r to execution. It had been assigned to the curate of La
Chapelle to acquaint Count Hoorne with his fate. That nobleman
received the awful tidings with less patience than was shown by his
friend. He gave way to a burst of indignation at the cruelty and
injustice of the sentence. It was a poor requital, he said, for
eight-and-twenty years of faithful service to his sovereign. Yet, he
added, he was not sorry to be released from a life of such incessant
fatigue. For some time he refused to confess, saying he had done
enough in the way of confession. When urged not to throw away the few
precious moments that were left to him, he at length consented.

The count was drest in a plain suit of black, and wore a Milanese cap
upon his head. He was, at this time, about fifty years of age. He was
tall, with handsome features, and altogether of a commanding presence.
His form was erect, and as he passed with a steady step through the
files of soldiers, on his way to the place of execution, he frankly
saluted those of his acquaintance whom he saw among the spectators.
His look had in it less of sorrow than of indignation, like that of
one conscious of enduring wrong. He was spared one pang, in his last
hour, which had filled Egmont's cup with bitterness; tho, like him, he
had a wife, he was to leave no orphan family to mourn him.

As he trod the scaffold, the apparatus of death seemed to have no
power to move him. He still repeated the declaration that, "often as
he had offended his Maker, he had never, to his knowledge, committed
any offense against the King." When his eyes fell on the bloody shroud
that enveloped the remains of Egmont, he inquired if it were the body
of his friend. Being answered in the affirmative, he made some remark
in Castilian, not understood. He then prayed for a few moments, but in
so low a tone that the words were not caught by the bystanders, and,
rising, he asked pardon of those around if he had ever offended any of
them, and earnestly besought their prayers. Then, without further
delay, he knelt down, and, repeating the words, "_In manus tuas,
Domine_," he submitted himself to his fate.

His bloody head was set up opposite to that of his fellow sufferer.
For three hours these ghastly trophies remained exposed to the gaze of
the multitude. They were then taken down, and, with the bodies, placed
in leaden coffins, which were straightway removed--that containing the
remains of Egmont to the convent of Sant