On the following day, she was summoned by an officer of the guard to attend the Bishop in the Beauchamp Tower. Taking up a volume of the Holy Scriptures lying on a table beside her, and wrapping herself in an ermined surcoat, she arose and followed the officer—quitting her chamber for the first time for nearly two months. On issuing into the open air, the effect was almost overpowering, and she could not repress her tears. It was a bright, sunshiny morning, and everything looked so beautiful—so happy, that the contrast with her recent sufferings was almost too much for her. Bearing up resolutely against her feelings, in order forcibly to divert her attention she fixed her eyes upon the reverend walls of the White Tower, which she was at that moment passing. Near it she perceived the three gigantic warders, all of whom doffed their caps as she approached. Og coughed loudly, as if to clear his throat; Gog hastily brushed the moisture from his eyes with his sleeve; while Magog, who was the most tender-hearted of the three, fairly blubbered aloud. Xit, who formed one of the group, but who was the least affected, bade her be of good cheer. This encounter was so far of service to Jane, that it served to distract her thoughts, and she had in a great measure regained her composure, when another incident occurred, which had nearly upset her altogether. As she passed near the porch of Saint Peter’s Chapel, she beheld Simon Renard emerge from it. And if she felt her blood chilled by the sight of her implacable foe, her alarm was not diminished on hearing him call to her guards to bring her within the chapel. At a loss to comprehend the meaning of this mysterious summons, Jane entered the sacred structure. Coldly saluting her, Renard informed her that her husband was within the chapel. Trembling at the intimation, Jane looked eagerly round. At first, she could discern nothing; but, guided by the ambassador’s malignant glance, she perceived a figure kneeling in front of the altar. Instantly recognising her husband, with an exclamation of delight that made him spring to his feet, she rushed forward and threw herself into his arms. After the first passionate emotion had subsided, Jane inquired how he came to be there. “Do you not know?” replied Lord Guilford. “Or have you been kept in ignorance of the terrible tragedy which has been recently enacted? Look there!” And he pointed downwards. Jane obeyed, and saw that she was standing upon a gravestone, on which was inscribed in newly-cut letters— JOHN DUDLEY, DUKE OF NORTHUMBERLAND. —DECAPITATED AUGUST 22, 1553 Jane trembled and leaned upon her husband for support. “Here is the victim—there the executioner,” said Lord Guilford, pointing from the grave to Renard.