“And to me,” cried Mauger, advancing and prostrating himself before her according to custom, “you give grace.”
“And also my head,” replied Jane. “I forgive thee heartily, fellow. Thou art my best friend.”
“What ails you, madam?” remarked the lieutenant, observing Jane suddenly start and tremble.
“Not much,” she replied, “but I thought I saw my husband pale and bleeding.”
“Where?” demanded the lieutenant, recalling Dudley’s speech.
“There, near the block,” replied Jane. “I see the figure still. But it must be mere fantasy.”
Whatever his thoughts were, the lieutenant made no reply; and Jane turned to Angela, who now began, with trembling hands, to remove her attire, and was trying to take off her velvet robe, when Mauger offered to assist her, but was instantly repulsed.
He then withdrew, and stationing himself by the block, assumed his hideous black mask, and shouldered his axe.
Partially disrobed, Jane bowed her head, while Angela tied a kerchief over her eyes, and turned her long tresses over her head to be out of the way. Unable to control herself, she then turned aside, and wept aloud. Jane moved forward in search of the block, but fearful of making a false step, felt for it with her hands, and cried—“What shall I do?—Where is it?—Where is it?”
Sir Thomas Brydges took her hand and guided her to it. At this awful moment, there was a slight movement in the crowd, some of whom pressed nearer the scaffold, and amongst others Sorrocold and Wolfytt. The latter caught hold of the boards to obtain a better view. Angela placed her hands before her eyes, and would have suspended her being, if she could; and even Feckenham veiled his countenance with his robe. Sir Thomas Brydges gazed firmly on.