“Your nature is kindly, sir,” pursued Jane; “and as I must needs continue a captive, so I pray you show your regard by continuing my jailor. It gladdens me to think I have a friend so near.”
“As you will, madam,” rejoined the man, sorrowfully. “Yet I beseech you, pause ere you reject my offer. An opportunity of escape now presents itself, which may never occur again. If you will consent to fly, I will attend you, and act as your faithful follower.”
“Think me not insensible to your devotion, good friend, if I once more decline it,” returned Jane, in a tone that showed that her resolution was taken. “I cannot fly—I have ties that bind me more securely than those strong walls and grated windows. Were the queen to give me the range of the fortress—nay, of the city without it, I should consider myself equally her captive. No, worthy friend, we must remain as we are.”
Seeing remonstrance was in vain, the man, ashamed of the emotion he could neither control nor conceal, silently withdrew. The subject was never renewed, and though he acted with every consideration towards his illustrious captive, he did not relax in any of his duties.
Full three months having elapsed since Jane’s confinement commenced, on the first of November her jailor informed her that her trial would take place in Guildhall on the day but one following. To his inquiry whether she desired to make any preparations, she answered in the negative.
“The offence I have committed,” she said, “is known to all. I shall not seek to palliate it. Justice will take its course. Will my husband be tried with me?”
“Undoubtedly, madam,” replied the jailor.
“May I be permitted to confer with him beforehand?” she asked.
“I grieve to say, madam, that the queen’s orders are to the contrary.” returned the jailor. “You will not meet him till you are placed at the bar before your judges.”
“Since it may not be, I must resign myself contentedly to her majesty’s decrees. Leave me, sir. Thoughts press upon me so painfully that I would fain be alone.”