Stepping closer to me he looked around him; the jailer stood in the hall, fumbling impatiently with his keys.
"Do not despair," he whispered in my ear hurriedly. "Thy friends will not see thee die. Be watchful." And with this he hurried from the room; a wave of the hand to me, and then the great door creaked on its hinges, and I was alone.
I threw myself upon my bed. What did Steele mean when he said that my friends would not see me die? Perhaps they would make one more attempt to persuade the Queen to pardon me. They did not know her as I did, if they had the courage to try again. Her mind when once made up was as adamant, and they might probably go to the gallows for their pains; for Elizabeth was of an imperious temper, and brooked no restraint. He could only mean to use persuasion; they could do nothing by force, even though he could raise a band who were so reckless as to attack the Tower. Its walls were high and strong, and were garrisoned by hardy veterans commanded by a warworn general, who had only to hold them at bay for a few moments, until reënforcements arrived from the city. Perhaps he only meant to cheer my spirits, and to arouse me from the gloom into which I had fallen.
An hour passed; a man knocked at the door, but he bore only a message from old Sir Henry, saying that a priest waited below to pray with me, should I desire it.
"No," I answered, "tell him that I shall have no sniveling priest around me. If I die, it shall be like a man, undaunted and unafraid." And I turned my face to the wall.
Below in the courtyard I could hear the sound of hammer and saw, as they reared the gallows on which to-morrow I would take my last leap. The workmen with jest and laughter were discussing the execution. "He will meet it like a man," I heard one say, "for old Giles told me that he fought the Dons like a demon."
It availed me little now, I thought as I lay there; my life's book was about to be finished and closed, and they would forget that I had fought for my land, and risked my life in her cause.
Would that I might see the Lady Margaret Carroll once more, ere I closed my eyes forever. What though she had promised to be the bride of a ruffian and knave. If I could catch one more glimpse of her face, pure and sweet, but one sight of her dainty head, I would die content. It was too much to be in England, alone and forsaken, my life to-morrow to be forfeited, in the same city with her, to see the same sky and breathe the same air, and yet not be able to see her; and at the thought I arose and began to pace the floor in agony, the damp sweat of anguish upon my brow. My God! was I to go down into the grave and not catch one last glimpse of her face?
I could appreciate in that bitter moment the story that I had heard years ago from the lips of my old nurse—poor old Alice, she had been dust these many years!—of how the Son of God, alone and forsaken, in anguish and agony sweated great drops of blood, and at the last moment of pain cried out those heartrending words—"My God, My God, why hast thou forsaken me?"
The nails had torn the flesh of my hands, as I writhed in sufferings, and the blood from the bruises was dripping from my fingers upon the floor, as I paced to and fro in that accursed cell; my tongue, hot and dry, almost cleaved to the roof of my mouth. My very soul cried out in rebellion, that I should drink the cup of bitterness and anguish to the very dregs.