He took from the pocket of his rusty cassock a fine silk handkerchief, which he handed the hangman, at the same time saying a word to him in a whisper.
The hangman then removed the cassock, and Dicky took off the beretta which had covered his fair hair. The hangman rolled the cassock and beretta into a bundle, and then threw them carelessly behind him. They fell almost at the feet of Diggory Hutchinson, who quickly seized the parcel, and hid it under his cloak without being seen.
Dicky then stood in his black breeches and stockings and his white shirt, the graceful lines of his young figure silhouetted against the morning sky. The delicacy of his hands and feet, his girlish red and white complexion, were singularly striking.
He had no crucifix, but he clasped his hands and prayed silently for the space of a minute. Then, raising his head, he looked about him, smiling. The sun, which had been shining hazily, now suddenly blazed out in splendor, and all the earth was bathed in the golden glory.
As Dicky’s intrepid eyes lighted upon Bess Lukens, standing pressed against the rope, she cried out in her musical, high-pitched voice,—
“God bless thee!” to which Dicky called back, “God bless thee!”
Then, making the sign of the cross, he turned to the hangman.
There was a breathless silence. A few women sobbed and shrieked, and a few men, racked with emotions strange to them, swore furiously, having no other mode of expression. They saw the young figure drawn up; there were a few convulsive movements, and all was still.
The crowd, mostly bloodthirsty, began to yell, “Cut him down! Cut the Jesuit down! He’ll be dead before he is quartered!” The hangman was long in doing this, but presently Dicky Egremont lay upon the ground livid and panting; no groan escaped him.
The executioner then produced his instrument,—a butcher’s knife sharpened like a razor. He plunged it into the quivering young body before him. There was no cry, but a stifled exclamation, “Lord Jesus, receive my spirit!” The butcher did his horrid work; the more bloody-minded in the multitude crowding about him to dip their handkerchiefs in the young Jesuit’s blood, and to tear off strips from his gory clothing. But Dicky Egremont felt but one pang; the Lord Jesus had received his spirit.