of a human step, were a positive relief. "Well, Sir John!" exclaimed she, in a strange mood, whose hysterical excitement so often takes the semblance of mirth, "the executioner won't have much trouble with my neck,"—and she spanned with her fingers her slender and snowy throat. The governor was silent;—he lacked the heart to tell her that he was the bearer of her death-warrant. At that moment, a packet was given in for the queen. She snatched it eagerly; but her hand trembled so that she could scarcely break the seal.—A hope so dreadful, so desperate, that it was almost fear, yet lingered with her. She opened the scroll, and out rolled the ring, with the true-lover's-knot, which she had given to her royal suitor. She read the lines, with the calmness of despair;—they were as follow:—
"Henry Tudor returns to Anna Boleyn the ring which Lord Percy gave her."
"My fate is sealed!" said the queen, with a shudder. It was sealed indeed—for the next morning saw Anna Boleyn beheaded!
Note.—The above sketch was suggested by a visit to Sir Charles Farnaby's beautiful gothic place. It is in excellent preservation; and the romance of the past is only heightened by the refinement of the present. The variegated flower garden of the nineteenth century contrasts the straight turf avenue, with its wall of closely cut yew-trees on each side. It is called Anna Boleyn's walk, as it used to be the promenade of herself and Henry the Eighth. There is also the little gothic tower, with the trap-door covering the subterranean passage through which the royal lover passed.
