Buch lesen: «The Tower of London: A Historical Romance, Illustrated», Seite 17

IX. – OF THE DUEL BETWEEN COURTENAY AND SIMON RENARD; AND HOW IT WAS INTERRUPTED

M eanwhile, a long discussion was carried on between Mary and her councillors, as to the best means of effecting the entire restoration of the Romish religion.

“I have a letter from Cardinal Pole,” observed the Queen, “wherein his Eminence urges me to adopt no half measures.”

“It will not be safe to do so as matters now stand, gracious madam,” replied Gardiner. “You must proceed cautiously. The noxious weed, heresy, has taken too deep a root in this country to be forcibly extirpated. I need not remind you of the murmurs that followed the celebration of mass in the chapel in the White Tower, for the repose of the King your brothers soul – of Cranmer’s vehement opposition – of the lord mayor’s remonstrance, because mass was sung in another chapel in the city – of the riot for a similar cause in Smithfield – of the dagger thrown at Doctor Bourne, when he preached at Saint Paul’s Cross, and inveighed against the deprivation of our prelates during the late reign. Your Majesty did wisely to declare, at my suggestion, that although your conscience is stayed in matters of religion, yet you meant not to compel and constrain other men’s consciences. Abide by this declaration a little longer. The two chief opponents of our religion, Ridley and Latimer, are already prisoners in the fortress, and Cranmer will be speedily brought hither.”

“So speedily, my lord, that he shall be lodged within it today,” replied Mary. “The order is already signed for his committal on a charge of high treason for counselling our disinheritance, and aiding the Duke of Northumberland with horse and men against us in the revolt of the Lady Jane Grey.”

“When will your highness have him arraigned?” asked Gardiner.

“After our coronation,” replied Mary; “when Lady Jane Grey and her husband shall also be tried.”

“Suffolk is already liberated,” remarked Renard; “and yet he was more deeply implicated than Cranmer.”

“True,” replied Mary; “but he is not so dangerous.”

“The counsel of my master, the emperor,” rejoined Renard, “as I have more than once stated to your Highness, is to spare none of the rebels – above all, the Lady Jane Grey, who, though she may have been the instrument of others, is yet in the eyes of the people the principal offender.”

“Poor Lady Jane!” exclaimed Mary, in a compassionate tone. “She is very young – very beautiful. I would rather reconcile her to our church than doom her to the block.”

“I do not despair of being able to accomplish her conversion,” said Gardiner, “though she is an obstinate heretic. I have appointed to-morrow for a conference with her on the subject of her religion, and I trust to be able to convince her of her errors.”

“With your lordship’s permission, I will attend the conference,” said Renard.

“By all means,” replied Gardiner. “It will take place in the Beauchamp Tower. Her husband, Lord Guilford Dudley, has become a proselyte, and they will be both present at the disputation.”

“I leave the care of her soul in your hands, my lord,” replied Mary. “And now I must to my own devotions.”

So saying, she dismissed them, and proceeded to an oratory, where she was joined by her confessor, Feckenham.

On issuing from the audience-chamber, Renard perceived De Noailles and Courtenay pacing the gallery.

“I have waited for you, sir,’’ said the latter, advancing to meet him.

“I am sorry to have detained your lordship so long,” replied Renard.

“Apologies are needless,” rejoined Courtenay. “M. Renard, you are a double-faced villain.”

“Rail on my lord, and welcome,” replied Renard, contemptuously. “Your ill-humour has no effect on me!”

“Coward! will not that move you?” cried Courtenay, taking off his glove, and striking him with it in the face.

“Ha!” exclaimed Renard fiercely, and half-unsheathing his sword. “Follow me, my lord, and you shall find me as prompt to avenge an insult as you can be to offer one.”

“My lord,” interposed De Noailles, “and you, M. Renard, I warn you before you proceed further in this quarrel, that it will deeply offend the queen.”

“It was not my seeking,” replied Renard, sternly. “But since it is forced upon me, I will not be stayed. As his lordship has found no difficulty in duping her majesty with a feigned passion, so, if he survives, he may readily make out his case by an equally false statement that I was the aggressor.”

“Insolent!” cried Courtenay. “Fool that I was to place any faith in one in whom the whole perfidy of his country seems concentred. Follow me, and quickly, or I will repeat the blow – unless,” he added with bitter scorn, “like your own arrogant but cowardly nation you prefer avenging it by assassination.”

“The cowardice will be yours, my lord,” rejoined Renard, haughtily, “if you attempt to repeat the blow – nay, if you tarry here longer, I shall think you desire to attract the attention of some of her majesty’s attendants, and by causing us to be arrested, contrive to escape my vengeance.”

“Trust me, sir, I have no such intention,” replied Courtenay. “An Englishman never deals a blow without allowing his adversary to return it. M. De Noailles, I request your attendance at the duel. It will be a mortal combat – for I will neither give mercy nor receive it from this perfidious villain.”

“Pardon me, my lord, if I refuse your request,” replied De Noailles. “I pledge my word that I will not interrupt you, nor cause you to be interrupted during the adjustment of your differences. But I will be no party to the duel.”

“As you please,” replied Courtenay. “Come then, sir,” he added, turning to Renard, “and let the recollection of the insult I have offered you be fresh in your memory.”

“M. De Noailles,” said Renard, “I take you to witness before I depart, that I have not sought this quarrel. Whatever ensues, you will avouch the truth.”

“Undoubtedly,” replied De Noailles. “Whither are you going?” he demanded.

“To the palace-garden,” replied Courtenay. “It is the only place in the Tower, where we can be free from interruption. Beneath the trees we shall be unobserved.”

“Lead on then, my lord,” cried Renard, impatiently. “The affair ought to have been arranged by this time.”

Hastily quitting the corridor, they descended the grand staircase, and traversing with rapid steps a long suite of apartments, passed through a small door opening from the range of building called the Queen’s gallery, upon the privy garden. At the western angle of this garden stood a grove of trees, and thinking themselves unobserved they hastened towards it.

It chanced however at this moment that Xit was passing along one of the walks, and struck by their furious looks he immediately conjectured their errand, and being, as has before been shown, of an inquisitive turn, determined to watch them, and with this view struck into a shrubbery, which effectually screened him from observation.

On reaching the grove, Renard instantly divested himself of his cloak, and drawing his rapier and dagger, placed himself in an attitude of defence. Courtenay did not remove his mantle, and therefore he was in readiness before his adversary. The preliminary forms always observed by the combatants of the period, being gone through, the conflict commenced with great fury on the side of Courtenay, and with equal animosity, but more deliberation, on that of Renard. As the latter was the most perfect swordsman of his time, he felt little doubt as to the result of the combat – but still the fury of the Earl was so irresistible that he broke through his surest wards. In one of these furious passes Renard received a slight wound in the arm, and roused by the pain, he forgot his cautious system, and returned Courtenay’s thrusts with others equally desperate.

Feeling that he was no match for his antagonist, who was evidently his superior both in force and skill, the Earl now determined to bring the combat to a close, before his strength should be further exhausted. Collecting all his energies, he dashed upon Renard with such impetuosity, that the latter was compelled to retreat, and his foot catching against the root of a tree, he fell, and lay at the mercy of his antagonist.

“Strike!” he cried. “I will never yield.”

“No,” replied Courtenay. “I will not take this advantage. Arise, and renew the combat.”

“Your courtesy is like your attachment, misplaced, my lord,” replied Renard, springing to his feet, and preparing to attack him. “Look to yourself.”

The combat recommenced with fresh fury, and must have speedily terminated fatally, if a sudden interruption had not occurred. Alarmed by the deadly nature of the strife, and thinking he should gain credit with the queen if he prevented any accident to her favourite, Xit no sooner beheld the swords drawn, than he ran off as swiftly as he could to the garden-gate, near the Lanthorn Tower, where he know Og was stationed. The giant did not require to be bid twice to accompany him; but grasping his immense halbert, hurried in the direction of the fight, and reached the grove just as it had recommenced.

The combatants were so occupied with each other, and so blinded with rage, that they did not hear his approach. Og, however, soon made them sensible of his presence. Bidding them in a voice of thunder lay down their arms, and finding himself wholly disregarded, he rushed between them, and seizing each by the doublet, hurled them forcibly backwards – swearing lustily that if either advanced another footstep, he would fell him to the ground with his partizan. By this time Xit, who had come up, drew his sword, and seconded the giant’s threat, adding with his usual coxcombical dignity, “My lords, I command you, in the Queen’s name, to deliver up your weapons to me.”

Upon this, he took off his cap, and strutting up to Courtenay, demanded his sword.

“What if I refuse it, sirrah?” said the earl, who in spite of his indignation, could scarcely help laughing at the dwarf’s assurance.

“Your lordship, I am assured, will not compel me to enforce its delivery,” replied Xit.

“I will not,” replied Courtenay, delivering the weapon to him.

“I shall not fail to report your magnanimity to my royal mistress,” returned Xit. “Now yours, worshipful sir,” he added, to Renard.

“Take it,” replied the ambassador, flinging his rapier on the ground. “It is fit that an affair so ridiculously begun, should have such a ridiculous termination.”

“It is not ended, sir,” rejoined Courtenay.

“You will note that, Magog,” interposed Xit. “His lordship says it is not ended. Her Majesty must hear of this. I take upon myself to place you both in arrest. Attach their persons, Magog.”

“This insolence shall not go unpunished,” cried Courtenay, angrily.

“Heed him not, Magog,” whispered Xit. “I am sure her highness will approve our conduct. At all events, I take the responsibility of the arrest upon myself – though I promise thee, if there is any reward, thou shalt share it. I arrived at a critical minute for your lordship,” he added, in an under tone to Courtenay. “Your adversary’s blade was within an inch of your breast.”

“Peace, knave,” cried Courtenay.

“Bring them along, Magog,” said Xit, “while I run to the palace to apprise her Majesty of the occurrence, and ascertain her pleasure concerning them.’

“Hold!” exclaimed Courtenay. “Take this purse, and keep silence on the subject.”

“No, my lord,” replied Xit, with an offended look, “I am above a bribe. Had your lordship – but no matter. Magog, you will answer for their peaceable conduct. I am off to the palace.”

And he hurried away, while the giant followed at a slow pace with Courtenay and Renard.

X. – OF THE CONFERENCE HELD BETWEEN BISHOP GARDINER AND LADY JANE GREY IN THE BEAUCHAMP TOWER

During all this time, Jane was kept a close prisoner in the Brick Tower, and neither allowed to hold any intercourse with her husband, nor to correspond with him. Heart-breaking as the deprivation was to her in the first instance, she became in some degree reconciled to it, on learning from her jailor, – who displayed as much humanity towards her as was consistent with his office, – that he bore his fate with the utmost fortitude and resignation.

Entertaining no hopes of mercy, Jane’s whole time was past in preparation for her end. Except the few hours of refreshment actually required by nature, every moment was devoted to the most intense application, or to fervent prayer. By degrees, all trace of sorrow vanished from her features, and they assumed a spiritualized and almost angelic expression. Lovely as she was before, she looked far more lovely now – or rather her beauty was of a more refined and exalted character. She was frequently visited by the queen’s confessor, Feckenham, who used every effort to induce her to renounce her religion, – but in vain. When told that the sure way to her Majesty’s favour would be to embrace the faith of Rome – she replied that, anxious as she was to obtain the queen’s forgiveness, she could not purchase it at the price of her salvation, and that the only favour she desired was to pass the brief residue of her days unmolested. Northumberland’s apostacy was a terrible shock to her. Feckenham brought the intelligence, and boasted of the convert the Catholic Church had gained.

“You may have induced the Duke to recant with his lips, sir,” replied Jane; “but of this I am assured, he died a Protestant in heart.”

“It may be so,” rejoined Feckenham. “He was hypocrite enough to act thus. It is enough for us that he publicly abjured his errors. And before long, others of his house will follow his example.”

“What mean you, sir?” demanded Jane, anxiously. “You do not surely allude to my husband?”

Feckenham made no reply, but with a significant smile departed. The insinuation was not lost upon Jane. And now she more than ever lamented that she was not near her husband, to strengthen his wavering faith, and confirm his resolution. Well knowing that his character in a great measure resembled his father’s, she feared that the inducement held out by his enemies might be too much for his resistance. Unable to communicate her fears to him – or to offer any of the counsel her heart suggested, she could only relieve her distresses by earnest supplications in his behalf. But even prayer did not on this occasion afford her the consolation it was wont to do. The Duke of Northumberland’s recantation perpetually haunted her; and the thought that her husband might be made a similar example filled her with inexpressible dread..

While suffering from these agonising reflections, she received another visit from Feckenham. The expression of his countenance, which was triumphing and sinister, alarmed her, and she almost felt unwilling, though at the same time anxious, to question him.

After enjoying her suspense for a few minutes, he said, “Daughter, you blamed the Duke of Northumberland for being reconciled to our church. What, if I inform you that Lord Guilford Dudley has been likewise converted?”

“I should indeed be grieved to hear it,” replied Jane, in a tone of anguish; “but I trust it is not so.”

“It is as I have said,” answered Feckenham.

“Heaven pardon him!” exclaimed Jane. “You bring me ill news, indeed. I had far rather you came to tell me the executioner was waiting for me – nay, that my husband was about to be led to the block – than this fatal intelligence. I thought our separation would be short. But now I find it will be eternal.”

“You are in error, daughter,” rejoined Feckenham, sternly. “You will neither be separated from your husband in this world, nor the next, if you are equally conformable.”

“Am I to understand, then, that his apostacy, for I can give it no milder term, has been purchased by an offer of pardon?” demanded Jane.

“I said not so, daughter,” replied Feckenham; “but I now tell you that his hopes of grace rest with yourself.”

“With me?” cried Jane, with a look of agony.

“With you, daughter,” repeated the confessor. “Much as it rejoices our pious Queen to win over one soul like that of Lord Guilford Dudley to the true faith – gladly as she will receive his recantation, she will pledge herself to mercy only on one condition.”

“And that is – ”

“Your conversion.”

“A safe promise, for her clemency will never be exhibited,” replied Jane. “Not even to purchase my husband’s life would I consent. I would willingly die to bring him back to the paths from which he has strayed. But I will not surrender myself to Rome and her abominations.”

“Your firmness, in a good cause, daughter, would elicit my approbation,” replied Feckenham. “As it is, it only excites my compassion. I am deeply concerned to see one so richly gifted so miserably benighted – one so fair so foully spotted with heresy. I should esteem it a glorious victory over Satan to rescue your soul from perdition, and will spare no pains to do so.”

“It is in vain, sir,” replied Jane; “and if I have hitherto repressed my anger at these solicitations, it is because feeling firm in myself, I look upon them merely as an annoyance, to which it is my duty to submit with patience. But when I perceive the mischief they have done to others, I can no longer contain my indignation. Yours is a pernicious and idolatrous religion, – a religion founded on the traditions of men, not on the word of God – a religion detracting from the merits of our Saviour – substituting mummery for the simple offices of prayer, – and though I will not be uncharitable enough to assert that its sincere professors will not be saved, – yet I am satisfied, that no one to whom the true light of heaven has once been vouchsafed, can believe in it, or be saved by it.”

“Since you are thus obstinate, daughter,” replied Feckenham, “let us dispute point by point, and dogma by dogma, of our creeds, and I think I can convince you of the error in which you rest. Do not fear wearying me. I cannot be better employed.”

“Pardon me, then, sir, if I reply, than I can be far better employed,” returned Jane; “and, though I would not shrink from such a discussion – were it useful, – and do not fear its result, yet, as no good can arise from it, I must decline it.”

“As you please, daughter,” rejoined Feckenham. “But I must own that your refusal to accept my challenge seems a tacit admission of the weakness of your cause.”

“Put what construction you please upon it, sir, – so you leave me in peace,” replied Jane. “I will fight the good fight when called upon to do so. But I will not waste the little time that remains to me in fruitless disputation.”

“Before I depart, however, daughter,” rejoined Feckenham, “let me deliver your husband’s message to you.”

“What is it?” inquired Jane, eagerly, – “and yet, I almost dread to ask.”

“He implored you not to be his executioner,” answered Feckenham.

“His executioner! – my husband’s executioner! – oh, no! – no! that I can never be!” cried Jane, bursting into tears.

“That you will be, unless you consent,” replied the priest, coldly.

“I beseech you, sir, urge me no further,” rejoined Jane.

“I would lay down my life for my husband a thousand times, but I cannot save him thus. Tell him that I will pray for him night and day, – and oh! tell him that his swerving from his faith has wounded me more severely than the axe will ever do.”

“I shall tell him that I left you in the same obstinate state I found you – deaf to the voice of truth – inaccessible to natural affection, and besotted with heresy. Daughter, you love not your husband.”

“Not love him!” echoed Jane, passionately. “But no, – you shall not shake my firmness. I thought to die calmly, and I looked forward to death as to a certain restoration to my husband. This hope is now at an end. It is you, sir, who are his true executioner. Not content with robbing him of his eternal happiness, you impute his destruction to me. Tell him I love him too well to grant his request – and if he loves me, and hopes to be reunited to me in the bonds of unceasing happiness, he will remain unshaken in his adherence to the Protestant faith.”

“Then you absolutely refuse compliance?” demanded Fecken-ham.

“Absolutely,” replied Jane.

“Your husband’s blood be upon your head!” exclaimed the confessor, in a menacing voice.

And without another word, he departed.

As soon as the door of her chamber was locked, and Jane felt herself alone, she threw herself on her knees, and was about to pour out her heart in earnest supplication for her husband, but the shock had been too great for her, and she fainted. On reviving, she was scarcely able to move, and it was some time before she entirely regained her strength.

Repairing to the palace, Feckenham detailed the interview to the queen, observing in conclusion, “I still do not despair of her conversion, and shall leave no means untried to accomplish it.” The next day, he again visited Jane, but with no better success. He found her in great affliction, and she earnestly implored to be allowed to see her husband, if only for a few minutes, and in the presence of witnesses. The confessor replied that in her present frame of mind her request could not be granted. But that if she showed herself conformable she should no longer be separated from him, and he would answer for their ultimate pardon. “I have already acquainted you with my determination, sir,” rejoined Jane, “and you will seek in vain to move me. The rack should not shake my constancy; neither shall the mental torture to which you subject me.”

When Feckenham reported the result of his mission to Gardiner, the bishop decided upon holding a religious conference with the captive, feeling confident that notwithstanding her boasted learning and zeal, he could easily overcome her in argument. To induce her to assent to the plan, it was agreed that a meeting should be allowed between her and her husband on the occasion. When the matter was announced to Jane, she readily expressed her acquiescence, and begged that it might not be delayed, as she had no preparation to make. “Take heed,” she observed, in conclusion, “lest I win back from you the treasure you have gained.”

“We shall add to it a greater treasure – yourself, madam,” replied the confessor.

On the following day, she was summoned by an officer of the guard to attend the Bishop in the Beauchamp Tower. Taking up a volume of the Holy Scriptures lying on a table beside her, and wrapping herself in an ermined surcoat, she arose and followed the officer – quitting her chamber for the first time for nearly two months. On issuing into the open air, the effect was almost overpowering, and she could not repress her tears.

It was a bright, sunshiny morning, and everything looked so beautiful – so happy, that the contrast with her recent sufferings was almost too much for her. Bearing up resolutely against her feelings, in order forcibly to divert her attention she fixed her eyes upon the reverend walls of the White Tower, which she was at that moment passing. Near it she perceived the three gigantic warders, all of whom doffed their caps as she approached. Og coughed loudly, as if to clear his throat; Gog hastily brushed the moisture from his eyes with his sleeve; while Magog, who was the most tender-hearted of the three, fairly blubbered aloud. Xit, who formed one of the group, but who was the least affected, bade her be of good cheer.

This encounter was so far of service to Jane, that it served to distract her thoughts, and she had in a great measure regained her composure, when another incident occurred, which had nearly upset her altogether. As she passed near the porch of Saint Peter’s Chapel, she beheld Simon Renard emerge from it. And if she felt her blood chilled by the sight of her implacable foe, her alarm was not diminished on hearing him call to her guards to bring her within the chapel. At a loss to comprehend the meaning of this mysterious summons, Jane entered the sacred structure. Coldly saluting her, Renard informed her that her husband was within the chapel. Trembling at the intimation, Jane looked eagerly round. At first, she could discern nothing; but, guided by the ambassador’s malignant glance, she perceived a figure kneeling in front of the altar. Instantly recognising her husband, with an exclamation of delight that made him spring to his feet, she rushed forward and threw herself into his arms.

After the first passionate emotion had subsided, Jane inquired how he came to be there.

“Do you not know?” replied Lord Guilford. “Or have you been kept in ignorance of the terrible tragedy which has been recently enacted? Look there!” And he pointed downwards.

Jane obeyed, and saw that she was standing upon a gravestone, on which was inscribed in newly-cut letters —

JOHN DUDLEY, DUKE OF NORTHUMBERLAND

– DECAPITATED AUGUST 22, 1553

Jane trembled and leaned upon her husband for support. “Here is the victim – there the executioner,” said Lord Guilford, pointing from the grave to Renard.

“Three months ago,” said the Ambassador, who stood with folded arms at a little distance from them, “within this very chapel, I told the Duke of Northumberland he would occupy that grave. My words have been fulfilled. And I now tell you, Lord Guilford Dudley, and you Lady Jane, that unless you are reconciled with our holy Church, you will rest beside him.”

With these words he quitted the chapel, and the guards closing round the captives, they were compelled to follow. During their short walk, Jane passionately implored her husband not to yield to the persuasions of his enemies. He hung his head and returned no answer, and she inferred from his silence, that he was not disposed to yield to her solicitations. They were now close upon the Beauchamp Tower, when Dudley, pointing to a barred window in the upper story of one of its turrets, observed – “Within that room my father parsed the last few weeks of his existence.”

Ascending the spiral stone stairs of the tower, they passed beneath the arched doorway, and entered the principal chamber – now used – as has more than once been observed – as the mess-room of the garrison. Here they found Gardiner awaiting their arrival, he was seated on a high backed arm chair between Bonner and Feckenham, who occupied stools on either side of him, while behind him stood the friar who had attended the Duke of Northumberland on the scaffold. Across one of the deep and arched embrazures of the room looking towards the south, a thick curtain was drawn, and before it, at a small table covered with a crimson cloth, on which writing materials were placed, sat a secretary prepared to take down the heads of the disputation. On Jane’s appearance, Gardiner and the other ecclesiastics arose and gravely saluted her.

“You are welcome, daughter,” said the bishop. “You have come hither an unbeliever in our doctrines. I trust you will depart confirmed in the faith of Rome.”

“I am come to vanquish, not to yield, my lord,” replied Jane, firmly. “And as I shall give you no quarter, so I expect none.”

“Be it so,” rejoined the bishop. “To you, my son,” he continued, addressing Lord Guilford, “I can hold very different language. I can give you such welcome as the prodigal son received, and rejoice in your reconciliation with your heavenly father. And I sincerely trust that this noble lady, your consort, will not be a means of turning aside that mercy which her most gracious Majesty is desirous of extending towards you.”

“My lord,” said Jane, stepping between them, and steadfastly regarding the bishop, “if I am wrong and my husband is right, the Queen will do well not to punish the innocent with the guilty. And you, dear Dudley,” she continued, taking his hand, and gazing at him with streaming eyes, “grant me one favour – the last I shall ever ask of you.”

“Daughter!” observed Gardiner, severely, “I cannot permit this interference. I must interpose my authority to prevent your attempting to shake your husband’s determination.”

“All I ask, my lord, is this,” rejoined Jane, meekly; “that he will abide the issue of the disputation before he renounces his faith for ever. It is a request, which I am sure neither he, nor you will refuse.”

“It is granted, daughter,” replied Gardiner; “the rather that I feel so certain of convincing you that I doubt not you will then as strongly urge his reconciliation as you now oppose it.”

“I would that not my husband alone, but that all Christendom could be auditors of our conference, my lord,” replied Jane. “In this cause I am as strong, as in the late on which I was engaged I was weak. With this shield,” she continued, raising the Bible which she carried beneath her arm, “I cannot sustain injury.” Advancing towards the table at which the secretary was seated, she laid the sacred volume upon it. She then divested of her surcoat, and addressed a few words, in an under tone, to her husband, while the ecclesiastics conferred together. While this was passing, Lord Guilford’s eye accidentally fell upon his father’s inscription on the wall, and he called Jane’s attention to it. She sighed as she looked, and remarked, “Do not let your name be stained like his.”

Perceiving Simon Renard gazing at them with malignant satisfaction, she then turned to Gardiner and said, “My lord, the presence of this person troubles me. I pray you, if he be not needful to our conference, that you will desire him to withdraw.”

The bishop acquiesced, and having signified his wishes to the ambassador, he feigned to depart. But halting beneath the arched entrance, he remained an unseen witness of the proceedings.

A slight pause ensued, during which Jane knelt beside the chair, and fervently besought heaven to grant her strength for the encounter. She then arose, and fixing her eye upon Gardiner, said in a firm tone, “I am ready, my lord, I pray you question me, and spare me not.”

No further intimation was necessary to the bishop, who immediately proceeded to interrogate her on the articles of her faith; and being a man of profound learning, well versed in all the subtleties of scholastic dispute, he sought in every way to confound and perplex her. In this he was likewise assisted by Bonner and Feckenham, both of whom were admirable theologians, and who proposed the most difficult questions to her. The conference lasted several hours, during which Jane sustained her part with admirable constancy – never losing a single point – but retorting upon her opponents questions, which they were unable to answer – displaying such a fund of erudition – such powers of argument – such close and clear reasoning – and such profound knowledge of the tenets of her own faith and of theirs, that they were completely baffled and astounded. To a long and eloquent address of Gardiner’s she replied at equal length, and with even more eloquence and fervour, concluding with these emphatic words – “My lord, I have lived in the Protestant faith, and in that faith I will die. In these sad times, when the power of your church is in the ascendant, it is perhaps needful there should be martyrs in ours to prove our sincerity. Amongst these I shall glory to be numbered – happy in the thought that my firmness will be the means in after ages, of benefiting the Protestant church. On this rock,” she continued, pointing to the Bible, which lay open before her – “my religion is built, and it will endure, when yours, which is erected on sandy foundations, shall be utterly swept away. In this sacred volume, I find every tenet of my creed, and I desire no other mediator between my Maker and myself.”