to be stayed, revoking the warrant, to the great disappointment of the good citizens of London, who had seen all the preparations made for the spectacle. Elizabeth soon after signed a fresh warrant, which, as the time of execution approached, she also revoked. Some historians attributed Elizabeth's hesitation to her feelings and to qualms of conscience—the duke, as she said, being so near a kinsman, and of such high honour; but others interpreted her proceedings as deep policy. She was determined to shift as much of the odium, of Norfolk's death from her as possible, and allow other parties to saddle themselves with the responsibility. It was precisely the course which she afterwards pursued in the case of the Queen of Scots.
House of Sir Thomas Gresham on Bishopsgate Street.
As she herself hung back, the preachers and the Commons took it up, and demanded the duke's death for the security of both the sovereign and the State. When the public excitement had reached its height, then the subtle queen slowly and reluctantly yielded, and issued a third warrant, which she did not revoke, for now it was become the act of the nation rather than her own.
On the 2nd of June, at eight o'clock in the morning, the duke was brought out of the Tower to a scaffold on Tower Hill, the drawing to Tyburn and all its revolting accompaniments being remitted on account of his high rank. He was attended by Dean Nowel, of St. Paul's, and Fox, the martyrologist, who had formerly been his tutor. He addressed the people, confessing the justice of his sentence, though he still denied all treason. On being offered a handkerchief to bind his eyes, he refused, saying he was not afraid of death; and after a prayer, he stretched his head across the block, and it was severed at a stroke. The people witnessed his death with great emotion, for he was very popular amongst them, being extremely affable and liberal. They looked on him with great respect as the descendant of the hero of Flodden, and the son of the gallant Earl of Surrey, whose head fell in the same place five-and-twenty years before.
The death of Norfolk had been pursued with eager avidity; but it was for the sake of removing him out of the way of the Scottish queen. She was the great object which they desired to come at, and to put an end to. The minds of the Protestant party were perpetually haunted by fears of the rising of the Roman Catholics, of the Scots, of the foreign powers, for the rescue of Mary; and both ministers and Parliament represented to Elizabeth that there was no stability for her throne whilst she lived. Elizabeth, however, replied, with an air of great magnanimity, that she could not find it in her heart to put to death the bird which had flown into her bosom for protection; both honour and conscience, she said, forbade it. But her wily minister, Burleigh, knew that she only wanted a sufficient pressure from the public; and he induced the two Houses to present strong memorials, urging the necessity of putting both the Queen of Scots and the Earl of Northumberland beyond chance of injuring her. Elizabeth resisted the demand for the Queen of Scots; but she yielded part of their request, and surrendered Northumberland to his fate.
We have seen that this nobleman had sought refuge in Scotland; and commands had been sent to Murray to deliver him up. Murray, however, avoided this disgraceful breach of hospitality; but, after lying more than two years a prisoner in Lochleven Castle, Morton, one of the most abandoned of men, one who had been deep in the murders of Rizzio and Darnley, now drove a double bargain, for the life and for the death of the earl. The Countess of Northumberland agreed, through
