Jane fixed an inquiring look upon Northumberland, but she spoke not.
“What next?” demanded Pembroke, in a loud voice.
“The block,” replied Northumberland.
“The block!” exclaimed Jane, rising, while the colour forsook her cheek. “Oh! no, my lord,—no.”
“But I say yea,” returned the Duke, peremptorily. “‘Fore Heaven! these rebellious lords think I am as fearful of shedding blood as they are of shedding ink. But they shall find they are mistaken. Away with them to instant execution.”
“Your grace cannot mean this!” cried Jane, horror-stricken.
“They shall have five minutes for reflection,” returned the Duke, sternly. “After that time, nothing shall save them.’”
An earnest consultation was held among the council. Three minutes had expired. The Duke beckoned a sergeant of the guard towards him.
“You had better sign,” whispered Simon Renard; “I will find some means of communicating with her highness.”
“We have reflected,” cried the Earl of Pembroke, “and will do your grace’s behests.”