“I hope so, and I think so,” she replied, with a little hesitation. “But it avails not now to think of that, seeing that I cannot make such. She was a maiden, I am a wedded wife.”
“True, dearest, true. I only named her, to judge by your opinion, of what I wish to learn, ere I will ask you. There was another sacrifice, Theresa, a very terrible sacrifice, made of late, and made to no purpose, too, as it fell out—a sacrifice of far more doubtful nature; yet there be some who have not failed to praise it.”
“What was it—do you praise it?”
“At least I pity it, Theresa.”
“What was it—tell me?”
“After the late rebellion at Sedgemoor. Have you not heard, Theresa?”
“No, I think not—go on, I want to hear it; go on, Jasper.”
“There was a young man, a cavalier, very young, very brave, very nobly born, and, it is said, very handsome. He was taken after the route of that coward, Gray of Werk’s horse—cast into prison, and, when his turn came, tried by the butcher, Kirke—you know what that means, Theresa?”
“Condemned,” she said, sadly. “Of course he was condemned—what next?”
“To be hung by the neck upon the shameful gibbet, and then cut down, while yet alive, and subjected to all the barbarous tortures which are inflicted as the penalty of high treason.”