been laid. He was a very gentle man, though melancholy; and, though a
good Protestant, troubled no man that was of another religion than
himself--neither Papist nor Independent.

But when I heard the people about me speaking in this manner, the name
of Sir Edmund came to my mind; and I asked a fellow that was tramping
near me, who it was that was strangled and where the body was. But he
turned on me with such a burst of oaths, that I thought it best to draw
no more attention to myself, and presently slipped away. Then I thought
myself of a little rising ground, a good bit in advance, whence, perhaps
I might be able to see something of what was passing; and I made my way
across the street, to a lane that led round on the north. As I came
across, in the fringes of the crowd, I saw a minister walking, in his
cassock; so I saluted him courteously, and asked what the matter was.

He looked at me with an agitated face, and said nothing: his lips
worked, and he was very pale, yet it seemed to me with anger: so I asked
him again; and this time he answered.

"Sir, I do not know who you are," he said. "But it is Sir Edmund Berry
Godfrey who has been foully murdered by the Papists. He hath been found
on Primrose Hill, and we are taking him to his house. I do not know,
sir--"

But I was gone; and up the lane as fast as I could run. All that I had
heard, all that I had feared, all even that I had dreamed, was being
fulfilled. The links were forging swiftly. I do not know, even now as I
write, how it was that Sir Edmund met his end, whether he had killed
himself, as I think--for he was of a melancholiac disposition, as was
his father and his grandfather before him--or whether, as indeed I think