The king was speechless with rage. He could only lift his arm to beckon the soldiers to approach; to point to Henry Howard, who had not yet succeeded in raising the queen’s head from the floor.
“Arrest him!” said Earl Douglas, lending words to the king’s mute sign. “In the king’s name arrest him, and conduct him to the Tower!”
“Yes, arrest him!” said the king; and, as with youthful speed he walked up to Henry Howard and put his hand heavily on his shoulder, he with terrible calmness continued: “Henry Howard, your wish shall be fulfilled; you shall mount the scaffold for which you have so much longed!”
The earl’s noble countenance remained calm and unmoved; his bright beaming eye fearlessly encountered the eye of the king flashing with wrath.
“Sire,” said he, “my life is in your hand, and I very well know that you will not spare it. I do not even ask you to do so. But spare this noble and beautiful woman, whose only crime is that she has followed the voice of her heart. Sire, I alone am the guilty one. Punish me, then—torture me, if you like—but be merciful to her.”
The king broke out into a loud laugh. “Ah, he begs for her!” said he. “This little Earl Surrey presumes to think that his sentimental love-plaint can exercise an influence on the heart of his judge! No, no, Henry Howard; you know me better. You say, indeed, that I am a cruel man, and that blood cleaves to my crown. Well, now, it is our pleasure to set in our crown a new blood-red ruby; and if we want to take it from Geraldine’s heart’s blood, your sonnets will not hinder us from doing so, my good little earl. That is all the reply I have to make to you; and I think it will be the last time that we shall meet on earth!”
“There above we shall see each other again, King Henry of England!” said Earl Surrey, solemnly. “There. But still this hour was hers, and she would enjoy it. She clung fast to his breast; she drew him with irresistible force to her heart, which now trembled no longer for love, but from a nameless anxiety.
“Let us fly! Let us fly!” repeated she, breathlessly. “See! This hour is yet ours. Let us avail ourselves of it; for who knows whether the next will still belong to us?”
“No! it is no longer yours,” yelled the king, as he sprang like a roused lion from his seat. “Your hours are numbered, and the next already belongs to the hangman!”
A piercing shriek burst from Geraldine’s lips. Then was heard a dull fall.