Sir Thomas came hurriedly out from the deep embrasure of the window where he was leaning. He then observed a man and a young girl, who, alone in the midst of this vast enclosure, were gazing in every direction, astonished at the solitude in which they found themselves, and seeking him whom their hearts loved.
“Margaret!” cried Sir Thomas—“Margaret here at this fatal moment! No grief must, then, be spared me!”
At the voice of More his daughter rushed toward him. She covered his face with kisses and tears. Pierre Gilles was at her side.
“Pierre Gilles here!” cried More.
Meanwhile, the heavy doors rolled on their hinges, and the judges approached.
“O More! O my friend! is the trial ended, that I see you alone and at liberty here?”
“Yes! it is over,” said More; “but not as you think,” he added, lowering his voice. “My friend, in the name of our tender friendship, take Margaret away! I will see you again in a moment. I pray you, one minute, one minute only, go, take her out, if you love me, if you have loved me! Ah! Pierre Gilles, thou here? I confide her to thee!” And Sir Thomas cast on him a glance so imploring, and an expression so deep, that the heart of one father was immediately comprehended by the other.
Pierre Gilles made a rapid movement to lead the young girl out. He was too late; the court had entered, and the judges had taken their places. The chancellor remained standing in the midst of them, and, turning to the foreman of the jury, who advanced, he put the terrible question:
“Is the accused guilty?”
“Yes,” said the foreman, “upon all the counts.” And his voice failed in adding the last words.