CRIMSON PAGES:

A STORY OF THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY.
CHAPTER XVII.

ITH the first grey dawn of day there

commanded a good view of the coming spectacle, and beneath the window of one of these

in a stone the old city, waiting for the show. More women than men, women who laughed and chattered, none blither than the widow of Krautz the baker!

"This will be a pretty sight," said she, "for there is a woman to grace the burning, and that, you know, adds spice to the soup." She said it merrily, as if it were a good thing, and she to whom she spoke laughed too, and asked who was the woman.

Why who else but our neighbour over the way I never liked her!"

Nor I," was the answer, "and yet one scarcely knows why."

"No matter, she is one of the batch, and Hans will have a turn at the bakery."

"Pity 'tis not the runaway," said another woman standing near, a woman with a child, ""Twould have been a treat to see, if that had been so, but they say young Liebhart was dumb as a stone bishop."

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Young Liebhart was always as self-willed as a tyrant, but it will go hard with him this time, or I'll never change my name."

As they drew near the market-place the crowd began to thicken; a crowd of the worst class that had swarmed from the lowest quarters, and hustled and elbowed the better dressed who had also come to see the show, as if decent apparel was a crime against poverty. People were beginning to gather at the windows in the square, windows which

afforded a

place, and an elevation if needed, widow Krautz and her two companions took up their station.

"Mercy on us, hear the drums, the soldiers are coming."

And truly the town guard, in steel caps and buff coats, were seen approaching, Stumf at their head, beating the sheepskin, with a little too much energy some people might have thought, and looking flushed and anxious. the guard came on at a quick step, and took up their position in the market. There their first business was to clear a space, and in doing this, they were unsparing in the use they made of the butt-ends of their matchlocks. The arrival of the guard was amusing to those who sat at the windows, but less pleasant to those who stood in the market. They had evidently no good feeling towards those who deprived them of eligible positions, and insured to some of them no more sight of the spectacle than the broad back of a Dutch soldier and a wreath of smoke. Widow Krautz and her companions mounted the stone bench, and saw what was going on at their ease. Frosch stood near them, and straightway they addressed themselves to him.

"Sergeant Frosch!"

He was not a sergeant, but liked the title, and responded, what did they want with him. They wanted all the news that he could give them concerning what had been done and

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what was going to be done, and when and why, and more. And Frosch told them all he knew and a good deal that he did not. Presently there was the sound of cart-wheels, and the clatter of hoofs, and the crowd pressed forward and necks craned from the windows, as a heavily-built cart, broad-wheeled and heavy-laden, and attended by half a dozen fellows in the city livery rumbled into the square. The cart contained a quantity of timber, light brushwood, tar-barrels, and so forth, as for a bonfire, and two fellows in black sat on the shafts, and amused themselves, the one by whistling, the other by cracking his long whip at the crowd.

When the cart reached the centre of the vacant space kept by the town guard, Stumf sounded the drum, and beat lustily as the men in black and the civic officers planted five stakes in the ground, spread round them light brushwood and tar-barrels, affixed strong chains to each stake, and completed other necessary arrangements.

When this was done, the cart was driven away, and the crowd settled down and waited for the next act.

would bring discredit on him. How bitterly she wailed; the heart that had been untouched so long had been touched at last; and she was hopeless, helpless! Brightly shone the sun into the room, in the house of Stumf, where Martha sat with the Lady Elizabeth.

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Martha, I fear me, my presence here will bring harm to you!'

"An idle fear unworthy of you; think nothing of the kind. Stumf has not said so." "Oh, no; he is far too kind and good." Martha's face brightened. "He is both," she said; "I knew it many a year ago, I know it better now."

"Where is Stumf to-day?"
"On duty."

"What is there going on-a holiday?"
Yes."

"I must not deceive you, and yet if I tell you, what good end can it answer?"

"I can bear anything but this terrible suspense."

"He is a prisoner."

Elizabeth covered her face, after a moment's silence she asked

"Will they kill him ?"

"How can I tell? They are not, poor darling, too merciful, as you know well." "How long, O Lord, how long!" she breathed the prayer convulsively.

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Martha, I think I must see him." "Madness, child, impossible.”

At that moment a shrill voice called from below the window where they sat. "Martha, open the door, quick, quick, quick!"

Martha looked from the window, saw it was the idiot boy, motioned to him to be silent, and admitted him. He bounded into the room with a sharp ringing laugh but perceiving the Lady Elizabeth, stood silent.

Well, what is it?" this was Martha's question.

A bright, beautiful morning; for the blue sky sometimes smiles in the northern Venice, and the sun mirrors his bright face in the waters of the canals. On that morning the sun shone with unusual splendour, tipped with gold the ripple on each canal as it glided through the street, or was stirred by the passing of the heavy canal-boats; the Maas brightened into all the colours of the rainbow, and the trees along the Boomptgies cast an inviting shadow on the ground. The sunlight nowhere fell more brightly than on the beautiful cathedral; there casting itself through the stained oriel it fell in beautiful colours on the pavements, and made the tapers on the altar burn dim; it fell on a group of priests and incense-bearers, clothed in white, and on a cross-bearer, and others in grey dresses, chanting the morning prayers. And brightly fell the sunlight through the iron bars of a prison window, making a dial-plate of the stone floor, a gnomon of the grating, and marking the speedy flight of time towards eternity. It fell on the figure of young Liebhart, kneeling in the outer court of the cell in which he had been placed, and on the figure of a gaoler watching him as he knelt. Into many another cell and storeyard the sunlight "I'm a thief, Mistress Martha; ah! say peered that morning, and saw a woman sway- you so; see, I bring you what I have stolen ; ing her body to and fro in an agony of despair, there, I know what it is-it is the magic wand and two brothers talking as gaily as though that opens prison locks (can I read it, say you) they were going to their wedding, and an elderly-No, no, no-but I know, that no fool am I, man-Liebhart-stern, immovable, fearless, and a man who had wife and children twain to be widowed and orphaned that day. And the bright sunlight leapt gaily into the tortureroom, and flashed from the cruel engines like a thousand fairy lances; and penetrated through the curtains of the proud Meinheim's chamber, and saw him, cold, impassive as a stone, reading his breviary. And it glanced broadly into the chamber of Mistress Agatha, and saw her agony as she uttered her penitent cry; the chamber door had been fastened so that she could not stir forth, Meinheim had commanded it, the woman was mad, he said, and

He did not seem at first to hear her, so intently was he gazing on the lady, but after a little while he turned towards his questioner and said

I'm a thief."

Martha looked at the official paper he produced, and saw what it was at a glance. It was an order for the immediate release of young Liebhart. With this tempting document in his hand, signed by the President of the Council, Anselmo had exhorted the prisoner to make free confession; tell him all he knew of the lady Elizabeth, and this would pass him freely beyond the prison wallsrefuse, and torture and death must be his portion. And Liebhart had steadily refused, so the priest had taken away with him this passport to freedom; had detailed within

the hearing of the witless son of the tormentor what he had done; and, when opportunity served, the witless one outwitted the wise,-he had stolen the order and brought it to Stumf's wife.

"But, boy, what can I do with this?" "Let out the bird!"

Elizabeth leant forward, "what does he

mean?"

settled the question. "I will go to the prison," she said, "the gaoler knows me, and present the order." Elizabeth kissed her.

The boy stood by gazing with strangely thoughtful eyes upon them both.

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE crowd, greatest in the market, was very considerable around the main entrance to Martha told her, and her imploring look the block-house, when the hour approached

the man, with wife and children twain, who, almost mad with grief and terror, were in the crowd below to see him for the last time as he went forth to death; the key turns in the lock of the second cell, and Liebhart the elder steps forth firmly with an expression so full of holy enthusiasm and saintly heroism, that it is not forgotten by those who see it; cell No. 3 gives forth the cheerful brothers, they glance at their gaoler with a pleasant smile as if he had bidden them to a feast; the door of cell No. 4 is open, and two of the gaolers lead out a palefaced trembling woman, clothed with one garment only, with naked feet, her grey hair hanging loosely on her shoulders.

When the prisoners are all assembled, their hands are bound behind their backs. A procession was then formed, and passed down the corridor; pale faces appeared at the gratings, and now and again there were words of encouragement and blessing. The face of young Liebhart looked now, and there was passionate tenderness in the tones of his farewell.

Outside the prison walls the crowd is growing impatient, and the guards have more than enough to do to keep the peace. There is more laughter than lamentation amongst the crowd as the gates are at last thrown open, and the ghastly cavalcade comes forth; three tumbrils, and a body of the town guard on foot, with half a dozen or more mounted officials. There is a wild piercing cry as the third tumbril appears, and a woman with two children, regardless of the blows of the guard, breaks the line-the man in the cart sees them and cries, "Gently, good gentlemen; sure 'tis no great sin to say God be with you-my wife, gentlemen, my children.' Hans motioned to the fellow who led the horse, and the tumbril was for a moment stopped. The prisoner leaned over the side as well as his bonds would allow, and kissed his wife and children, and breathed a prayer, and then the cart was driven on again. Before one of the churches the carts are stopped again, while from the centre a group of priests emerge, and solemnly exhort the prisoners to recant and to repent. There is no inclination to do this, and the proffered mercy is refused; but the poor trembling woman shrinking from the vulgar gaze at the bottom of the cart, asks very feebly of the executioner, Will it be very long before we come to the market ?"

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On its way the procession has to pass by the house of Meinheim. Unlike the rest there are no faces at the windows, no signs of life; but just as the carts are passing a great cry is heard from one of the upper rooms. Liebhart hears his own name called, looks up only to see two feeble withered hands stretched from an upper window as in the act of benediction. It is very strange to him, but he has no time for speculation on the matter. The crowd becomes denser, the guards have the utmost difficulty to force their way, they are entering the market, and the wretched woman in the tumbril straining her eyes to see the place of death, meets the full glance of widow Krautz and widow Krautz's friends,-friends of her own in bygone days-they yell in derision, and mock her misery as she goes by.

Now, drummer, sound a rub-a-dub, and set a

good example to your fellows! More flushed is Stumf, and more excited. He has said to himself, drink will swim me through, nothing but drink; let me have a full tide and there is no danger-another stoop, and another. Frosch, towards you!

Out of the tumbrils are the prisoners taken, ranged in a row while they are again exhorted to recant and to repent. The people soon grow weary of this; they have come to see a bonfire and not to hear a sermon; as for the prisoners they are all brave, even the poor trembling woman crouching beside the brothers gives her answer firmly. We are going to sup in Paradise, sir priest," says Liebhart, "and it were well we began the journey."

The priest responds that the gate of Paradise will never be opened for those accursed and outcast of the Church; that terrors and trials of which the earthly fire they are to taste is but the symbol, will be their portion for ever and ever, and Liebhart answers:

'Judge not, that ye be not judged; for with what judgment ye judge, ye shall be judged; with what measure ye mete, it shall be measured to you again."

Then Hans and his assistants bind each one to a stake and pile, and strew bundles of faggots, brushwood, and small timber; and when they have completed their work, the prisoners as by consent began to sing a hymn of confidence in God-a song of triumph; and the executioners kindle the flames.

"Now, drummer, beat the tattoo, and drown the howling." So says the Captain of the Guard; and Stumf, staring steadfastly at the wreathing smoke and snake-like streak of fire, answers nothing.

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Dolt, did'st hear? Shall we never get to the end of this screeching psalmody ?" "They will call it by another name in Heaven."

The Captain of the Guard looked down at Stumf from his saddle as if he thought him mad.

Why, how now! marry it were well to send thee at the end of a long cord to make sure of your words. Beat the drum and be silent."

Stumf unloosed the girths which fastened the drum to his body, and cast it on the ground.

"I shall not beat the drum," he said, "and I will not be silent; this day's work has settled the matter, and when those saints are in glory this day's work will have to be accounted for. Ah! sing, blessed saints; sing bravely, master Liebhart, sing the grand song, oh, dear perishing, murdered, martyred men, offer a small prayer for a great sinner!"

"Are you mad or drunk?"

"Both: but if I was sober and sensible, I would say what I have said now."

The crowd, near enough to hear what occured, laughed and applauded, but the general interest was centered on the fire. The flames, which for some minutes caught slowly and burnt low, now burst into one bright clear pyramid of fire; the guards and the people were forced further back, for the heat was intolerable; but above the roar of the fire they still heard voices singing, and some said it was the prisoners, and some said it was the angels who carried them away.