With shame and sorrow filled:
Shame for his folly; sorrow out of time
For plotting an unprofitable crime.--Dryden.
We must once more take our readers back, if it be but for the space of
a couple of hours, and introduce them into the bedchamber of a king: a
place, we believe, as yet sacred from the sacrilegious foot of any
novelist.
In the castle of Guisnes, then, and in the sleeping-room of Henry the
Eighth, King of England, stood, exactly opposite the window, a large
square bed, covered with a rich coverlet of arras, which, hanging down
on each side, swept the floor with its golden fringe. High overhead,
attached to the wall, was a broad and curiously-wrought canopy,
whereon the laborious needle of some British Penelope had traced, with
threads of gold, the rare and curious history of that famous knight,
Alexander the Great, who was there represented with lance in rest,
dressed in a suit of Almaine rivet armour, overthrowing King Darius;
who, for his part, being in a mighty fright, was whacking on his
clumsy elephant with his sceptre, while the son of Philip, with more
effect, appeared pricking him up under the ribs with the point of his
spear.
In one corner of the chamber, ranged in fair and goodly order, were to
be seen several golden lavers and ewers, together with fine diapers
and other implements for washing; while hard by was an open closet
filled with linen and plate of various kinds, with several Venice
glasses, a mirror, and a bottle of scented waters. In addition to
these pieces of furniture appeared four wooden settles of carved oak,
which, with two large rich chairs of ivory and gold, made up, at that
day, the furniture of a king's bed-chamber.
The square lattice window was half-open, letting in the sweet breath
of the summer morning upon Henry himself, who, with his head
half-covered with a black velvet nightcap, embroidered with gold,
still lay in bed, supporting himself on his elbow, and listening to a
long detail of grievances poured forth from the rotund mouth of honest
Jekin Groby, who, by the king's command, encumbered with his weighty
bulk one of the ivory chairs by the royal bedside.
Somewhat proud of having had a lord for the companion of his perils,
the worthy clothier enlarged mightily upon the seizure of himself and
Lord Darnley by Sir Payan Wileton, seasoning his discourse pretty
thickly with "_My lord did_," and "_My lord said_," but omitting
altogether to mention him by the name of Sir Osborne, thinking it
would be a degradation to his high companionship so to do; though, had
he done so but once, it would have saved many of the misfortunes that
afterwards befel.
Henry heard him calmly, till he related the threats which Sir Payan
held out to his prisoner, in that interview of which Jekin had been an
unperceived witness; then starting up, "Mother of God!" cried the
king, "what has become of the young gallant? Where is he? ha, man?
Now, heaven defend us! the base traitor has not murdered him! ha?"
"Lord 'a mercy! you've kicked all the clothes off your grace's
worship," cried Jekin: "let me kiver you up! you'll catch a malplexy,
you will!"
"God's life! answer me, man!" cried Henry. "What has become of the
young lord, Osborne Darnley?--ha?"
"Bless your grace! that's just what I cannot tell you," replied Jekin;
"for I never saw him after we got out."
"Send for the traitor! have him brought instantly!" exclaimed the
king. "See who knocks! Let no one in! Who dares knock so loud at my
chamber-door?"
Proceeding round the king's bed, Jekin opened the door, against which
some one had been thumping with very little ceremony; but in a moment
the valiant clothier started back, exclaiming, "Lord 'a mercy! it's a
great man with a drawn sword!"
"A drawn sword!" cried Henry, starting up, and snatching his own
weapon, which lay beside him. But at that moment Francis ran in, and,
holding his blade over the king, commanded him to surrender.
"I yield! I yield!" exclaimed Henry, delighted with the jest. "Now, by
my life, my good brother of France, thou has shown me the best turn
ever prince showed another. I yield me your prisoner; and, as sign of
my faith, I beg you to accept this jewel." So saying, he took from his
pillow, where it had been laid the night before, a rich bracelet of
emeralds, and clasped it on the French king's arm.
"I receive it willingly," answered Francis; "but for my love and
amity, and also as my prisoner, you must wear this chain;" and,
unclasping a jewelled collar from his neck, he laid it down beside the
English monarch.
Many were the civilities and reciprocations of friendly speeches that
now ensued; and Henry, about to rise, would fain have called an
attendant to assist him, but Francis took the office on himself.
"Come, I will be your valet for this morning," said he; "no one but I
shall give you your shirt; for I have come over alone to beg some
boons of you."
"They are granted from this moment," replied Henry. "But do you say
you came alone? Do you mean unattended?"
"With but one faithful friend," answered the French king; "one who not
a week ago saved my life by the valour of his arm. 'Tis the best
knight that ever charged a lance, and the noblest heart: he is your
subject, too."
"Mine!" cried Henry, with some surprise. "How is he called? What is
his name? Say, France, and we will love him for his service to you."
"First, hear how he did serve me," replied Francis; and, while the
English monarch threaded the intricate mazes of the toilet, he
narrated the whole of his adventure with Shoenvelt, which not a little
interested Henry, the knight-errantry of whose disposition took fire
at the vivid recital of the French king, and almost made him fancy
himself on the spot.
"A gallant knight!" cried he at length, as the King of France detailed
the exploits of Sir Osborne; "a most gallant knight, on my life! But
say, my brother, what is his name? 'Slife, man! let us hear it. I long
to know him."
"His name," replied Francis, with an indifferent tone, but at the same
time fixing his eyes on Henry's face, to see what effect his answer
would produce; "his name is Sir Osborne Maurice."
A cloud came over the countenance of the English king. "Ha!" said he,
thoughtfully, jealous perhaps in some degree that the splendid
chivalrous qualities of the young knight should be transferred to the
court of France. "It is like him. It is very like him. For courage and
for feats of arms, I, who have seen many good knights, have rarely
seen his equal. Pity it is that he should be a traitor."
"Nay, nay, my good brother of England," answered Francis; "I will
avouch him no traitor, but of unimpeachable loyalty. All I regret is,
that his love for your noble person, and for the court of England,
should make him wish to quit me. But to the point. My first boon
regards him. He seeks not to return to your royal favour with honour
stained and faith doubtful, but he claims your gracious permission to
defy his enemies, and to prove their falsehood with his arm. If they
be men, let them meet him in fair field; if they be women or
churchmen, lame, or in any way incompetent according to the law of
arms, let them have a champion, the best in France or England. To
regain your favour and to prove his innocence, he will defy them be
they who they may; and here at your feet I lay down his gage of
battle, so confident in his faith and worth, that I myself will be his
godfather in the fight. He waits here in the corridor to know your
royal pleasure."
Henry thought for a moment. He was not at all willing that the court
of Francis, already renowned for its chivalry, should possess still
another knight of so much prowess and skill as he could not but admit
in Sir Osborne. Yet the accusations that had been laid against him,
and which nobody who considers them--the letter of the Duke of
Buckingham, and the evidence of Wilson the bailiff--can deny were
plausible, still rankled in the king's mind, notwithstanding the
partial explanation which Lady Katrine Bulmer had afforded respecting
the knight's influence with the Rochester rioters. Remembering,
however, that the whole or greater part of the information which
Wolsey had laid before him had been obtained, either directly or
indirectly, from Sir Payan Wileton, he at length replied, "By my
faith, I know not what to say: it is not wise to take the sword from
the hand of the law, and trust to private valour to maintain public
justice, more than we can avoid. But you, my royal brother, shall in
the present case decide. The accusations against this Sir Osborne
Maurice are many and heavy, but principally resting on the testimonies
produced by a certain wealthy and powerful knight, one Sir Payan
Wileton, who, though in other respects most assuredly a base and
disloyal villain, can have no enmity against Sir Osborne, and no
interest in seeking his ruin. Last night, by my order, this Sir Payan
was brought hither from Calais, on the accusations of that good fool
(pointing to Jekin Groby). You comprehend enough of our hard English
tongue to hear him examined yourself, and thus you shall judge. If you
find that there is cause to suspect Sir Payan and his witnesses,
though it be but in having given the slightest colour of falsehood to
their testimony, let Sir Osborne's arm decide his quarrel against the
other knight; but if their evidence be clear and indubitable, you
shall yield him to be judged by the English law. What say you? Is it
not just?"
The King of France at once agreed to the proposal, and Henry turned to
Jekin, who had stood by, listening with his mouth open, wonderfully
edified at hearing the two kings converse, though he understood not a
word of the language in which they spoke. "Fly to the page, man!"
cried the king; "tell him to bid those who have Sir Payan Wileton in
custody bring him hither instantly by the back-staircase; but first
send to the reverend lord cardinal, requiring his counsel in the
king's chamber. Haste! dally not, I say; I would have them here
directly."
Jekin hurried to obey; and after he had delivered the order, returned
to the king's chamber, where Henry, while he completed the adjustment
of his apparel, related to Francis the nature of the accusation
against Sir Osborne, and the proofs that had been adduced of it. The
King of France, however, with a mind less susceptible of suspicion,
would not believe a word of it, maintaining that the witnesses were
suborned and that the letter was a forgery; and contended it would
most certainly appear that Sir Payan had some deep interest in the
ruin of the knight.
The sound of many steps in the ante-chamber soon announced that some
one had arrived. "Quick!" cried Henry to Jekin Groby; "get behind the
arras, good Jekin. After we have despatched this first business, I
would ask the traitor some questions before he sees thee. Ensconce
thee, man! ensconce thee quick!"
At the king's command, poor Jekin lifted up the corner of the arras by
the side of the bed, and hid himself behind; but though a considerable
space existed between the hangings and the wall, the worthy clothier
having, as we have hinted, several very protuberant contours in his
person, his figure was somewhat discernible still, swelling out the
stomach of King Solomon and the hip of the Queen of Sheba, who were
represented in the tapestry as if one was crooked and the other had
the dropsy.
Scarcely was he concealed when the page threw open the door, and
Cardinal Wolsey entered in haste, somewhat surprised at being called
to the king's chamber at so early an hour; but the sight of the French
king sufficiently explained the summons, and he advanced, bending low
with a proud affectation of humility.
"God bless and shield your graces both!" said he. "I feared some evil
by this early call; but now that I find the occasion was one of joy, I
do not regret the haste that apprehension gave me."
"Still we have business, my good Wolsey," replied Henry, "and of some
moment. My brother of France here espouses much the cause of the Sir
Osborne Maurice who lately sojourned at the court, and won the
good-will of all, both by his feats of arms and his high-born and
noble demeanour; who, on the accusations given against him to you,
lord cardinal, by Sir Payan Wileton, was banished from the court; nay,
judged worthy of attachment for treason."
The king, in addressing Wolsey, instead of speaking in French, which
had been the language used between him and Francis, had returned to
his native tongue; and good Jekin Groby, hearing what passed
concerning Sir Osborne Maurice, was seized with an intolerable desire
to have his say too.
"Lord 'a mercy!" cried he, popping his head from behind the tapestry,
"your grace's worship don't know----"
"Silence!" cried Henry, in a voice that made poor Jekin shrink into
nothing: "said I not to stay there--ha?"
The worthy clothier drew back his head behind the arras, like a
frightened tortoise retracting its noddle within the shelter of its
shell; and Henry proceeded to explain to Wolsey, in French, what had
passed between himself and Francis.
The cardinal was, at that moment, striving hard for the King of
France's favour; nor was his resentment towards Sir Payan at all
abated, though the arrangements of the first meeting between the kings
had hitherto delayed its effects. Thus all at first seemed favourable
to Sir Osborne, and the minister himself began to soften the evidence
against him, when Sir Payan, escorted by a party of archers and a
sergeant-at-arms, was conducted into the king's chamber. The guard
drew up across the door of the anteroom; and the knight, with a pale
but determined countenance, and a firm heavy step, advanced into the
centre of the room, and made his obeisance to the kings. Henry, now
dressed, drew forward one of the ivory chairs for Francis, and the
sergeant hastened to place the other by its side for the British
monarch; when, both being seated, with Wolsey by their side, the whole
group would have formed as strange but powerful a picture as ever
employed the pencil of an artist. The two magnificent monarchs in the
pride of their youth and greatness, somewhat shadowed by the eastern
wall of the room; the grand and dignified form of the cardinal, with
his countenance full of thought and mind; the stern, determined aspect
of Sir Payan, his whole figure possessing that sort of rigidity
indicative of a violent and continued mental effort, with the full
light streaming harshly through the open casement upon his pale
cheek and haggard eye, and passing on to the king's bed, and the
dressing-robe he had cast off upon it, showing the strange scene in
which Henry's impetuosity had caused such a conclave to be held: these
objects formed the foreground; while the sergeant-at-arms standing
behind the prisoner, and the guard drawn up across the doorway,
completed the picture; till, gliding in between the arches, the
strange figure of Sir Cesar the astrologer, with his cheeks sunken and
livid, and his eye lighted up by a kind of wild maniacal fire, entered
the room, and, taking a place close on the right hand of Henry, added
a new and curious feature to the already extraordinary scene.
"Sir Payan Wileton," said Henry, "many and grievous are the crimes
laid to your charge, and of which your own conscience must accuse you
as loudly as the living voices of your fellow-subjects; at least, so
by the evidence brought forward against you, it appears to us at this
moment. Most of these charges we shall leave to be investigated by the
common course of law; but there are some points touching which, as
they involve our own personal conduct and direction, we shall question
you ourself: to which questions we charge you, on your allegiance, to
answer truly and without concealment."
"To your grace's questions," replied Sir Payan, boldly, "I will answer
for your pleasure, though I recognise here no established court of
law; but first, I will say that the crimes charged against me ought to
be heavier than I, in my innocence believe them, to justify the rigour
with which I have been treated."
An ominous frown gathered on the king's brow. "Ha!" cried he,
forgetting the calm dignity with which he had at first addressed the
knight. "No established court of law! Thou sayest well: we have not
the power to question thee! Ha! who then is the king? Who is the head
of all magistrates? Who holds in his hand the power of all the law? By
our crown! we have a mind to assemble such a court of law as within
this half-hour shall have thy head struck off upon the green!"
Sir Payan was silent, and Wolsey replied to the latter part of what he
had said with somewhat more calmness than Henry had done to the
former. "You have been treated, sir," said he, "with not more rigour
than you merited; nor with more than is justified by the usual current
of the law. It is on affidavit before me, as chancellor of this
kingdom, that you both instigated and aided the Lady Constance de
Grey, a ward of court, to fly from the protection and government of
the law; and, therefore, attachment issued against your person, and
you stand committed for contempt. You had better, sir, sue for grace
and pardon than aggravate your offence by such unbecoming demeanour."
"Thou hast said well and wisely, my good Wolsey," joined in the king,
whose heat had somewhat subsided. "Standing thus reproved, Sir Payan
Wileton, answer touching the charges you have brought against one Sir
Osborne Maurice; and if you speak truly, to our satisfaction, you
shall have favour and lenity at our hands. Say, sir, do you still hold
to that accusation?"
"All I have to reply to your grace," answered the knight, resolved,
even if he fell himself, to work out his hatred against Sir Osborne,
with that vindictive rancour that the injurer always feels towards the
injured; "all that I have to reply is, that what I said was true; and
that if I had stated all that I suspected, as well as what I knew, I
should have made his treason look much blacker than it does even now."
"Do you understand, France?" demanded Henry, turning to Francis:
"shall I translate his answers, to show you his true meaning?"
The King of France, however, signified that he comprehended perfectly;
and Sir Payan, after a moment's thought, proceeded.
"I should suppose your grace could have no doubt left upon that
traitor's guilt; for the charge against him rests, not on my
testimony, but upon the witness of various indifferent persons, and
upon papers in the handwriting of his friends and abettors."
"Villain!" muttered Sir Cesar, between his teeth; "hypocritical,
snake-like villain!" Both the king and Sir Payan heard him; but Henry
merely raised his hand, as if commanding silence, while the eyes of
the traitorous knight flashed a momentary fire, as they met the glance
of the old man, and he proceeded. "I had no interest, your grace, in
disclosing the plot I did; though, had I done wisely, I would have
held my peace, for it will make many my enemies, even many more than I
dreamed of then. I have since discovered that I then only knew one
half of those that are implicated. I know them all now," he continued,
fixing his eye on Sir Cesar; "but as I find what reward follows
honesty, I shall bury the whole within my own breast."
"On these points, sir, we will leave our law to deal with you,"
replied Henry: "there are punishments for those that conceal treason;
and, by my halidame, no favour shall you find in us, unless you make a
free and full confession! Then our grace may touch you, but not else.
But to the present question, my bold sir. Did you ever see Sir Osborne
Maurice before the day that he was arrested by your order, on the
charge of having excited the Cornishmen to revolt? And, before God, we
enjoin you--say, are you excited against him by feelings of interest,
hatred, or revenge?"
"On my life," replied Sir Payan, boldly, "I never saw him but on that
one day; and as I hope for salvation in heaven"--and here he made a
hypocritical grimace of piety--"I have no one reason, but pure
honesty, to accuse him of these crimes."
A low groan burst from behind the tapestry at this reply, and Henry
gave an angry glance towards the worthy clothier's place of
concealment; but Francis, calling back his attention, begged him to
ask the knight in English whether he had ever known Sir Osborne
Maurice by any other name, or in any other character.
Sir Cesar's eyes sparkled, and Sir Payan's cheek turned pale, as Henry
put the question; but he boldly replied, "Never, so help me heaven! I
never saw him, or heard of him, or knew him, by any other name than
Osborne Maurice."
"Oh, you villanous great liar! Oh, you hypocritical thief!" shouted
Jekin Groby, darting out from behind the tapestry, unable to contain
himself any longer. "I don't care, I don't care a groat for any one;
but I won't hear you tell his grace's worship such a string of lies,
all as fat and as well tacked together as Christmas sausages. Lord 'a
mercy! I'll tell your graces, both of you, how it was; for you don't
know, that's clear. This here Sir Osborne Maurice, that you are asking
about, is neither more nor less than that Lord Darnley that I was
telling your grace of this morning. Lord! now, didn't I hear him tell
that sweet young lady, Mistress Constance de Grey, all about it; how
he could not bear to live any longer abroad in these foreign parts,
and how he had come back under the name of Sir Osborne Maurice, all
for to get your grace's love as an adventurous knight? And then didn't
that Sir Payan--yes, you great thief! you did, for I heard you--didn't
he come and crow over him, and say that now he had got him in his
power? And then didn't he offer to let him go if he would sign some
papers? And then, when he would not, didn't he swear a great oath that
he would murther him, saying, 'he would make his tenure good by the
extinction of the race of Darnley?' You did, you great rogue! you know
you did! And, Lord 'a mercy! to think of your going about to tell his
grace such lies! your own king, too, who should never hear anything
but the truth! God forgive you, for you're a great sinner, and the
devils will never keep company with you when you go to purgatory, but
will kick you out into the other place, which is worse still, folks
say. And now, I humbly beg your grace's pardon, and will go back
again, if you like, behind the hangings; but I couldn't abear to hear
him cheat you like that."
The sudden appearance of Jekin Groby, and the light he cast upon the
subject, threw the whole party into momentary confusion. Sir Payan's
resolution abandoned him; his knees shook, and his very lips grew
pale. Sir Cesar gazed upon him with triumphant eyes, exclaiming, "Die,
die! what hast thou left but to die?" At the same time Wolsey
questioned Jekin Groby, who told the same straightforward tale; and
Henry explained the whole to Francis, whose comprehension of the
English tongue did not quite comprise the jargon of the worthy
clothier.
Sir Payan Wileton, however, resolved to make one last despairing
effort both to save himself and to ruin his enemies; for the
diabolical spirit of revenge was as deeply implanted in his bosom as
that of self-preservation. He thought then for a moment, glanced
rapidly over his situation, and cast himself on his knee before the
king. "Great and noble monarch!" said he, in a slow, impressive voice,
"I own my fault--I acknowledge my crime; but it is not such as you
think it. Hear me but out, and you yourself shall judge whether you
will grant me mercy or show me rigour. I confess, then, that I had
entered as deeply as others into the treasonable plot I have betrayed
against your throne and life; nay, more--that I would never have
divulged it, had I not found that the Lord Darnley had, under the name
of Sir Osborne Maurice, become the Duke of Buckingham's chief agent,
and was to be rewarded by the restitution of Chilham Castle, for which
some vague indemnity was proposed to me hereafter. On bearing it, I
dissembled my resentment; and pretending to enter more heartily than
ever into the scheme, I found that the ambitious duke reckoned as his
chief hope, in case of war, on the skill and chivalry of this Lord
Darnley, who promised by his hand to seat him on the throne. I
learned, moreover, the names of all the conspirators, amongst whom
that old man is one;" and he pointed to Sir Cesar, who gazed upon him
with a smile of contempt and scorn, whose intensity had something of
sublime. "Thirsting for revenge," proceeded Sir Payan, "and with my
heart full of rage, I commanded four of my servants to stop the
private courier of the duke, when I knew he was charged with letters
concerning this Sir Osborne Maurice, and thus I obtained those papers
I placed in the hands of my lord cardinal----"
"But how shall we know they are not forgeries?" cried Henry. "Your
honour, sir, is so gone, and your testimony so suspicious, that we may
well suppose those letters cunning imitations of the good duke's hand.
We have heard of such things--ay, marry have we."
"Herein, happily, your grace can satisfy yourself and prove my truth,"
replied Sir Payan; "send for the servants whose names I will give,
examine them, put them to the torture if 'you will; and if you wring
not from them that, on the twenty-ninth of March, they stopped, by my
command, the courier of the Duke of Buckingham, and took from him his
bag of letters, condemn me to the stake. But mark me, King of England!
I kneel before you pleading for life; grant it to me, with but my own
hereditary property, and Buckingham, with all the many traitors that
are now aiming at your life and striving for your crown, shall fall
into your hand, and you shall have full evidence against them. I will
instantly disclose all their names, and give you proof against their
chief, that to-morrow you can reward his treason with the axe, nor
fear to be called unjust. But if you refuse me your royal promise,
sacredly given here before your brother king--to yield me life, and
liberty, and lands, as soon as I have fulfilled my word--I will go to
my death in silence, like the wolf, and never will you be able to
prove anything against them; for that letter is nothing without my
testimony to point it aright."
"You are bold!" said Henry; "you are very bold! but our subjects' good
and the peace of our country may weigh with us. What think you,
Wolsey?" And for a moment or two he consulted in a low tone with the
cardinal and the King of France. "I believe, my liege," said Wolsey,
whose hatred towards Buckingham was of the blindest virulence; "I
believe that your grace will never be able to prove his treasons on
the duke without this man's help. Perhaps you had better promise."
Francis bit his lip and was silent; but Henry, turning to Sir Payan,
replied, "The tranquillity of our realm and the happiness of our
people overcome our hatred of your crimes; and therefore we promise,
that if by your evidence treason worthy of death be proved upon Edward
Duke of Buckingham, you shall be free in life, in person, and in
lands."
"Never!" cried the voice of Sir Cesar, mounting into a tone of
thunder; "never!" And springing forward, he caught Sir Payan by the
throat, grappled with him but for an instant, with a maniacal vigour,
and drawing the small dagger he always carried, plunged it into the
heart of the knight, with such force that one might have heard the
blow of the hilt against his ribs. The whole was done in a moment,
before any one was aware; and the red blood and the dark spirit
rushing forth together, with a loud groan the traitor fell prone upon
the ground; while Sir Cesar, without a moment's pause, turned the
dagger against his own bosom, and drove it in up to the very haft.
Wolsey drew back in horror and affright. Francis and Henry started up,
laying their hands upon their swords; Jekin Groby crept behind the
arras; and the guards rushed in to seize the slayer; but Sir Cesar
waved them back with the proud and dignified air of one who feels that
earthly power has over him no further sway. "What fear ye?" said he,
turning to the kings, and still holding the poniard tight against his
bosom, as if to restrain the spirit from breathing forth through the
wound. "There is no offence in the dead or in the dying. Hear me, King
of England! and hear the truth, which thou wouldst never have heard
from that false caitiff. Yet I have little time; the last moments of
existence speed with fast wings towards another shore: give me a seat,
for I am faint."
They instantly placed for him one of the settles; and after gazing
around for a moment with that sort of painful vacancy of eye that
speaks how the brain reels, he made an effort, and went on, though
less coherently. "All he has said is false. I am on the brink of
another world, and I say it is false as the hell to which he is gone.
Osborne Darnley, the good, the noble, and the true--the son of my best
and oldest friend--knew of no plot, heard of no treason. He was in
England but two days when he fell into that traitor's hands. He never
saw Buckingham but once. The Osborne Maurice named in the duke's
letter is not he; one far less worthy."
"Who then is he?" cried the king impatiently. "Give me to know him, if
you would have me believe. Never did I hear of such a name but in
years long past, an abettor of Perkyn Warbeck. Who then is this Sir
Osborne Maurice--ha? Mother of God! name him!"
"I--I--I--King of England!" cried the old man. "I, who, had he been
guided by me, would have taught Richard King of England, whom you
style Perkyn Warbeck, to wrench the sceptre from the hand of your
usurping father; I, whose child was murdered by that dead traitor, in
cold blood, after the rout at Taunton; I--I it was who predicted to
Edward Bohun that his head should be highest in the realm of England:
I it is who predict it still!" As he spoke the last words, the old man
suddenly drew forth the blade of the dagger from his breast, upon
which a full stream of blood instantly gushed forth and deluged the
ground. Still struggling with the departing spirit, he started
on his feet--put his hand to his brow. "I come! I come!" cried
he--reeled--shuddered--and fell dead beside his enemy.