“I will write your epitaph instead, sir,” rejoined Surrey, “and leave it with the headsman.”
At this moment the door of the cell was opened, and Sir John Gage stepped in.
“The ghostly father is without, my lord,” he said, addressing Surrey. “But you look ruffled. Nothing, I trust, has occurred to chafe you?”
“Ask Sir Thomas Seymour,” the earl rejoined. “He will tell you as much or as little as he thinks fit. For myself, I have done with all worldly matters, and have time only to think of my sins, and ask forgiveness for them.”
After a brief pause, he added in a voice of deep emotion, “One commission I will charge you with, good Sir John, and I well know you will not neglect it. Since my imprisonment in the Tower, I have not seen my little boy, and I shall never see him more. Kiss him for me, and give him my last blessing. Tell him I died without reproach and with unspotted honor. Poor orphan child! Early bereft of a mother’s tenderness, thou wilt be robbed of a father’s love by a yet more cruel stroke of fate! But something tells me thou shalt regain the title and dignity I have lost. Fare you well for ever, good Sir John!” he continued, embracing him. “I have nothing but those poor books to give you. If you care to have them, I pray you keep them in remembrance of your friend, Henry Howard.”
“I shall dearly prize the gift, my lord,” replied Sir John, much moved, and fearful of unmanning himself—”fare-well.”
Meanwhile, Seymour had resumed his cloak. Not a word more passed between him and Surrey, but they eyed each other sternly as Sir Thomas quitted the cell.
Soon afterwards, the priest was ushered in by Tombs, and remained for more than an hour with the earl.
On the next day, the chivalrous Surrey was decapitated on Tower Hill. His constancy remained unshaken to the last. Greeting the executioner with a smile, he laid his graceful head upon the block amid the tears and lamentations of the beholders.
| Go to Table of Contents |
Chapter VI
HOW THE KING, FINDING HIS END APPROACH, TOOK A LAST LEAVE OF THE PRINCESSES MARY AND ELIZABETH, AND OF THE PRINCE EDWARD; AND OF THE COUNSEL HE GAVE THEM
Surrey was gone, but his destroyer yet lingered on earth. By this time, however, the king’s malady had made such progress, that Doctor Butts confidentially informed the Earl of Hertford and some others of the council, that his Majesty had little more than a week to live; but that possibly his existence might be terminated at an earlier period. Henry could not be unconscious of his danger, though he spoke not of it, and no one—not even his physician, or his confessor, the Bishop of Rochester—dared to warn him of his approaching dissolution. He heard mass daily in his chamber, and received other rites, which led to the supposition that he was about to be reconciled, at the last moment, to the see of Rome. This opinion was strengthened when Gardiner and Wriothesley were again sent for, and restored to favor. Thus things continued, until Sir John Gage, seeing that all shrank from the perilous task of acquainting the dying monarch with his true condition, boldly inquired if he had no desire to see Prince Edward and the Princesses Mary and Elizabeth.
“To take leave of them! Is that what you mean?—ha!” roared Henry, who had just recovered from a paroxysm of anguish. “Speak out, man!”
“It is,” replied the constable, firmly. “Forgive me, sire, if I offend. I but discharge my duty.”
There was a terrible silence, during which no one could say what might ensue. No explosion of rage, however, followed. On the contrary, the king said, in a milder tone, “Thou art a faithful servant, Sir John, and I honor thy courage. The interview must not be delayed. Let my children be brought to me to-morrow.”
“I rejoice to hear your Majesty say so,” replied Gage. “I will myself set out at once for Hampton Court, and bring his Highness Prince Edward and the Princess Elizabeth to the palace.”