But I, that knew what harbour'd in that head,
What virtues rare were temper'd in that breast,
Honour the place that such a jewel bred,
And kiss the ground whereas the corpse doth rest!
_Lord Surrey on the Death of Sir Thomas Wyatt._
When Lady Nithsdale, after all the varied sufferings of many weeks, the
painful excitement of the few preceding days, the agonising violence
she had done to her feelings for the last twelve hours, at length found
herself pressed to her husband's bosom, when she knew that she was
supported by his arms, over-wrought nature gave way, and she fainted.
With the assistance of Amy, however, she soon revived, and in a state
of blissful exhaustion she wept freely on his shoulder. Few words were
spoken.
When her lady seemed more composed, Amy stole away, for she feared to
excite the notice of the other lodgers.
"Let us pray, my love!" said Lady Nithsdale when the door was closed:
"let us together pour forth our souls to that Providence who has this
day extended over us so special a mercy. It will relieve my bursting
soul to give utterance to the gratitude which almost oppresses it;" and
they both sunk on their knees in humble adoration.
For a time, nor doubt nor fear disturbed the full security of their
gratitude and their joy! It was not till the first grey light began to
dawn, and that the twitter of the sparrows on the house-tops, and the
discordant sounds of London streets, again broke the stillness which
had reigned, that the difficulties and dangers that still surrounded
them recurred to their minds.
The earl sighed when first he saw the rays of the sun shine on the
taller chimneys of the adjacent buildings, and that the tiled roofs of
the surrounding houses became visible from their narrow window, for
he remembered his own feelings as he had mentally bidden adieu the
preceding evening to the sunbeams; and, mixed with gratulation and
thankfulness for the different circumstances under which he now hailed
the cheering light, came the recollection of his fellow-prisoners. He
thought on the good Earl of Derwentwater, and on his old friend Lord
Kenmure.
His wife watched the expression of his countenance. She read what
passed within. "Alas!" she said, "I have been a very egotist in my joy.
I have not been able to think of those who are now marking in agony and
desperation the dawning of this fatal day, who turn from its glorious
light in sickening, loathing despair. Alas for them! The extremes of
grief, and of happiness, both make us selfish creatures. And yet can I
really think of aught but you? How can I grieve, when I can gaze as now
upon you, rescued from that dismal place, restored to me and to your
children? Oh! we shall together hear their clear young voices; we shall
together, with delighted eyes, follow them in their graceful sports;
we shall both feel their twining arms around our necks; we shall
together guide and direct their young minds; we shall watch the opening
intellect develope itself, and ripen into all that is noble in man, all
that is lovely in woman! Oh, my love! my husband! what happiness is
there in store for us!"
Lord Nithsdale listened in deep-felt rapture: he hung upon her words;
he let his soul go to the delightful picture she drew; he drank in the
musical sounds of her soft voice; he looked with love and tenderness
upon the sweet though wan countenance, which, in its delicate paleness,
bore the traces of past suffering.
"What happiness indeed!" he echoed. "What unutterable happiness!"
"And how tall our noble boy will be! We shall scarcely know him, except
by those clustering fair curls which contrast so prettily with the dark
brows, which are all your own, my love! Oh, those blue eyes! how they
used to dance from beneath the shady brow! And Anne, my darling Annie!
she will not have forgotten us, I trust; she will not have forgotten
to climb your knee, and nestle into your bosom, as she was used to do,
while you still remained absorbed in meditation."
A smile, a pleased, a tranquil, tender smile, played over his lips as
he said, "My own sweet children, I dare think of you now! Yesterday
it was with such painful regret that the image of your innocent
endearments rose before my mind, that I strove to banish you from
my thoughts. My gallant, stout boy! my pretty Annie!" and a silent
but sweet tear stole down his manly cheek. "And yet, my love, are we
not almost presumptuous in looking forward thus confidently? Though
no longer within a prison's walls, we must not deem ourselves too
secure----"
As he spoke, one loud, deep, sonorous toll of a bell was heard. Lady
Nithsdale started. The colour, which the joyous picture she had drawn
had summoned to her cheeks, gave way to a ghastly paleness. Lord
Nithsdale did not finish the broken sentence: both sat in mute horror.
Several moments elapsed; they heard no more. They began to fancy some
accidental sound had startled them, when again the clear, deep sound
struck on their ears--their hearts! She looked upon him with a fearful
inquiring glance.
"It must be so," he said; "this is the very hour!" He clasped his hands
firmly together; and, dropping his head, he pressed them against his
bosom. "My friends, my noble, my true-hearted friends!" he ejaculated
in a low and smothered voice.
"O God! and is it over?" she exclaimed, and she wound her arms around
him; she clung to him with desperate energy; she pressed him closely to
her, while she gazed wildly at the closed door, as if she every moment
expected to see it burst open, and the ministers of the law rush in to
bereave her of the loved being she had rescued.
"They shall not tear thee from me! No, no! I feel this woman's arm
could hold thee with so firm a grasp, that no earthly power could
sever us. They shall not, they cannot wrest thee from these arms!"
Again the awful toll of the minute-bell rung upon their ears! "Does it
mean all is over?" she again slowly whispered in trembling horror.
"No, no! not so! they are even now on their way to the scaffold," he
said. "He breathes yet! my friend, my noble Derwentwater yet breathes
this vital air! The healthful blood still flows through his veins! That
gallant heart still throbs in its mortal clothing! He is yet alive; and
on this vast globe there does not beat a heart more gallant,--a spirit
more undaunted dwells not on this earth!"
Again that toll struck on their hearts,--that toll for which they
listened, till they almost fancied each must have been the last; when,
no! the next awful sound struck their very frame, jarred on their every
nerve, even more painfully than that which preceded it. They were half
tempted to stop their ears to exclude the torturing clang, but a power
which they could not resist compelled them to listen with redoubled
intensity.
"By this time they must have reached Tower Hill!" he murmured. If
he had seen the fearful expression of her countenance while he thus
pictured what would have been, what still might be, his fate, he would
in pity have been silent; but his thoughts were at that moment all upon
his friends, his companions, his fellow-prisoners. Though he pressed
her to his heart, he looked not upon her, and was still absorbed by the
scene which he knew was enacting.
"Hush! all is silent! the bell has ceased!" No: it came again! its
brazen clang again sounded. They still listened in breathless silence!
At length it really ceased.
"What means this stillness?" she faintly asked.
"It is even now," he replied, in a smothered tone, "they must have
reached the spot!" He pressed his hand upon his eyes: "My friends! my
friends!--my dear, my noble friends!--I should not have abandoned ye;
I should be there to share your fate; I ought to be with ye now!" he
exclaimed in passion.
"My husband! my life! my love?" she softly whispered, in an appealing,
a deprecating tone.
"Oh! no, no! I did not mean to say so! This is my home! here is my
resting-place!" and his head dropped upon her shoulder.
Minutes elapsed: neither could keep count of time; it might be moments,
it might be hours!
Again the awful, the horrible bell resounded; it seemed to crack his
heart-strings. He started up; he shook her from him: he paced the room
with hasty strides.
"It is all over!" he exclaimed,--"it is consummated! They are now
bloody corpses! head-less trunks!"
She seized him by the arm: "Hush, hush; in mercy hush! speak not with
such ungoverned earnestness. Did not Amy forbid us to stir for our
lives?--did she not bid us converse in subdued tones?--did she not
bid us avoid every movement that might betray that this apartment was
occupied? Are there not other lodgers in the house? If you do not value
life yourself, take pity on me. Spare me! oh, spare me the horrors
you have just brought so vividly before me! Be still, I implore, I
command,--by all I have done, all I have ventured, all I have endured!"
and she dragged him to the wretched bed on which they had been seated,
and which was the only article of furniture the chamber contained. He
unresistingly yielded to her gentle force, and re-seated himself.
The dreadful certainty that the fate of his companions in misfortune
was sealed completely dispelled the gleam of secure happiness which had
shone through the hearts of both.
Lady Nithsdale thought on the Countess of Derwentwater; on the Lady
Kenmure; and while she closely clung to her husband's arm, to assure
herself in very truth that he was safe, and to prevent his making any
movement which might betray him, she pictured to herself the unavailing
agonies of the other ladies, till her very brain went round!
It now seemed to her she had as yet accomplished but little. She felt
there was no security in their freedom; the fact that they were still
within so short a distance of the fatal spot, which had this moment
been brought only too forcibly home to the feelings of both, made her
impatiently await further intelligence from her faithful friends--made
her feel that nought was done till the seas rolled between him and his
enemies!
She listened breathlessly, hoping each step might be Amy's, or Mrs.
Mills's; and yet she dreaded each sound that reached her, lest it might
prove the approach of guards, who, having traced his steps, might have
succeeded in discovering his retreat.
Lord Nithsdale, on the other hand, thought not of himself; his feelings
were all for the departed. His imagination rapidly ran over his former
intercourse with his friend.
"I never saw him from that day," he murmured thoughtfully; "we parted
at the second gateway when we returned from Westminster Hall, on the
9th. As we were in the coach, on our way home, he regretted having
pleaded guilty; 'for,' he said, 'it is not treason that we have
committed! it would have been treason in us to have acted otherwise
than we have done. Yes,' he continued; 'all, save the prisoners, all
the multitudes who crowded the vast Hall--all, all were traitors,
except ourselves!' And when I urged that the expression thus used was
but the form in which we conveyed that we denied not our share in the
business, 'But I am not a traitor to my lawful king, and I should not
have allowed the word,' he replied with earnestness. We were then led
from the coach to our separate lodgings," continued the earl, following
the current of his own melancholy thoughts, "and as we parted,--for
the last time parted,--he pressed my hand, and said, 'Nithsdale, we
have been friends through life, should we be parted in death? (which I
do not think we shall be, we shall probably share the same doom!) but
should one survive, let me live in your remembrance, as, I promise, you
shall in mine!' And so he shall! never, never will I forget you, my
noble Ratcliffe; here shall your memory dwell," he added, striking his
bosom,--"here, while the life-blood throbs through this heart!"
He paused, and Lady Nithsdale for a while feared to disturb the sad
recollections in which he so naturally indulged; but at length she
gently ventured to whisper:--
"And if you thus feel for him who was your friend, think what would
have been my condition had the husband of my love shared his fate!
Control your voice! Speak but in whispers. Think should you now be
dragged from me!" she continued in a meek and supplicating tone.
"True, true, my gentle love!" he softly answered. "I will be
prudent,--calm and prudent; I owe it in gratitude to my deliverer."
She had scarcely thus tempered down his emotions, when they were both
startled by the sound of footsteps; but they were soft and stealthy.
There was no heavy tramp, no sound of arms, no rough voices.
There came three gentle taps upon the door; Lady Nithsdale hastened to
it; Amy gave the preconcerted sign, and she admitted her.
Her face was pale, almost livid; her eyes seemed starting from her
head; she staggered into the room, but she failed not carefully to
close and double-lock the door behind her.
"I came to tell you all that we have arranged," she said, in a broken
voice; "and----I will speak in a moment...."
"Oh, merciful Heaven! Do they suspect? Have they traced him?" cried
Lady Nithsdale, in tremulous agony.
"Oh, no! it is not that: my dear lord is safe,--I trust,--I hope; safe
from that dreadful doom!" and Amy closed her eyes for a moment.
"For pity's sake explain yourself,--dear, dear Amy!"
"'Tis nothing,--it will pass. 'Tis nothing more than we all know.
We knew this was the fatal morning; and I waited till all was over,
for I dared not willingly risk seeing anything dreadful. I thought I
might now venture here, for Mr. Mills, who was there, told me all was
accomplished. I came to tell you we have hopes for my lord's speedy
departure. But oh! I did not wait long enough! The scaffold is still
up," she continued, shuddering at the recollection, "all hung with
black cloth; and the block, the huge--bloody--wooden block,--and the
saw-dust! Oh! my soul sickens!"
Deep as was her anxiety for her lord's escape, the countess herself
could not command words to inquire what were the hopes of accomplishing
it, to which Amy alluded. All remained for some moments speechless,
with eyes fixed on the ground, fearful to meet those of the other.
At length Lady Nithsdale stole a glance towards her husband to see how
he bore what Amy had just uttered. His face was concealed by both his
hands.
Amy was the first to recover herself: "The Venetian ambassador sends
his coach next week to meet his brother at Dover; and we hope to
persuade his excellency's servant, M. Michel, to take charge of my
lord. He is one on whom we may depend. He is under great obligations
to Mr. and Mrs. Mills, and would do anything to repay them; and when
once he is safe away, he is not responsible to those in power here.
Yes, dearest madam, I have good hope that all will turn out right,"
continued Amy, striving to shake off the horror which had overpowered
her when first she entered.
"Thanks, my faithful, true friend!" and Lady Nithsdale tenderly
embraced her.
Lord Nithsdale appeared not to heed what they had said; but, in a low,
hollow voice, inquired, with his face averted,--for he shrunk from
showing to any eye but his own Winifred's, the traces of deep emotion
which he could not master,--"Did Mr. Mills mention any particulars?"
"Nothing very particular," answered Amy, shuddering at the question.
"Did the lords address the people?" he again asked, his face still
averted, and with a forced calmness in his tone.
"I believe they did, my lord."
"Was Mr. Mills within hearing?"
"Yes, my dear master; but why harrow your feelings by listening to
these details? Surely it were better to think of the future, and bend
your mind to all that there remains to do?"
"Nay, I must hear; I must learn all I can of my lost, lost friends!" he
exclaimed, turning upon them a face so awful in its noble grief that
none dared for a moment to resist his wishes. "Tell me all; let me hear
everything!"
Unable to oppose, or to resist, his firm and solemn command, Amy began
her tale: "They were taken, my lord, in a hackney-coach from the Tower
to the Transport Office. It was a little before ten o'clock."
"I know it," he answered. "We heard the bell!" he added in a sepulchral
inward voice.
"The Earl of Derwentwater was the first; and though he seemed somewhat
pale, his bearing was resolute and sedate, Mr. Mills said."
"Assuredly it was!" said the earl, almost angry that it should be
deemed possible his friend could have borne himself otherwise.
"After some time spent in prayer he obtained the sheriff's leave to
read a paper. He came forward to the rails, and he asked pardon of
those whom he might have scandalized by pleading guilty at his trial."
"I knew that weighed upon his mind," murmured the earl.
"He said he was sensible he had by this made bold with his loyalty to
King James; but that he had been told it was merely a form, and that
there was nothing of moment in so doing."
"They told us all so;--that, having been undeniably in arms, pleading
guilty was but the consequence of submitting to mercy."
"He said he died a Roman Catholic, and was in perfect charity with
all the world; and he added, that if the prince, who now governs, had
spared his life, he should have thought himself obliged never more to
take up arms against him." Amy was silent Lord Nithsdale, after a pause
of some moments, said, in a voice scarcely audible,
"Did he suffer? Was it quickly over?"
"At one blow, my lord," answered Amy, shuddering as she spoke.
"Pardon me, good Amy,--I pain you; but I must know. And Lord Kenmure?"
"He did not speak to the people; but in his devotions he prayed for
King James. He apologised for his dress; saying, he had so little
thought of dying so soon, he had not provided a black suit. Mr. Mills
says he showed great resolution and firmness in his carriage, though,
to his mind, he was not so calm within as the Earl of Derwentwater."
"I can endure no more!" at length exclaimed Lady Nithsdale, as all
these details so horribly pictured the scene: "I cannot, cannot bear
it! Amy, in mercy cease!"
"I crave your pardon, dearest wife; but they were my friends--my best
friends,--and they are gone! But we will hear no more!" And he again
buried his face in his hands.
Amy told her lady that Mrs. Mills would soon be with them, and bring
the answer of M. Michel. She was even now at the Venetian ambassador's,
and hoped to have arranged everything according to their wishes.
The countess pressed Amy's hand, and they silently awaited Mrs. Mills's
coming.
It was late before she arrived; but she told them that on the following
day, the Saturday, Lord Nithsdale might remove to the ambassador's,
where M. Michel undertook to conceal him in his own chamber; that on
the Wednesday in the following week, his excellency's coach-and-six
was to go to Dover to meet his brother, when M. Michel could easily
take Lord Nithsdale in his master's livery as one of his retinue.
All seemed to promise well, and the countess breathed more freely.
Mrs. Mills had considerately brought with her some bread, which, with a
loaf and a bottle of wine which had been provided the evening before,
was all they had to subsist upon for the two days and nights they spent
in their present lurking-place.
On the Saturday they parted, according to this arrangement. To both,
such a parting was a severe trial!
The countess feared every possible and every impossible danger must
beset his path when she could no longer see him with her own eyes.
He found the task a hard one to tear himself again from her, when
so lately re-united; but he also felt how incumbent it was on him
to accept with gratitude so favourable an opportunity of escaping.
They were both aware that to linger in England was risking all their
hardly-earned happiness. In trembling hope, they parted.
"It would be sinful in us to mistrust Providence," he said; "we have
been so mercifully dealt with, we ought to feel confidence that we
shall be preserved to a safe and joyful meeting!"
"True, true, my love. I would not detain you one moment in this fatal
land! I wish you gone! And yet--and yet--it is so painful, so very
painful, to part! But you shall go--even now,--this moment! It is not
for me to doubt the mercy of Heaven."
She gently disengaged herself from him: he pressed her once more to
his bosom, and then followed Mrs. Mills to the door. He there paused
to take one more look at her as she stood half supported by Amy. She
watched him through the doorway,--she listened to his step as he
descended the stairs,--she heard the street-door shut:--"He is gone!"
she said; "but I must not repine. Oh, what a parting it might have
been! When I think of Lady Derwentwater and of Lady Kenmure, I feel
how blessed I am! I will not weep--I will not grieve: I must allow no
feeling but that of gratitude to find a place within this bosom!"