The Constable of the Tower

“What mean these passionate supplications, Elizabeth? You plead for him as for a husband.”

“He is almost my husband, sire. I have affianced myself to him.”

“Ha!” exclaimed Edward, with a look of displeasure.

“You have hurt your cause by that admission,” whispered the constable.

“I am sorry to hear what you tell me, Elizabeth, because such a marriage never could take place. ‘Tis against our royal father’s will. You must reconcile yourself to the admiral’s fate.”

“Then your Majesty is resolved to destroy him?” cried the princess.

“Justice must take its course,” rejoined Edward, somewhat sternly. “Heaven knows how dearly I loved my uncle, Lord Seymour,” he continued, in a more softened tone; “but I have been greatly deceived by him. His true character has been revealed to me—not by the lord protector, whom you unjustly charge with sinister designs—but by others.”

“By whom, sire?”

“By Archbishop Cranmer—by the Bishop of Ely—by Doctor Latimer. He is restless, turbulent, dangerous—too restless and too dangerous to be spared. I would he could be brought to a better frame of mind, for I hear he refuses all religious instruction and consolation.”

“Then cut him not off in a state of sin, sire. Give him time for repentance.”

“‘Tis for the council, not for me, to appoint the time of execution,” replied Edward, sadly.

“The council should obey you, sire—not you them. But if you will not grant him a free pardon—at least spare his life. Doom him to exile—to imprisonment—but not to the block.”

“His crimes are of too deep a dye to allow of any leniency,” responded Edward.

“Then I have done, sire,” cried Elizabeth, rising. “Heaven grant you the pardon which you refuse to him.”

At this moment, the doors were thrown open, and an usher entered, announcing the lord protector and the council.

It was now too late for Elizabeth to retire, but so far from being intimidated by the frowns of Somerset, she replied by glances as menacing as his own.

“I would counsel you to withdraw, princess,” he said, sternly.

“I thank your Highness,” she rejoined, “but I design to remain here.”

“Nay, stay if you will,” he answered. “I meant but to spare your feelings.”

On the entrance of the council, Edward moved slowly towards a chair of state placed beneath a canopy, and took his seat upon it. The lord protector, followed by the Earls of Warwick and Southampton, then advanced towards him. In his hand Somerset held a parchment, the sight of which chilled the life-blood in Elizabeth’s veins. She knew it to be the admiral’s death-warrant.

“Sire,” said Somerset, “after due deliberation, the council has decided that the execution shall take place to-morrow morning on Tower-hill.”

At this dread announcement, Elizabeth with difficulty repressed a scream.

“So soon!” exclaimed Edward. “‘Twere better he should live a few days longer. ‘Twill give him more time for repentance.”

“Such grace would little profit him, sire, while there are many cogent reasons why the execution should not be deferred,” rejoined the duke.

“Can aught be advanced in mitigation of his sentence?” demanded Edward.

“Nothing, sire, or I should be the first to suggest it.”

He then called for a pen, and offering the warrant to the king, pressed him to sign it.

“Cannot my signature be dispensed with?” rejoined Edward, averting his head. “He is my uncle, and I like not to doom him thus.”

“He is also my brother,” rejoined Somerset. “Yet I shall not hesitate to sign the warrant. A few strokes of the pen, sire, and it is done,” he continued, again proffering the warrant.

“But those few strokes will destroy one whom I have dearly loved—and whom I still love,” cried Edward. “I cannot do it.”

And he burst into tears.

“Heaven be praised, his heart is touched! He will spare him!” muttered Elizabeth.

“If this opportunity passes by, our prey will escape,” whispered Warwick.

“Be firm, sire,” said the protector. “You must not yield to this weakness.”

“Give me the pen,” cried Edward. And he hurriedly signed the warrant. “Take it hence,” he cried, with a look of horror, and feeling as if he had committed a crime.

The warrant was then countersigned by the protector and the whole of the council, after which it was delivered to the constable by Somerset, who bade him see it executed on the morrow, between the hours of nine and twelve in the forenoon, on Tower-hill.

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