sooner this is over, the better."

The gentlemen were then admitted: Lord Buckhurst grave, sad, stately,
and courteous; Sir Annas Paulett, as usual, grim and wooden in his
puritanical stiffness; Sir Drew Drury keeping in the background as one
grieved; and Mr. Beale, who had already often harassed the Queen
before, eager, forward, and peremptory, as one whose exultation could
hardly be repressed by respect for his superior, Lord Buckhurst.

Bending low before her, this nobleman craved her pardon for that which
it was his duty to execute; and having kissed her hand, in token of her
personal forgiveness, he bade Mr. Beale read the papers.

The Clerk of the Council stood forth almost without obeisance, till it
was absolutely compelled from him by Buckhurst. He read aloud the
details of the judgment, that Mary had been found guilty by the
Commission, of conspiracy against the kingdom, and the life of the
Queen, with the sentence from the High Court of Parliament that she was
to die by being beheaded.

Mary listened with unmoved countenance, only she stood up and made
solemn protest against the authority and power of the Commission either
to try or condemn her. Beale was about to reply, but Lord Buckhurst
checked him, telling him it was simply his business to record the
protest; and then adding that he was charged to warn her to put away
all hopes of mercy, and to prepare for death. This, he said, was on
behalf of his Queen, who implored her to disburthen her conscience by a
full confession. "It is not her work," added Buckhurst; "the sentence
is not hers, but this thing is required by her people, inasmuch as her
life can never be safe while your Grace lives, nor can her religion
remain in any security."

Mary's demeanour had hitherto been resolute. Here a brightness and
look of thankful joy came over her, as she raised her eyes to Heaven
and joined her hands, saying, "I thank you, my lord; you have made it
all gladness to me, by declaring me to be an instrument in the cause of
my religion, for which, unworthy as I am, I shall rejoice to shed my
blood."

"Saint and martyr, indeed!" broke out Paulett. "That is fine! when you
are dying for plotting treason and murder!"

"Nay, sir," gently returned Mary, "I am not so presumptuous as to call
myself saint or martyr; but though you have power over my body, you
have none over my soul, nor can you prevent me from hoping that by the
mercy of Him who died for me, my blo