from Calais specially for her execution: "I pray you strike me well
and surely! I have, indeed, but a slim little neck." [Footnote:
Tytler, p. 382] Thus had the king clutched his hand about the neck
of Catharine Howard, his fifth wife when certain of her infidelity,
he had thrust her from himself with fierce execrations, when she
would have clung to him. The dark marks of that grip were still
visible upon her neck when she laid it on the block. [Footnote:
Leti, vol. i, p. 193]

And this dreadful twining of his fingers Catharine must now endure
as a caress; at which she must smile, which she must receive with
all the appearance of delight.

While he spanned her neck, he whispered in her ear words of
tenderness, and bent his face close to her cheeks.

But Catharine heeded not his passionate whispers. She saw nothing
save the blood-red handwriting of fire upon the sky. She heard
nothing save the shrieks of the wretched victims.

"Mercy, mercy!" faltered she. "Oh, let this day be a day of
festivity for all your subjects! Be merciful, and if you would have
me really believe that you love me, grant this first request which I
make of you. Grant me the lives of these wretched ones. Mercy, sire,
mercy!"

And as if the queen's supplication had found an echo, suddenly was
heard from the chamber a wailing, despairing voice, repeating loudly
and in tones of anguish: "Mercy, your majesty, mercy!" The king
turned round impetuously, and his face assumed a dark, wrathful