ed Garnet, "is that professed by
the Church of Rome." Having ascended the ladder, he addressed the
people. He expressed in these closing words his grief that he had
offended the King, and that he had not used more diligence in preventing
the execution of the plot; he was sorry that he had dissembled with the
Lords of the Council, and that he did not declare the truth until it was
proved against him: "but," he said, "I did not think they had such sure
proofs against me"! He besought all men "not to allow the Catholics to
fare worse for his sake," and bade the latter keep out of sedition.
Then he crossed himself, and added--"Jesus Maria! Mary, mother of
grace, mother of mercy! Save me from mine enemies, and receive me in
the hour of death. In Thine hands I commend my spirit: Thou hast
redeemed me, O Lord God of truth!" Crossing himself once more, he
added--always in Latin--"By this sign of the cross, may all evil things
be dispersed. Plant Thy cross, Lord, in mine heart!" But his last
words were, "Jesus Maria! Mary, mother of grace!" Then the ladder was
drawn away, and Henry Garnet, the conspirator and liar, stood before
that Lord God of truth who will by no means clear the guilty. By
express command of the King, the after-horrors of a traitor's death were
omitted.

Three months after that sad close of life, the Tower gates opened
again--this time to release a prisoner. The Hon. Anne Vaux was bidden
to go whither she would. Whither she would!--what a mockery to her to
whom all the earth and the heavens had been made one vaulted grave--who
had no home left anywhere in the world, for her home had been in the
heart of that dead man. To what part of that great wilderness of earth
she carried her bitter grief and her name of scorn, no record has been
left to tell us, except one.

Thirty years later, in 1635, a Jesuit school for "Catholic youths of the
nobility and gentry" was dispersed by authority. It was at Stanley, a
small hamlet about six miles to the north-east of Derby, a short
distance from the Nottingham road. The house was known as Stanley
Grange, and it was the residence of the Hon. Anne Vaux.

So she passes out of our sight, old and full of days, true to the end to
the faith for which she had so sorely suffered, and to the memory of the
friend whom she had loved too well.

"O solitary love that was so strong!"

Let us leave her to the mercy of Him who died for men, and who only can
presume t