“Wretch!” cried the duke, regarding the old woman fiercely. “You have deceived me. But the device shall avail you little. From the scaffold I will expose the snare in which I have been taken. I will proclaim my Protestant opinions; and my dying declaration will be of more profit to that faith than my recent recantation can be to yours.”
“Your grace is mistaken,” rejoined Gunnora. “I do not deserve your reproaches, as I will presently show. I am the bearer of a pardon to you.”
“A pardon!” exclaimed Northumberland, incredulously.
“Ay, a pardon,” replied the old woman. “The queen’s highness will spare your life. But it is her pleasure that her clemency be as public as your crime. You will be reprieved on the scaffold.”
“Were I assured of this,” cried Northumberland, eagerly grasping at the straw held out to him, “I would exhort the whole multitude to embrace the Catholic faith.”
“Rest satisfied of it, then,” replied Gunnora. “May I perish at the same moment as yourself if I speak not the truth!”
“Whom have we here?” inquired the duke, turning to the muffled personage. “The headsman?”
“Your enemy,” replied the individual, throwing aside his mantle, and disclosing the features of Simon Renard.
“It is but a poor revenge to insult a fallen foe,” observed Northumberland, disdainfully.
“Revenge is sweet, however obtained,” rejoined Renard. “I am not come, however, to insult your grace, but to confirm the truth of this old woman’s statement. Opposed as I am to you, and shall ever be, I would not have you forfeit your life by a new and vile apostacy. Adjure the Catholic faith, and you will die unpitied by all. Maintain it; and at the last moment, when the arm of the executioner is raised and the axe gleams in the air—when the eyes of thousands are fixed on it—sovereign mercy will arrest the blow.”
“You awaken new hope in my bosom,” rejoined the duke.
“Be true to the faith you have embraced, and fear nothing,” continued Renard. “You may yet be restored to favour, and a new career of ambition will open to you.”
“Life is all I ask,” replied the duke; “and if that be spared, it shall be spent in her majesty’s service. My pride is thoroughly humbled. But the language you hold to me, M. Renard, is not that of an enemy. Let me think that our differences are ended.”
“They will be ended to-morrow,” replied Renard, coldly.
“Be it so,” replied Northumberland. “The first act of the life I receive from her highness shall be to prostrate myself at her feet: the next, to offer my thanks to you, and entreat your friendship.”
“Tush,” returned Renard, impatiently. “My friendship is more to be feared than my enmity.”
“If there is any means of repairing the wrong I have done you,” said the duke, turning to Gunnora, “be assured I will do it.”
“I am content with what your grace has done already,” rejoined Gunnora, sternly. “You cannot restore the Duke of Somerset to life. You cannot give back the blood shed on the scaffold—”
“But I can atone for it,” interrupted the duke.
“Ay,” cried Gunnora, her eyes flashing with vindictive fire, “you can—fearfully atone for it.”
“Ha!” exclaimed the duke.
“Your grace will not heed her raving,” remarked Renard, seeing that Northumberland’s suspicions were aroused by the old woman’s manner.
“You can atone for it,” continued Gunnora, aware of the impression she had produced, and eager to remove it, “by a life of penance. Pass the night in prayer for the repose of his soul, and do not omit to implore pardon for yourself, and to-morrow I will freely forgive you.”
“I will do as you desire,” replied the duke.
“I must now bid your grace farewell,” said Renard. “We shall meet to-morrow—on the scaffold.”
“But not part there, I hope,” replied Northumberland, forcing a smile.
“That will rest with your grace—not me,” replied Renard, in a freezing tone.
“Will you accept this from me?” said Northumberland, detaching a jewelled ornament from his dress, and offering it to Gunnora.
“I will accept nothing from you,” replied the old woman. “Yes—one thing,” she added quickly.
“It is yours,” rejoined the duke. “Name it?”
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