"These two and twenty years," came from behind the mask, though the man moved not at all.
"Then you should have learned to strike straight."
"Never but once did I miss my aim," was the grim reply.
"Well, make not, I pray you, a second miss with me."
Calmly as though preparing for his couch and a night's repose, he unlaced his doublet and took it off; and laying back his placard, nodded to the executioner.
The sombre figure came suddenly to life, and drawing from his girdle a pair of heavy shears he swiftly cropped the Duke's long hair where it hung below the neck—then stepped back and waited.
"Are you ready?" Buckingham asked.
The man nodded and resumed his axe.
With a smile on his lips and with all the proud dignity of his great House, Stafford walked to the block and laid his head upon it.
"Strike!" he said sharply.