being?  He fondly hoped she had sought the friends of his boyhood, as he had implored her, should they be parted; he strove to realize comfort in the thought they would protect and save her the agony of a final parting; but he strove in vain.  One wild yearning possessed him, to gaze upon her face, to fold her to his heart once, but once again:  it was the last lingering remnant of mortality; he had not another thought of life but this, and this grew stronger as its hope seemed vain.  But there was one near to give him comfort, when he expected it not.

Wrapped so closely in his dark, shrouding mantle that naught but the drooping feather of his cap could be distinguished, the Earl of Gloucester drew near the prisoner, and as he paused, ere the gates and bars of the prison entrance could be drawn back, whispered hurriedly yet emphatically—­

“A loved one is safe and shall be so.  Would to God I could do more!”

Suppressing with extreme difficulty a start of relief and surprise, the young nobleman glanced once on Gloucester’s face, pressed his hands together, and answered, in the same tone—­

“God in heaven bless thee!  I would see her once, only once more, if it can be without danger to her; it is life’s last link, I cannot snap it—­parted thus.”  They hurried him through the entrance with the last word lingering on his lips, and before Gloucester could make even a sign of reply.

Early in the evening of the same day, King Edward was reclining on his couch, in the chamber we have before described, and, surrounded by some few of his favorite noblemen, appeared so animated by a new cause of excitement as to be almost unconscious of the internal pains which even at that moment were more than usually intense.  His courtiers looked on unconcernedly while, literally shaking with disease and weakness, he coolly and deliberately traced those letters which gave a base and ignominious death to one of the best, the noblest, loveliest spirits that ever walked the earth, and signed the doom of misery and madness to another; and yet no avenging hand stretched forth between him and his victim, no pang was on his heart to bid him pause, be merciful, and spare.  Oh, what would this earth be were it all in all, and what were life if ending in the grave?  Faith, thou art the crystal key opening to the spirit the glorious vision of immortality, bidding the trusting heart, when sick and weary of the dark deeds and ruthless spoilers of this lovely earth, rest on thy downy wings, and seek for peace and comfort there.

“Who waits?” demanded the king, as his pen ceased in its task.

“Sir Stephen Fitzjohn, my liege, sent by the Earl of Berwick with the warrant, for which he waits.”

“He need wait no longer then, for it is there.  Two hours before noon the traitor dies; we give him grace till then, that our good subjects of Berwick may take warning by his fate, and our bird in the cage witness the end of the gallant so devoted to her cause.  Bid the knight begone, my Lord of Arundel; he hath too long waited our pleasure.  Ha! whom have we here? who craves admittance thus loudly?” he added, observing, as the earl lifted the hangings to depart, some bustle in the ante-room.  “Who is it so boldly demanding speech with us?”