ied you; and either lay it at Sherborne, if the
land continue [yours], or in Exeter Church, by my father and
mother. I can write no more. Time and Death call me away.

From his window overlooking the Castle Green, Raleigh saw Markham, a
very monument of melancholy, led through the steady rain to the
scaffold. He saw the Sheriff presently called away, but could not see
the Scotch lad who called him, who was Gibb riding in with the reprieve.
He could see Markham standing before the block, he could see the
Sheriff return, speak in a low voice to Markham, and lead him away into
Arthur's Hall and lock him up there. He could then see Grey led out, he
could see his face light up with a gleam of hope, as he stealthily
stirred the wet straw with his foot and perceived there was no blood
there. He could see, though he could not hear, Grey's lips move in the
prayer in which he made his protestation of innocence, and as he stood
ready at the block, he could see the Sheriff speak to him also, and lead
him away, and lock him up with Markham in Arthur's Hall. Then Raleigh,
wondering more and more, so violently curious that the crowd below
noticed his eager expression, could see Cobham brought out, weeping and
muttering, in a lamentable disorder; he could see him praying, and when
the prayer was over, he could see the Sheriff leave him to stand alone,
trembling, on the scaffold, while he went to fetch Grey and Markham from
their prison. Then he could see the trio, with an odd expression of hope
in their faces, stand side by side a moment, to be harangued by the
Sheriff, and then suddenly on his bewildered ears rang out the plaudits
of the assembled crowd, all Winchester clapping its hands because the
King had mercifully saved the lives of the prisoners. And still the
steady rain kept falling as the Castle Green grew empty, and Raleigh at
his window was left alone with his bewilderment. He was very soon told
that he also was spared, and on December 16, 1603, he was taken back to
the Tower of London. Such was James's curious but not altogether inhuman
sketch for a burlesque.

CHAPTER VIII.

IN THE TOWER.

It is no longer possible for us to follow the personal life of Raleigh
as we have hitherto been doing, step by step. In the deep monotony of
confinement, twelve years passed over him without leaving any marks of
months or days upon his chronicle of patience. A hopeless prisoner
ceases to take any interest in the pass