but the minstrel neither moved nor made sign, and then the door closed between them for ever.

Each clang of those bolts, each rattle of the chain, each grate of the key, and the minstrel's heart throbbed in unison. That door had closed upon the world—the world with all its pleasures and pains, charges, duties, cares; the world the minstrel had contemned so often, now in the solitude seeming so fair and glorious. Never more to see the sunshine, never more to feel the breeze, to watch the clouds sailing the heavens, witness the trees bud and bear fruits, the flowers blossom, never more see man.

How sad, how wretched to think of the poor prisonerhim shut up alone, and beyond even the hearing, as he is beyond the sight, of the world-sad, sad! through the obscure light of the day, the darkness of the night, no comrade to speak or listen to-a monotory of routine, that in long imprisonments must be horrible in its fulfilment-day and night, and the periodical visits of the gaoler; he, alas! preserving a regularity-sad, very sad! when the poor captive looks upon the first gleam of light that penetrates his cell, and longs over it, and thinks it the sunlight-perhaps it is to him; when man makes communion with mice, and starves himself upon his pittance, that he may have wherewithal to feed the vermin of his dungeon, and he be not alone.

And Smeaton turned from the thought of life to think of death. Death! to die unrepentant! true, it is no repentance, that when man cannot, to say he will not. It is no repentance, when the power is gone to sin no more; and yet, after a life of wickedness, men read the Bible for three months, and die in holiness, so the world says, not I. Oh! ye sinners, listen to a brother; repent while ye have timethink not that God's time and yours, one. Believe not that when you have blackened all your souls, a prayer "will wipe out all, and make them clean again." A thousand prayers, a thousand genuflections, will draw you no higher heaven. There is but one repentance; seek it nowhere in books, or in men's tongues, but in your hearts, and ye shall find it. Be ye sure of this, it will not deceive. Repent, repent. Contrition to the young; attrition is the old's.

But Smeaton's thought was not so much of repentance as of atonement. 'Twas not too late to save another. "Open, open!" shouted the minstrel, beating his fair, deli

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cate hands against the iron-studded door, till the blood ran down the panels. Open, open! I would say something ere I die. But a word! give me the liberty of a word! open, open! I will not die silent. Open, open!"

The door of that wretched chamber slowly opened; again the same falling and rattling of chain, drawing of bolt, and the heart of the minstrel beat even fiercer now, than when in hope he had listened to the same sounds. Sir William Kingston, the Lieutenant of the Tower, stepped across the threshold, and the door closed after him. The minstrel drew back, gazing upon him strangely; it was evident Mark knew him, and the position he held. With a shudder, Smeaton spoke

"You here?"

"Ay, Mark, I am here. Are you ready?" "To die?"

"To die."

The minstrel sat down upon the bench as overcome with weakness, his looks still upon the Lieutenant.

"Hear me, sir! a few words, and I am ready. A few words in charity, I will not keep you long. Nay, nay, bid them not come in." And Mark started from his seat to detain Sir William. "Oh! let me say what I have to tell

but to one ear. "Be brief, then."

"I am

-a woman!"

Then, as if to remove the doubt she knew must exist in Sir William's mind, from her previous character and position, and the charge brought against the Queen with her own assertion, she opened her doublet and exposed her bosom, her pale cheeks firing with the rush of blood that coloured breast, neck, face, and forehead, even to the roots of the hair.

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The Lieutenant started, muttering, "A woman, a woman; and they will slay the Queen for a woman. Well, and what matter? they want not guilt nor innocence, only blood!" Then addressing the minstrel, or Smeaton-for the surname suits a female as well as a male-he said, Alas, alas! woman, it will not save thee. I do not fear to tell thee, what I dare not whisper another-that rather than not slay Anne and wed Jane, Henry would lose half his kingdom. Thy sex would neither save thee or the Lady Boleyn, but

it would lose me to declare it. Cover up thy breast, for thou must die.”

“Oh! hearken to me-"

"Damsel, a word. Men's hands shall not be laid upon thee, so thou will but drink this potion;" and the Lieutenant held to the prisoner a little phial filled with a colourless liquid; “otherwise I must call them in are sworn to execute thy sentence. 'Tis a poor grace I offer thee, but more I dare not; even in this I overstep commands. Wilt thou drink?"

“Ay, when thou hast heard me,” said Smeaton, taking the phial in her hands.

"Then haste thee.”

"For my name it matters not, nor need I tell other but that I came of a good family. And when my mother died, the only parent that I knew, my guardians placed me for my education in a convent. Years passed, and I arrived at maidenhood, imbibing the while the superstitions, the rites, the ceremonies, the festivals, the mummeries of the Church. You hear me speak thus bitterly, thus scornfully, and yet the superstitions of my youth cling to me, and I shudder at giving names so little telling the whole wickedness I have known. As a novice I saw not the whole ménage of the house-who came, who went-but that some came and went, I knew, from signs and circumstances, too clear for woman to pass by and not see, still I judged nothing wrong. Perhaps the language of the sisters took a tone so deep, so passionate, ardent, loving, voluptuous, so anything but spiritual, that my cheeks reddened at times listening to them. And this in their address to the Deity, to the Son of God, whom they likened to a bridegroom. Sir William Kingston thou hast known the secrets of the nunneries, but not all. I will tell thee one thou hadst no whisper of." The Lieutenant answered not.

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Among the priests who visited our Lady's house was a young Benedictine. Upon me he fixed his attentions, and gradually, from questioning my studies, he entered into conversation of books, painting, music, things in which our convent abounded, and I was a proficient. Think you I found it not more pleasant converse with this man than to paint or embroider, or sing psalms, or read my breviary? I, a young girl, full of life, blood, and passions, think you I gave not

6

a more eager ear to the sisters' sensual descriptions of the Bridegroom and his coming? Alas! soon, and the Benedictine spoke to me in the mystical language of the sisters. Listen, shall I give you the words? they are graven in my heart: Dear sister, I will not add a hair's breadth to the truth; I speak before the God of my heart and of yours; each affection has its peculiar distinction from other affections; that which I bear you has a certain particularity which gives me infinite comfort, and which, to tell you, is extremely profitable to me. I did not mean to say so much, but one word leads to another, and I know you will give it the proper interpretation.' What other interpretation should a young girl give it but Love. What should she think when written unto, thus: 'I write to you before and after mass; it is of you I think at the communion; we do penance on the same day, and take the communion together, though separated.' What should she call this-but Love. A little while, and the monk spoke of the Bridegroom, the mystery I could not penetrate, but of which the sisters held the clue. Why lengthen my tale? Overpowered with sweet words, amorous thoughts, imaginings, the repetition of the Bride and Bridegroom, the chosen of the Deity. Alas! I was to become a nun, to take the veil, to wed Christ."

Smeaton paused, then looking down, and speaking in a hurried tone, she continued

"The chapel of our convent was lighted that night with lamps that shed a feeble light; perfumes burnt in censers, and the fumes made heavy the senses, while the clouds of vapour yet further obscured the scene. Music played, and, in an extacy, I knelt at the foot of the altar, doing my vigil, and in my exalted fancy waiting the coming of the Bridegroom. Midnight, and the music sweeter and more soothing played, the scents became overpowering, the lights fainter shone, and I-oh! I-oh! I-yes-the Bridegroom came, and he was a Benedictine! Ha! ha

ha!"

Smeaton laughed out hysterically, peal upon peal, till exhausted, she sank down upon the floor.

"Yes," said she rising, "it was the false monk that led me here. He personated the Bridegroom He it was. And I, alone-a woman-ha! ha!-but I loved him, and forgave, and became as woman ever becomes in the priest's hands-a slave body and soul."

"Hark you, Master Kingston," continued she, "while there are monks and confessors in your families-take your wife's children to you arms, nor scan too closely their features, nor your fancies; but take the bantlings to your bosom as you do take your religion, with the priest's blessing."

And the unhappy Smeaton, putting the phial to her lips, laughed out madly, "To the monks," and fell dead, without sigh or struggle.

XXXII.

GUILTY? OR NOT GUILTY?

The trial of the-so called-paramours of the Queen, came on in the second week of May, at Westminster Hall, by a commission of Oyer and Terminer. They were indicted, and the indictment found by two Grand Juries, in the Counties of Kent and Middlesex; the crimes they were charged with being said to be committed in both counties. It availed little, that the accused, Norris, Weston, and Brereton, asserted their innocence; they were pronounced guilty, and sentenced to be beheaded, which sentence was duly carried into effect on the 17th of the month. As for Smeaton, who admitted guilt, we already know his fate; little time being given him to recant. The walls of the dungeon told no tales, and Smeaton's secret went with his body, few knew where. Upon the scaffold Norris again proclaimed his belief in the Queen's innocency, and with Brereton and Weston, met his fate becomingly.

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The trial of Anne and her brother took place on the 16th, in the King's Hall of the Tower, a scaffolding being erected for the purpose. The Duke of Norfolk, being High Steward for the occasion, and presiding. Out of the fifty-three peers then in England, as we know from a summons to Parliament, issued shortly after this event, but twenty-six were constituted the "lords triers. Rochford was tried first, if trial it can be called, when the evidence was to the effect, that the Viscount had once been seen to lean over or upon the Queen's bed, and, it was stated, kissed her-some said whisper in her ear-and upon this evidence found guilty of incest. But "guilty" was the verdict recorded, spite of the able defence of Rochford-a defence not against the