embrace the Catholic faith.” “Rest satisfied of it, then,” replied Gunnora. “May I perish at the same moment as yourself if I speak not the truth!” “Whom have we here?” inquired the Duke, turning to the muffled personage. “The headsman?” “Your enemy,” replied the individual, throwing aside his mantle, and disclosing the features of Simon Renard. “It is but a poor revenge to insult a fallen foe,” observed Northumberland, disdainfully. “Revenge is sweet, however obtained,” rejoined Renard. “I am not come, however, to insult your grace, but to confirm the truth of this old woman’s statement. Opposed as I am to you, and shall ever be, I would not have you forfeit your life by a new and vile apostacy. Abjure the Catholic faith, and you will die unpitied by all. Maintain it; and at the last moment, when the arm of the executioner is raised, and the axe gleams in the air—when the eyes of thousands are fixed on it—sovereign mercy will arrest the blow.” “You awaken new hope in my bosom,” rejoined the Duke.