and see, at any rate, a
little better than his neighbours. He had perceived one thing
instantly--namely, that his dream of getting near enough to the Queen to
give her absolution before her death was an impossible one. He had known
since yesterday that the execution was to take place in the hall, and
here was he, within the court certainly, yet as far as possible away
from where he most desired to be.

* * * * *

The last two days had gone by in a horror that there is no describing.
All the hours of them he had passed at his parlour window, waiting
hopelessly for the summons which never came. John Merton had gone to the
castle and come back, each time with more desolate news. There was not a
possibility, he said, when the news was finally certified, of getting a
place in the hall. Three hundred gentlemen had had those places already
assigned; four or five hundred more, it was expected, would have space
reserved for them in the courtyard. The only possibility was to be early
at the gateway, since a limited number of these would probably be
admitted an hour or so before the time fixed for the execution.

The priest had seen many sights from his parlour window during those two
days.

On Monday he had seen, early in the morning, Mr. Beale ride out with his
men to go to my lord Shrewsbury, who was in the neighbourhood, and had
seen him return in time for dinner, with a number of strangers, among
whom was an ecclesiastic. On inquiry, he found this to be Dr. Fletcher,
Dean of Peterborough, who had been appointed to attend Mary both in her
lodgings and upon the scaffold. In the afternoon the street was not
empty for half an hour. From all sides poured in horsemen; gentlemen
riding in with their servants; yeomen and farmers come in from the
countryside, that they might say hereafter that they had at least been
in Fotheringay when a Queen suffered the death of the axe. So the dark
had fallen, yet lights moved about continually, and horses' hoofs never
ceased to beat or the voices of men to talk. Until he fell asleep at
last in his window-seat, he listened always to these things; watched
the lights; prayed softly to himself; clenched his nails into his hands
for indignation; and looked again. On the Tuesday morning came the
sheriff, to dine at the castle with Sir Amyas--a great figure of a man,
dignified and stalwart, riding in the midst of his men. After dinner
came the Earl of Kent, and, last o