When I came to the part that Michael had played that day the King exclaimed:—
"What! captured Catesby! Kneel down my faithful subject. What is thy name?"
"Moichael O'Brien, yer Majesty."
The King drew forth his sword and laid it upon the mighty shoulder. "Arise, Sir Michael O'Brien."
Still did not Michael stand; but merely raised his head and stared in bewilderment at the King.
"Come, Sir Michael, let me be the first to congratulate thee on thy distinction," said I, as I grasped his hand and raised him to his feet.
He could not speak, but looked his surprise and thanks more eloquently than could have been expressed by a whole volume of words.
When we reached the Sanctuary I informed the old hag that I had been too late to save Catesby.
How she howled and chattered like a mad creature, and Hazel, like the dear forgiving angel that she hath ever been, comforted this old woman with soft, soothing words, and at last succeeded in quieting her. The old woman was then led off to another room, and since that day I never have beheld her. And for this I am thankful; for I could not look upon her without mixed emotions of hate and sympathy struggling within my heart.
The next morning the dead tyrant was buried, and Frederick, Michael, and I went to Grey Friars' Church to look the last upon the one on which the result of our oath made to his brother had fallen. I touched his hand. In death he was as cold as a salamander, and 'tis like his soul was in that place where this peculiar beast best flourishes.