Distress is virtue's opportunity.--_Southern._
The Earl of Nithsdale felt even more keenly than did the countess the
indignity with which she had been treated in her interview with the
king.
His dark eye flashed, he bit his compressed lip till the blood almost
started; he paced the apartment with hasty strides, as he pictured to
himself his graceful, his delicate, his shrinking Winifred, on whose
fair form he would scarcely allow the winds to blow too roughly,
dragged along the floor, the rude hands of strangers round that slender
waist; and it was then he felt indeed that he was a prisoner, powerless
to defend her whom he had sworn to cherish! The bars, the bolts, the
high walls, the moat, the guards! oh, how his soul rebelled against
them all! How agonising was the impotent indignation which possessed
his every faculty.
Lady Nithsdale grieved to see his agitation, and yet from his very
agitation she gathered hope that she might eventually work him to her
wishes.
Meanwhile, with the assistance of Amy, she had procured most of the
articles necessary for the disguise of her husband; and although
resolved that every other means of safety should be tried, she still
kept her mind fixed upon this last resource. The consciousness of
having still a point to look to, something still to rest upon when all
else failed, sustained her courage; but at the same time it prevented
her attempting to submit to an event, which, in the judgment of others,
was now inevitable. She could not even think of resignation; on the
contrary, with this secret hope in her heart, and this plan in her
mind, she would have been alarmed at her own want of reliance in that
plan, had she tried to school her feelings to acquiesce in the fatal
doom.
A few days after the countess's unsuccessful application to the king,
the resolution was taken in council that the sentence passed upon the
rebel lords should be carried into execution without delay, and on the
18th the necessary warrants and orders were despatched, both to the
Lieutenant of the Tower, and to the Sheriffs of the city of London and
Middlesex.
There was a startling reality in these measures that for the moment
shook her inmost soul; yet she would not allow herself to dwell upon
the intelligence; she scarcely gave herself time to reflect, but all
the more strenuously busied herself in seeing that her preparations
were complete; and she strove to interest herself in the attempt made
the following day by the Countess of Derwentwater to move the king to
mercy. Accompanied by the Duchesses of Cleveland and of Bolton, and
by many other ladies of rank, she was introduced by the Dukes of St.
Albans and of Richmond, to the king's presence, and humbly implored his
clemency; but her application met with no better success than the Lady
Nithsdale's more passionate appeal.
It was therefore arranged by the wives of all the condemned lords,
that two days afterwards, on February the 21st, they should repair to
the lobby of the House of Peers, and there implore the intercession of
their lordships with the king.
More than twenty other ladies of the very first distinction accompanied
them. It might have moved the most unfeeling to behold so many of
the fairest and the noblest of the realm in such deep and unfeigned
distress. But though among the mourning group there were many
countenances which bore the traces of intense anxiety, many whose
expression of grief amounted almost to despair, some perhaps who might
boast of greater positive beauty of feature, on none did sorrow sit
with so touching a grace as on the Countess of Nithsdale. The wan
transparency of her naturally pale complexion, the refined cast of
her features, which seemed moulded only to express the highest and
purest affections of the soul, assorted well with the situation of deep
interest in which she was placed.
But on this occasion the hearts of all seemed steeled against them.
Their application met with little attention: no measures were taken, no
motion made, in consequence of their petition. In blank disappointment
each sought again her disconsolate, her widowed home.
Dispirited, but not utterly hopeless, they on the following day, the
22d, repaired again to Westminster Hall, and with them a still greater
attendance of the first, and the noblest, of the ladies who adorned
the British court; and with still more passionate earnestness they
appealed to both houses of parliament.
In the Commons their petitions met with no success. Notwithstanding an
eloquent address on the part of Sir Richard Steele, the court party
moved that the discussion should be adjourned to the 1st of March, and
carried it by a majority of seven voices.
With the Lords they found more favour. Although the Duke of Richmond,
even when presenting the Earl of Derwentwater's petition, declared
that he would himself vote against it, yet others spoke warmly and
eloquently in behalf of men, who, though mistaken, had still acted from
conscientious motives.
The Earl of Danby, moved with pity for the Lord Nairne's numerous
family, urged strongly that the petitions of the several lords should
be received and read. The Lord Townshend and several others, who
upon all occasions had given undoubted proofs of their attachment to
the present government, supported the contrary opinion; when, to the
surprise of many, the Earl of Nottingham declared in favour of the
petitions being read. As president of the council he drew with him many
peers, and the motion was carried by nine or ten voices.
Then came the question whether in the case of an impeachment the king
possessed the power to reprieve. It was now that the Earl of Pembroke
redeemed his pledge of exerting himself in Lady Nithsdale's favour. His
animated and eloquent address carried with him the sense of the house;
and, with the assistance of the Duke of Montrose, the king's power to
pardon was carried in the affirmative.
This was followed by a motion for an address to the king that, as he
had the power to do so, he would be pleased to grant a reprieve to the
lords who lay under sentence of death, which, although opposed by the
firmest friends of government, was also carried.
Lady Nithsdale's heart bounded within her; hope for a moment danced
in her bosom, and lighted up her cheek with a passing bloom. Her joy
was however doomed to be evanescent, for another lord represented that
"though clemency was one of the brightest virtues which adorn and
support a crown, yet in his opinion the same should be exercised only
on proper objects;" and he therefore moved, "that they should address
the king to reprieve such of the condemned lords as deserved his mercy,
and approved themselves worthy of this intercession, and not all
indiscriminately."
The amendment was carried by two voices only, but it was carried;--and
her heart once more sank within her. This salvo blasted all her hopes.
She was assured it was aimed at the exclusion of those who would
not subscribe such a petition as some of the peers had themselves
prepared,--a thing she knew her husband would never submit to; nor, as
she herself declared, would she have wished to preserve his life on
such terms.
Still, however, the address to the king had passed generally, and she
thought she might turn this circumstance to account in lulling the
vigilance of the guards. She lost no time in quitting the House of
Lords, and hastening to the Tower; where, affecting an air of joy and
security, she told the soldiers as she passed, that she brought joyful
tidings to the prisoners, for that the petition had passed in their
favour. She then gave them some money to drink to the lords and his
majesty; but she prudently made it but a trifling sum, hoping thereby
to secure their good-will, without awakening in them any suspicion of
design on her part.
And now there remained but the one last resource. She trembled as
she thought that, though all was in her own mind prepared, the most
difficult point remained yet to be accomplished,--her husband had
not yet consented to the disguise she proposed; and although he had
not retracted his promise of giving her proposal a fair and patient
hearing, she had in fact extracted from him nothing more. If he should
now pertinaciously refuse to accede to it! Oh, no, it was impossible.
He could not doom her to such hopeless, unutterable misery!
Trembling, agitated, yet worked up to the utmost pitch of courage and
resolution, she reached his apartment. She staggered into the room; and
flinging herself into his arms, she sobbed convulsively on his bosom.
She could not speak: but after a few moments he said, with hopeless
composure and tenderness,--
"So, my poor Winifred, both houses have then rejected our prayers!
Alas for you, my love! would I were able to give you consolation! would
I could alleviate your sorrows!"
"You can! you can! You, and you alone, can now save me from despair!"
she exclaimed with passion. Her eyes were dry, her cheek was flushed,
her whole countenance seemed suddenly inspired: "My life, my existence,
are in your hands! You have but to will it, to make me the happiest
of wives, of mothers! If I am doomed to the early death of the
heart-broken," she continued almost in a threatening tone, "or if I am
doomed to drag on a weary, joyless existence, a lingering death-like
life, in which the welfare of my soul--yes, the salvation of a precious
soul, is in peril, for I shall murmur, I shall repine--there is no
resignation here--I feel I shall not submit as it would be my duty to
do:--if such is the fate before me, it will be _you_ who doom me to it!
I can save you--I am sure I can! If you refuse to lend yourself to the
measures I propose, it will be _you_ who destroy my happiness in this
world, _you_ who peril my salvation in the next!"
There was a restless fire in her eye, an energy in her manner, a
fearful inspiration about her, that awed, while it touched him. He
could not but think what must be the strength of those feelings which
could so transport her out of herself; which could change the mild,
timid, shrinking wife, into the inspired threatening Sibyl!
"Hush, hush, my love! you know not what you say!"
She looked wildly and doubtingly around her; then bursting into
tears,--"Alas! alas! what have I uttered?"--and falling on her knees,
with clasped hands raised to heaven,--"Pardon, O most merciful Being;
pardon for my wild and wicked words! O Thou on whom my reliance is
placed, Thou in whose providence I trust,--cast me not off for these
hasty words, wrung from me by insufferable anguish! And thou, my lord,
my love, my husband, urge me not to despair! This brain may become
unsettled, reason may give way, I may again be hurried into impious
ravings!--Oh, take pity upon me, dearest, dearest husband!" She clung
to his knees; she stretched her beseeching arms towards him.
"Do with me what thou wilt, Winifred. If this is weakness, I am weak!
If this is cowardice, I am no longer brave! Command me! guide me!--I
am but the instrument in thy hands, my wife! I would sacrifice my life
to honour; but if there is dishonour in my attempt to escape, I will
sacrifice honour itself to you, my love!"
"It is not the sacrifice of your honour I demand; yourself cannot value
it more highly than does your wife. They carried the address to the
king, but it was coupled with an amendment that it should only apply
to those who would sign a petition of their own framing. I knew you
would not--I do not ask you to do so. Your honour is precious to me as
your life--more precious than your life!--but there is no dishonour in
escaping from a cruel and an ignominious death!"
"Not ignominious, Winifred; an honourable death!"
"From a cruel and an unjust death!--a treacherous death! Was it not
upon the understanding that your lives were to be spared that you all
surrendered at Preston? Was it not to avoid useless effusion of blood
that you yielded? and that you advised others to yield? Would it not
have been easier and sweeter to have perished in battle, than to die on
the scaffold, as your fellow prisoners must? No! there is no dishonour
in escaping from tyranny!" She spoke with energy, for the first time
uttering the words of "death" and "scaffold," which had never before
found their way to her lips.
"Have I not said it, my love? I am ready to follow your injunctions. Do
with me what you will."
"You have promised it, you have sworn it!"--and her face was radiant
with joy. "My own love! you are mine once more! We shall not be
parted;--we shall live and die together,--we shall grow old together!
Oh, thanks! thanks!" and her imagination had overleaped all the bars
and bolts, the dreary boundaries of the prison. She felt they were
at large to roam over the wide world together. He gave her one sad
and grateful kiss, and walked to the window to conceal his emotion;
but she saw the expression of his countenance as he slowly surveyed
the court-yard, and his eye rested on each sentry as he paced in his
appointed spot.
She perceived the almost mocking smile which passed transiently over
his lips; and she plainly read how vain he thought her hopes, how
unavailing would prove the consent she had extorted from him.
"You think my schemes all visionary!--you think me scarcely in my right
senses!--you deem me already crazed with grief!"
"Nay, my love, I think your wishes run beyond your judgment, and I fear
you are only preparing for yourself a more bitter disappointment. The
blow will fall the heavier for coming upon you in your present state
of excitement. It would tend more to your future peace of mind if,
discarding all worldly thoughts, you would fix your hopes, and would
assist me in fixing mine, on heaven, and heaven alone."
"And think you it could tend to my future peace of mind, the reflection
that one hour of bold prudence, one hour of steady perseverance in the
execution of the scheme already formed, might have led to a reunion for
life?--perhaps a long and happy life! You would not surely retract the
vow so solemnly made, even now?" she added in a reproachful tone.
"No! I have promised; and I will keep my promise!"
She pressed his hand in token of gratitude. "Then I must away. There
are still some with whom I have need to communicate. Do not look for
me early to-morrow: I shall not be with you till towards dusk,--and
then----"
"Not till evening? The last day must I be deprived of your presence
till evening?"
"The first day of your deliverance, my love!--the first of many days of
liberty and happiness!"
He dropped his eyes. He would not sadden her by his own forebodings.
And yet he felt he should be permitted to look on her for so short a
space, that it was with difficulty he could bring himself to lose sight
of her for a moment.
It was already night; but he watched her from his prison window, and
fancied he could detect her beloved form as she glided down the steps
leading to the archway. He stood gazing at the spot till tears suffused
his eyes; and he flung himself upon a seat, determined to wrestle with
his emotions.
When alone,--when not exposed to the influence of her tenderness,--he
looked on death with perfect composure, and almost wished his course
was run, and that the inevitable moment was arrived. The hopes with
which she strove to inspire him unsettled and distracted him; and then
he reproached himself for such weakness. Yet how collect his thoughts?
how temper them down to a tranquil, firm, unmoved acquiescence in his
doom, when all his energies would be required for the enterprise which
was to restore him to life, to love, and to liberty? He strove to
forget the plan in agitation. He tried to abstract himself in prayer;
but when most he hoped to have spiritualised his meditations, visions
of the future would flash across his mind, painful anticipations of
what would be his Winifred's desperation upon the failure of her
attempt, agonising shame at the idea of being discovered and caught
in the act of evasion, dread of appearing in the undignified position
of a reclaimed fugitive, dragged unwillingly to the block, instead of
the loyal martyr, boldly, firmly, with an unconstrained step, mounting
the scaffold, to consummate the sacrifice he had of his own free will
chosen to make.
He almost repented the promise he had given; he longed for the repose
of hopelessness.