“His execution will take place at the same time with your own,” replied Feckenham.
“I shall see him to-morrow, then?” cried Jane.
“Perhaps before,” returned Feckenham.
“It were better not,” said Jane, trembling. “I know not whether I can support the interview.”
“I was right,” muttered Feckenham to himself. “The way to move her is through the affections.” And he made a sign to the lieutenant, who quitted the chamber.
“Prepare yourself, madam,” he added to Jane.
“For what?” she cried.
“For your husband’s approach. He is here.”
As he spoke, the door was opened, and Dudley rushed forward, and caught her in his arms. Not a word was uttered for some moments by the afflicted pair. Angela withdrew weeping as if her heart would break, into one of the recesses, and Feckenham and the lieutenant into another. After the lapse of a short time, thinking it a favourable opportunity for his purpose, the confessor came forward. Jane and her husband were still locked in each other’s embrace, and it seemed as if nothing but force could tear them asunder.
“I would not disturb you,” said Feckenham, “but my orders are that this interview must be brief. I am empowered also to state, madam,” he added to Jane, “that her majesty will even now pardon your husband, notwithstanding his heinous offences against her, provided you are publicly reconciled with the church of Rome.”