Edward turned so as to face the angry noble, and while still supported by the page, answered mildly, but with the same steady will as before,
“My Lord of Northumberland,” he said, “either our uncle, the Duke of Somerset, returns to his palace to-morrow as we have directed, or on the next day he goes there Lord Protector of England.”
With a slight wave of the hand, and with his features contracted with the pain which his effort to speak occasioned, Edward turned away and passed into his bedchamber without waiting for a reply, which, in truth, Northumberland was unable to give, so completely was he astounded by what had already been said.
The page would have called other assistance when Edward reached his bedchamber, but the invalid prevented him, and after having the points of his dress untied, lay down upon the bed, faint and exhausted. The boy moved about him with that soft, gentle tread so grateful in the chamber of an invalid. He smoothed the pillows, drew the counterpane of embossed velvet over the recumbent monarch, and, taking some scented woods from a closet, flung them into a brasier that stood in the fire-place, and nursed the flame beneath till the chamber was filled with a soft, drowsy atmosphere, grateful to the sense, and almost certain to produce tranquil sleep. Then he would steal once more to the bed, pull back the voluminous curtains, and bend over the pale form resting there till his dimpled cheek, so damask and healthy, almost touched that of the monarch, and the wreath of his bright curls fell amid the damp masses of hair which swept over the pillow, in a contrast that was lovely and yet painful to behold. When satisfied that his master was asleep, the boy stole softly from the chamber, as had always been his habit, to await the time of his waking in the next room. He started with surprise on seeing it still occupied by the Duke of Northumberland, who stood before the window gazing sternly into the court below, and evidently lost in a train of most unpleasant thoughts. When the boy entered he started impatiently, and, clearing the frown from his face with an effort, crossed the room.
“Tell your master,” he said, addressing the page, “tell your master that his wishes shall be obeyed—say that all shall be in readiness by eight this evening;” and with these words Northumberland left the royal apartments.
Either the protector’s voice aroused Edward, or he had not slept, for scarcely was the door closed when his voice summoned the page to his bedside. When the duke’s message was repeated to him, a smile of satisfaction settled on his face, and he sank into a tranquil slumber. After awhile those usually quiet apartments were full of bustle and preparation. Attendants passed in and out; pages were seen running to and fro with mysterious faces. More than one laden wherry untied its contents at the tower stairs, and everything bespoke the approach of some uncommon event.
One little month had scarcely passed when the Duke of Somerset, bereft of wealth and station, sat in a gloomy prison room of the tower, expecting each moment to be dragged forth to trial, and, perhaps, an ignominious death. It was a large room, but so dimly lighted that persons sitting together looked sallow and careworn in the dusky atmosphere that filled it. The very sunbeams forced themselves sluggishly through the high window, as if rusted by the masses of old iron which blocked their passage, and were lost, long before they reached the floor, in a web of ragged and dusty cobwebs, which covered the ceiling like mouldering tapestry, moth-eaten and turning to dust where it hung. There, on the gloomy floor of this desolate place, sat the prisoner, striving to read by the unhealthy light, which was only sufficient to make the effort a painful one. He lifted his eyes to the grating with an impatient exclamation, and, flinging his book on the floor, began pacing up and down the stone flags. Instantly a figure started forward from an inner room and lifted the book; while the sweet, pale face of Lady Jane Seymour was raised for a moment to that of her suffering parent, as he moved rapidly up and down the room. She laid the book once more upon the flags, and exerted all her frail strength to move the chair her father had occupied to a station nearer the window. This done, she again lifted the ponderous volume with her two fair hands, smoothed out the dark letter page which had been doubled in the fall, and bearing it to the duke, besought him to sit down, while she read aloud to him.
Somerset paused a moment in his walk, impelled by the persuasive but sad tones of his child; but confinement had made him irritable; so, extricating his disordered cloak from the slight grasp which she had fixed upon it, he pushed the book from him with a violence which sent it crashing to the floor again, and resumed his restless occupation. The book had fallen upon the flags, with its broad leaves downward, and crushed beneath the heavy binding, that, with the ringing of the heavy clasps, as they struck the stones, brought another person into the room, but so changed, so thin, and broken-hearted in appearance, that few persons who had seen the dignified, proud, and lovely Duchess of Somerset, in her high estate, could have recognised her as she stood within the sickly atmosphere of her husband’s dungeon.
The gentle lady moved across the room, her rich, but now soiled, vestments sweeping the dusty floor as she passed; while her daughter was patiently occupied in smoothing the pages which had been injured in their fall, and in brushing away the dust which they had gathered, she approached her husband, placed a hand upon his arm, and looked with a sad smile into his face.