At a quarter after seven the regiment was paraded and marched to the castle park, where the execution was to take place. Fanshawe meanwhile paced moodily up and down, watching the inexorable clock. Suddenly, as he looked at its face for the tenth time, he remembered a legend of the Civil War, which his father had told him: the story of a Royalist trooper who, condemned to die at the ringing of the curfew, had been saved by the heroism of his sweetheart, who climbed the belfry tower, caught the clapper of the bell, and with her delicate hands had prevented the fatal sound. His recollection suggested an idea. There was still forty minutes to spare.
At the park gate a knot of idlers had gathered to see the condemned man pass to his doom. Singling out from among these a likely youth, Fanshawe held with him a rapid conversation in whispers; and the two hurried away.
They went straight to the sacristan of the Hervormde Kerk, whose cottage was known to the Dutch youth. By the aid of this interpreter Fanshawe explained to the old man that, being much interested in church clocks, he would like to climb the tower and see the mechanism, at the same time slipping a coin into the man's hand. The sacristan was a feeble, tottering old fellow, and was persuaded without difficulty to hand over the key of the tower, on the promise of the English officer to return it within an hour. Armed with the key, Fanshawe then hurried under the boy's guidance to the chief clock-maker's in the town. His shop was not yet open for business, but when he learnt that a clock was in urgent need of attention he agreed to send a young apprentice to oblige the Englishman. At twenty minutes to eight Fanshawe with the young clock-maker ascended the church tower. The boy remained at the door.
The clock chimed the three-quarters.
"Pray God Harry arrive in time!" was Fanshawe's thought as he returned to the park gate.
The clock was too far off for any movement of the hands to be noted. Had it been nearer, a close observer comparing with his own watch might have seen that from this time the long hand of the clock advanced one minute for every two.
It still marked ten minutes to eight when Sherebiah, with bound wrists, came up under guard. He smiled serenely when, entering the park, he saw Fanshawe, whose pale anxious looks betrayed his suffering.
"Don't 'ee take on, now, Master Godfrey," he said. "Let 'em aim well and ha' done wi't. Bless 'ee, I bean't afeard. But, Master Godfrey, where be Master Harry? To say good-bye, I mean."
"He—he couldn't come, Sherry."
"Ah! Well, 'tis no sight for a man o' peace, and he ha'n't donned the breastplate yet. Gi' un my love and respect, an 'ee please, sir; and axe un to remember the old gaffer." Fanshawe gripped his hand, and he passed into the park. "Nay, I won't ha' my eyes tied up," he said to one of the firing squad who approached to bandage him. "Must, must I? Well, I'm not one to go agen the law at the last. Got a clean firelock, mate? Ah! there's the bell a-dingen. Tell Robins—nay, I was gwine to forgive un, but I won't; I'll leave that for Them above."