The Tower Of London by W. Harrison Ainsworth

“Your highness is in the right,” observed Renard, eagerly.

“Meet me at midnight in Saint John’s Chapel in the White Tower,” continued the queen, “where in your presence, and in the presence of Heaven, I will solemnly affiance myself to the prince.”

“Your majesty transports me by your determination,” replied the ambassador. And full of joy at his unlooked-for success, he took his departure.

At midnight, as appointed, Renard repaired to Saint John’s Chapel. He found the queen, attended only by Feckenham, and kneeling before the altar, which blazed with numerous wax lights. She had changed her dress for the ceremony, and was attired in a loose robe of three-piled crimson velvet, trimmed with swansdown. Renard remained at a little distance, and looked on with a smile of Satanic triumph.

After she had received the sacrament, and pronounced the Veni Creator, Mary motioned the ambassador towards her, and placing her right hand on a parchment lying on the altar, to which were attached the broad seals of England, addressed him thus: “I have signed and sealed this instrument, by which I contract and affiance myself in marriage to Philip, Prince of Spain, son of his imperial majesty, Charles the Fifth. And I further give you, Simon Renard, representative of the prince, my irrevocable promise, in the face of the living God and his saints, that I will wed him and no other.”

“May Heaven bless the union!” exclaimed Fleckenham.

“There is the contract,” pursued Mary, giving the parchment to Renard, who reverentially received it. “On my part, it is a marriage concluded.”

“And equally so on the part of the prince, my master,” replied Renard. “In his name I beg to express to your highness the deep satisfaction which this union will afford him.”

“For the present this contract must be kept secret, even from our privy councillors,” said the queen.

“It shall never pass my lips,” rejoined Renard.

“And mine are closed by my sacred calling,” added the confessor.

“Your majesty, I am sure, has done wisely in this step,” observed Renard, “and, I trust, happily.”

“I trust so too, sir,” replied the queen, “but time will show. These things are in the hands of the Great Disposer of events.”

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CHAPTER XVI

WHAT BEFELL CICELY IN THE SALT TOWER

HORROR STRICKEN by the discovery he had made of the body of the ill-fated Alexia, and not doubting from its appearance that she must have perished from starvation, Cholmondeley remained for some time in a state almost of stupefaction in the narrow chamber where it lay. Rousing himself, at length, he began to reflect that no further aid could be rendered her, that she was now, at last, out of the reach of her merciless tormentor, and that his attention ought, therefore, to be turned towards one who yet lived to suffer from his cruelty.

Before departing, he examined the corpse more narrowly to ascertain whether it bore any marks of violence, and while doing so, a gleam of light called his attention to a small antique clasp fastening her tattered hood at the throat. Thinking it not impossible this might hereafter furnish some clue to the discovery of her real name and condition, he removed it. On holding it to the light, he thought he perceived an inscription upon it, but the characters were nearly effaced, and reserving the solution of the mystery for a more favourable opportunity, he carefully secured the clasp, and quitted the cell. He then returned to the passages he had recently traversed, explored every avenue afresh, reopened every cell-door, and after expending several hours in fruitless search, was compelled to abandon all hopes of finding Cicely.

Day had long dawned when he emerged from the dungeon; and as he was slowly wending his way towards the Stone Kitchen, he descried Lawrence Nightgall advancing towards him. From the furious gestures of the jailer, he at once knew that he was discovered, and drawing his sword, he stood upon his defence. But a conflict was not what Nightgall desired. He shouted to, the sentinels on the ramparts, and informing them that his keys had been stolen, demanded their assistance to secure the robber. Some half-dozen soldiers immediately descended, and Cholmondeley finding resistance in vain, thought fit to surrender. The keys being found upon him, were delivered to Nightgall, while he himself was conveyed to the guard-room near the By-ward Tower.