“She did, my lord; but she could not move him. His majesty seemed persuaded of your guilt. I can give you no further hope, but recommend you a patient suffering of justice, and preparation to meet your Supreme Judge.”
“Remain with me a few minutes, I pray you, good Sir John,” said the admiral, somewhat faintly. “The shock, though not unexpected, is severer than I deemed it would be.”
“You are a brave man, I know, my lord,” observed the constable, looking at him with surprise, “and I fancied you had no fear of death.”
“Neither have I,” replied Seymour; “but I have not yet lost my love of life. One tie binds me to earth, which nothing but the axe can sever. How looked the princess to-day, good Sir John? Did she send any message to me?”
“She bade you a tender farewell, and sent you this embroidered handkerchief, to which her lips have been pressed,” replied the constable.
“Give it me, Sir John,” cried Seymour, kissing it rapturously.
“Dismiss her image, if you can, from your mind, my lord,” said Gage, “and make up your account with Heaven. You have much, I fear, to do, and but short time to do it in. Will you see Doctor Latimer to-night?”
“No, Sir John. He troubles me more than he instructs or consoles me. I can pray to Heaven without his aid.”
“But if you have any undivulged sin, ’twere well you eased your conscience by confession,” remarked the constable.
“Since Heaven can read the secrets of all hearts, mine must be known to it,” rejoined Seymour. “Why should I reveal them to man?”
“Heaven’s ministers can give you absolution for your sins,” said Gage. “Have compassion upon your soul, I implore you, and save it alive. If you will not see a minister of the gospel, let me send a Romish priest to you. Ha! why do you stare so into the vacancy?”
“Do you not see him?” cried Seymour, with horror- stricken looks, and pointing as he spoke. “There! close behind you!”
“Whom do you imagine you behold?” asked the constable, not altogether free from the superstitious terrors that affected his companion.
“A former inmate of this cell,” replied Seymour, “who died, as I shall die, on Tower-hill.”
“The Earl of Surrey!” exclaimed Gage.
“Ay, Surrey,” rejoined the admiral. “He points to his bleeding throat, as if to show me what my fate will be. Look at him, Sir John! Look at him!”
“I can behold nothing,” replied the constable, looking in the direction to which the admiral pointed.
“Ha! he vanishes!” exclaimed Seymour. “But in his place another phantom rises. ‘Tis the injured queen, my consort.”
“Queen Catherine!” exclaimed Gage, in amazement.
“Her features are death-like, and she is wrapped in a shroud; but I know her,” pursued Seymour. “Her looks are full of woe and pity. Oh! forgive me, injured queen! forgive me! I cannot bear those looks.” And he covered his face with his hands.
There was a pause, during which Gage made no remark, but regarded his companion with mingled commiseration and wonder.
After awhile, Seymour looked up again.
“She is gone!” he cried, greatly relieved. “But what is this? Another spectre rising to blast me? Hence, hence! accursed fiend! Thou wert the cause of all.”
“Whose spirit troubles you now, my lord?” said the constable.
“That of my malignant and treacherous servant, Ugo Harrington,” replied Seymour. “He points to a yawning wound in his breast, from which blood is streaming, and seems to charge me with his slaughter. ‘Tis true I did it, and I would slay him again were it to do. He smiles upon me with a devilish grin, and disappears.”
“Have these phantoms ever visited you before, my lord?” demanded the constable.
“Never thus,” replied Seymour, “though I have had dreadful dreams.”
“Let me once more recommend you to make your peace with Heaven,” said the constable. “These visions show how heavily laden must be your soul, and how needful it is it should be cleansed of its offences. Take what I say to you in good part, I pray you, my lord. ‘Tis well meant.”
“I know it, and I thank you,” replied Seymour, earnestly. “I will strive to profit by your counsel.”