“To-morrow,” he exclaimed, “to-morrow I shall have to leave this abode where I have so long tended and seen my father die, where I have welcomed my first dear wife, where my children have been born!… When the swallow leaves her nest, she has a hope of returning to it again; but I, can I indulge in that sweet delusion? Is it not certain that my ruin is resolved on, and that the king’s indignation means death? To-morrow, when the day shall have dawned, I must assume a cheerful countenance, a serene composure, and say to them: ‘Adieu, my cherished children! I will return very soon.’ I will return very soon! Shall I be able to utter words that are so foreign to my heart? And Margaret—Margaret will weep for me all the days of her life. I shall never behold her young children, nor bless them when for the first time their eyes are opened to the light of day, and I shall never hear them try to repeat my name. Alas! why must it be that the king is annoyed at my breathing the air?—a man, too, confounded among a million of his subjects! Of what importance to him are the thoughts that lie hidden in the bottom of my heart? Why, Lord,” he cried, raising his hands toward heaven, “hast thou not stricken me from his memory,
and why hast thou suffered this prince of the earth to remember my name? Grant me an asylum where I may be able to finish out the days thou hast allotted me; the birds of the air find a shelter, the bears and ferocious beasts of the earth possess their dens, and no one comes to force them away! However, let thy will be done, and not mine.”
More remained for a long time leaning on the table. He then arose and walked the floor to and fro. He moved from place to place in the room; for he would be there no more, if they should summon and compel him to cave for ever his modest and beloved abode.
“They are all asleep,” he said. “I have consoled them. They have seen Cromwell with me, but they have not suspected that he brought the death-warrant of their father. A few hours of peace still remain for them, and to-morrow—to-morrow they will weep and feel that I am no longer with them! My eyes will no more behold my beloved ones; I shall no more hear their voices. They will seek me, but they will find me no more on earth.”
Here Sir Thomas was unable longer to contemplate with calmness the picture his imagination presented of the desolation and abandonment of his children. Looking around to be assured that he was entirely alone, he sank into a chair, and, bursting into tears, abandoned himself to the most bitter grief.
For a long time he remained thus. At length he arose; seeing that the clock in his cabinet was about to strike the hour of midnight, he returned to his table.
Taking up an enormous portfolio, he opened all the drawers. He
took out a great number of papers and divers packages of letters; some of the latter were letters written by Margaret when a child, and he had preserved them as souvenirs of the progress of her youthful intellect; others were from the Bishop of Rochester; the greater number concerned a multitude of persons who had claimed or still sought his counsel and advice, his good offices, to reconcile their families, terminate their disputes, save them from dishonor, prevent their ruin by means of his credit and his money, and still more by the confidence and respect inspired in all by his virtues.
He untied the letters and threw them into the fire, where they were immediately consumed; for he knew with whom he had to deal, and how the most innocent things, the most trivial acts, would be brought up and construed into crimes against those who had held any intercourse with him. Those which concerned these persons he destroyed without regret; but when they had been entirely devoured by the flames, he turned with sadness to those of Margaret and the Bishop of Rochester, and could not summon sufficient resolution to cast them into the fire.
He looked at them and turned them over in his hands; they had given him so much pleasure! Those of his daughter had been dictated by the tenderest love; the virtues of his friend shone in every page of his, and proofs of attachment were inscribed upon every line, recalling the joys, the sorrows, and different events that had occurred during his entire life!