Only as the door with a sullen sound closed behind Earl Surrey, a low wail and moan was perceived—such as is wont to struggle forth at the last hour from the breast of the dying.
The king did not heed it. He still gazed, with eyes stern and flashing with anger, toward the door through which Earl Surrey had passed.
“He is unyielding,” muttered he. “Not even the rack affrights him; and in his blasphemous haughtiness he moves along in the midst of the soldiers, not as a prisoner, but as a commander. Oh, these Howards are destined to torment me; and even their death will scarcely be a full satisfaction to me.”
“Sire,” said Earl Douglas, who had observed the king with a keen, penetrating eye, and knew that he had now reached the height of his wrath, at which he shrank from no deed of violence and no cruelty—“sire, you have sent Earl Surrey to the Tower. But what shall be done with the queen, who lies there on the floor in a swoon?”
The king roused himself from his reverie; and his bloodshot eyes were fixed on Geraldine’s motionless form with so dark an expression of hate and rage, that Earl Douglas exultingly said to himself: “The queen is lost! He will be inexorable!”
“Ah, the queen!” cried Henry, with a savage laugh. “Yea, verily, I forgot the queen. I did not think of this charming Geraldine! But you are right, Douglas; we must think of her and occupy ourselves a little with her! Did you not say that a second coach was ready? Well, then, we will not hinder Geraldine from accompanying her beloved. She shall be where he is—in the Tower, and on the scaffold! We will therefore wake this sentimental lady and show her the last duty of a cavalier by conducting her to her carriage!”
He was about to approach the figure of the queen lying on the floor. Earl Douglas held him back.
“Sire,” said he, “it is my duty—as your faithful subject, who loves you and trembles for your welfare—it is my duty to implore you to spare yourself and preserve your precious and adored person from the venomous sting of anger and grief. I conjure you, therefore, do not deign to look again on this woman, who has so deeply injured you. Give me your orders—what am I to do with her—and allow me first of all to accompany you to your apartments.”
“You are right,” said the king, “she is not worthy of having my eyes rest on her again; and she is even too contemptible for my anger! We will call the soldiers that they may conduct this traitoress and adulteress to the tower, as they have done her paramour.”
“Yet for that there is needed still a formality. The queen will not be admitted into the Tower without the king’s written and sealed order.”