, and needed
a moment to collect himself.

Not as though wrath and passion had deprived him of speech. He was
neither wrathful nor passionate, and it was only joy that obstructed his
breathing--the joy of having again found a victim with which he might
satisfy his desire for blood, on whose agony he might feast his eyes,
whose dying sigh he might greedily inhale.

The king was never more cheerful than when he had signed a
death-warrant. For then he was in full enjoyment of his greatness
as lord over the lives and deaths of millions of other men, and this
feeling made him proud and happy, and fully conscious of his exalted
position.

Hence, as he now turned to Anne Askew, his countenance was calm and
serene, and his voice friendly, almost tender.

"Anne Askew," said he, "do you know that the words you have now spoken
make you guilty of high treason?"

"I know it, sire."

"And you know what punishment awaits traitors?"

"Death, I know it."

"Death by fire!" said the king with perfect calmness and composure.
A hollow murmur ran through the assembly. Only one voice dared give
utterance to the word mercy.

It was Catharine, the king's consort, who spoke this one word. She
stepped forward, and was about to rush to the king and once more implore
his mercy and pity. But she felt herself gently held back. Archbishop
Cranmer stood near her, regarding her with a serious and beseeching
look.

"Compose yourself, compose yourself," murmured he. "You cannot save her;
she is lost. Think of yourself, and of the pure and holy religion
whose protectress you are. Preserve yourself for your Church and your
companions in the faith!"

"And must she die?" asked Catharine, whose eyes filled with tears as she
looked toward the poor young child, who was confronting the king with
such a beautiful and innocent smile.

"Perhaps we may still save her, but this is not the moment for it. Any
opposition now would only irritate the king the more, and he might
cause the girl to be instantly thrown into the flames of the fires still
burning yonder! So let us be silent."

"Yes, silence," murmured Catharine, with a shudder, as she withdrew
again to the embrasure of the window.

"Death by fire awaits you, Anne Askew!" repeated the king. "No mercy for
the traitress who vilifies and scoffs at her king!"

CHAPTER V. THE RIVALS.

At the very moment when the king was pronouncing, in a voice almost
exultant, Anne Askew's sentence of d