o her throne.
For she was one of Christ's martyrs, and sat upon His throne with Him.

She spoke very little on the scaffold; only saying that "though she had
consented unto the setting up of herself against the Queen's Highness,
yet was she innocent of all procurement or desire thereof: and that she
died a true Christian woman, looking for eternal life unto the passion
of Jesus Christ only, and to none other; and she thanked God, that had
given her space to repent; for when she was younger, and did know the
word of God, she had neglected the same, and had loved her own self and
the world." And then she said to Dr Feckenham, "Shall I say this
Psalm?"

Feckenham--a man of the Jesuitical type, renowned for the softness and
sweetness of his manners--bowed assent. Then the victim prayed through
the Fifty-first Psalm, and prepared herself for the sacrifice. The
hangman knelt down and asked her forgiveness: she replied, "Most
willingly," and "I pray you, despatch me quickly. Will you take it off
before I lay me down?" Poor child! The executioner was the one who
dealt with her most gently and respectfully. He said, "No, Madam." So
she handed her gloves to one of her women, and her book to Sir John
Bridges, and tied the handkerchief over her eyes. Feeling about with
her hands for the block, she said,--"What shall I do? Where is it?
Where is it?" One of the bystanders guided her hand to it. Then she
laid down her head; and saying, "Lord, into Thy hands I commend my
spirit!" her head fell with one stroke. She was out of Philip's way
now. And the angels of God, for whose company she exchanged a society
somewhat less angelic, were not so likely to account her in their way.

A fearful day was that from dawn to dusk. Half an hour after the
execution of Lady Jane, Lord Courtenay (but a few days before made Earl
of Devon) was brought into the Tower; he would not declare the cause of
his coming there, saying he could not tell; "but," added he, "let the
world judge." All the evening the noise of hammers was going in the
City, for the gallows were set up everywhere. There was one at every
gate of the City, and at the bridge-foot one; four in Southwark, one at
Leadenhall two in Cheapside, six or eight in Fleet Street and Charing
Cross--nor were these all.

Throughout London all the prisons were so full that the less important
prisoners were kept in the churches, by eighty in a group. Dr Thorpe
said, "If they hang all t