er confessed that
he had received it from one John Felton, a Catholic gentleman who lived
upon his property in Southwark. Upon Felton's arrest (for he had not
attempted to escape) he confessed immediately, without pressure, that he
had affixed the Bull to the Bishop of London's gate; but although he was
racked repeatedly he would not incriminate a single person besides
himself; but at his trial would only assert with a joyous confidence that
he was not alone; and that twenty-five peers, six hundred gentlemen, and
thirty thousand commoners were ready to die in the Holy Father's quarrel.
He behaved with astonishing gallantry throughout, and after his
condemnation had been pronounced upon the fourth of August at the
Guildhall, on the charge of high-treason, he sent a diamond ring from his
own finger, of the value of L400, to the Queen to show that he bore her
no personal ill-will. He had been always a steadfast Catholic; his wife
had been maid of honour to Mary and a friend of Elizabeth's. On August
the eighth he suffered the abominable punishment prescribed; he was drawn
on a hurdle to the gate of the Bishop's palace in S. Paul's Churchyard,
where he had affixed the Bull, hanged upon a new gallows, cut down before
he was unconscious, disembowelled and quartered. His name has since been
placed on the roll of the Blessed by the Apostolic See in whose quarrel
he so cheerfully laid down his life.

News of these and such events continued of course to be eagerly sought
after by the Papists all over the kingdom; and the Maxwells down at Great
Keynes kept in as close touch with the heart of affairs as almost any
private persons in the kingdom out of town. Sir Nicholas was one of those
fiery natures to whom opposition or pressure is as oil to flame. He began
at once to organise his forces and prepare for the struggle that was
bound to come. He established first a kind of private post to London and
to other Catholic houses round; for purposes however of defence rather
than offence, so that if any steps were threatened, he and his friends
might be aware of the danger in time. There was great sorrow at the news
of John Felton's death; and mass was said for his soul almost immediately
in the little oratory at Maxwell Court by one of the concealed priests
who went chiefly between Hampshire and Sussex ministering to the
Catholics of those districts. Mistress Margaret spent longer than ever at
her prayers; Lady Maxwell had all she could d