All eyes were now turned again upon Anne Askew, who, although every
one was occupied by her concerns, had been entirely overlooked and
left unnoticed.

Nor had she taken any more notice of the company than they of her.
She had scarcely observed what was going on about her. She stood
leaning against the open door leading to the balcony, and gazed at
the flaming horizon. Her soul was with those pious martyrs, for whom
she was sending up her heart-felt prayers to God, and whom she, in
her feverish exaltation, envied their death of torture. Entirely
borne away from the present, she had heard neither the petitions of
those who protected her, nor the king's reply.

A hand laid upon her shoulder roused her from her reverie.

It was Catharine, the young queen, who stood near her.

"Anne Askew," said she, in a hurried whisper, "if your life is dear
to you, comply with the king's demand."

She seized the young girl's hand, and led her to the king.

"Sire," said she, in a full voice, "forgive the exalted and
impassioned agony of a poor girl, who has now, for the first time,
been witness of an execution, and whose mind has been so much
impressed by it that she is scarcely conscious of the mad and
criminal words that she has uttered before you! Pardon her, then,
your majesty, for she is prepared cheerfully to retract."