d in May 1616 the
young Countess was herself brought before the Lord Steward's Court to
avow her guilt. Somerset's daring nature made a more stubborn stand. He
threatened the king with disclosures, we know not of what, and when
arraigned denied utterly any share in the murder. All however was in
vain; and he and the Countess were alike sentenced to death.

If ever justice called for the rigorous execution of the law, it was in
the case of Frances Howard. Not only was the Countess a murderess, but
her crime passed far beyond the range of common murders. Girl as she was
when it was wrought, she had shown the coolness and deliberation of a
practised assassin in her lust to kill. Chance foiled her efforts again
and again, but she persisted for months, she changed her agents and her
modes of death, till her victim was slain. Nor was her crime without
profit. She gained by it all she wanted. The secret of her adultery was
hidden. There was no one to reveal the perjuries of her divorce. Her
ambition and her passion were alike gratified. She became the bride of
the man she desired. Her kindred filled the court. Her husband ruled the
king. If crime be measured by its relentless purpose, if the guilt of
crime be heightened by its amazing success, then no woman that ever
stood in the dock was a greater criminal than the wife of Rochester. Nor
was this all. The wretched agents in her crime were sent pitilessly to
the gallows. The guilt of two of them was at least technically doubtful,
but the doubt was not suffered to interfere with their punishment. Only
in the one case where no doubt existed, in the case of the woman who had
spurred and bribed these tools to their crime, was punishment spared. If
life was left to such a criminal, the hanging of these meaner agents was
a murder. But this was the course on which James had resolved, and he
had resolved on it from the first. There was no more pressure on him.
The rivals of Somerset had no need for his blood. The councillors and
the new favourite required only his ruin, and James himself was content
with being freed from a dependant who had risen to be his master. His
pride probably shrank from the shame which the public death of such
criminals on such a charge might bring on himself and his crown; his
good-nature pleaded for pity, and the claims of justice never entered
his head. Before the trial began he had resolved that neither should
die, and the sentence of the Earl and the Count