“Speak up, lass, I am deaf and can not hear your chatter.”
“For heaven’s sake, Jasper, do not ring the curfew bells to-night.”
“What! na ring curfew? You must be daft, lassie.”
“Jasper, for sweet heaven’s sake—for my sake—for one night in all your long life forget to ring the bell! Fail this once and my lover shall live, whom Cromwell says shall die at curfew toll. Do you hear? my lover, Richard Temple. See, Jasper, here is my money to make your old age happy. I sold my jewelry that the Lady Maud gave me, and the gold shall be yours for one curfew.”
“Would you bribe me, Lily De Vere? Ye’re a changeling. Ye’re na the blood of the Plantagenets in ye’re veins as ye’re mother had. What, corrupt the bell-ringer under her majesty, good Queen Bess? Not for all the gold that Lady Maud could bring me! Babes have been born and strong men have died before now at the ringing of my bell. Awa’! Awa’!”
And out on the village green with the solemn shadows of the lichens lengthening over it, a strong man awaited the curfew toll for his death. He stood handsome, and brave, and tall—taller by an inch than the tallest pikeman who guarded him.
What had he done that he should die? Little it mattered in those days, when the sword that the great Cromwell wielded was so prone to fall, what he or others had done. He had been scribe to the late lord up at the castle, and Lady Maud, forgetting that man must woo and woman must wait, had given her heart to him without the asking, while the gentle Lily De Vere, distant kinswoman and poor companion of her, had, without seeking, found the treasures of his true love and held them fast. Then he had joined the army and made one of the pious soldiers whose evil passions were never stirred but by sign or symbol of poetry. But a scorned woman’s hatred had reached him even there. Enemies and deep plots had compassed him about and conquered him. To-night he was to die.
The beautiful world lay as a vivid picture before him. The dark green wood above the rocky hill where Robin Hood and his merry men had dwelt; the frowning castle with its drawbridge and square towers, the long stretch of moor with the purple shadows upon it, the green, straight walks of the village, the birds overhead, even the daisies at his feet he saw. But ah! more vividly than all, he saw the great red sun with its hazy veil lingering above the trees as though it pitied him with more than human pity.
He was a God fearing and a God serving man. He had long made his peace with heaven. Nothing stood between him and death—nothing rose pleadingly between him and those who were to destroy him but the sweet face of Lily De Vere, whom he loved. She had knelt at Cromwell’s feet and pleaded for his life. She wearied heaven with her prayers, but all without avail.
Slowly now the great sun went down. Slowly the last rim was hid beneath the greenwood. Thirty seconds more and his soul would be with God. The color did not forsake his cheeks. The dark rings of hair lay upon a warm brow. It was his purpose to die as martyrs and brave men die. What was life that he should cling to it? He almost felt the air pulsate with the first heavy roll of the death knell. But no sound came. Still facing the soldiers with his clear gray eyes upon them he waited.