After some search he discovered the whereabouts of Cicely, and together the lovers, happy once more at being united, if only for a short time, succeeded in finding their way out of the dungeons.  As soon as they emerged into the open air they were arrested by the warders, and taken to the guard-room in the White Tower, where Cicely received a warm welcome from the three giants.  There was no time to relate their adventures before Renard appeared, walking before a litter upon which was borne the mangled body of Nightgall, who, in his attempt to escape the Spaniard’s sword, had been forced to jump from an embrasure of the White Tower.

The wretch was dying; but with his last breath he attempted to make some amends for all the evil he had done in his life.  Bidding Cicely come to his side, he told her that she was the daughter of Alexia, whose real name was Lady Mountjoy, and he gave her papers, proving her right to the estates of her father, Sir Alberic Mountjoy, who had incurred the vengeance of Henry VIII.

Renard, grateful to Cholmondeley for saving his life, secured his pardon.

Cicely also returned to the side of Lady Jane Grey, and watched the splendid fortitude and unswerving courage with which her unfortunate mistress prepared for the scaffold.  The day before her death her wish that Cicely and Cuthbert should be united was granted, and they were married in her presence by Master John Bradford, Prebendary of St. Paul’s.

At last Monday, the twelfth of February, 1544, dawned, and Lady Jane Grey was led out to the scaffold.  On the way she passed the headless corpse of Lord Guildford, being borne to the grave.  Cicely accompanied the beautiful girl to the last.  It was her hands that helped her to remove her attire and that tied the handkerchief over those eyes which were never to look on the world again.

Blindfolded, Jane groped for the block, crying, “What shall I do?  Where is it?”

She was guided to the place, and, laying her head on the block, cried, “Lord—­into Thy hands I commend my spirit!”

The axe then fell, and one of the fairest and wisest heads that ever sat on human shoulders fell also.

* * * * *

HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

The Improvisatore

Hans Christian Andersen was born at Odense, in Denmark, on April 2, 1805, the son of a poor bootmaker.  His life was full of exciting incidents; his early years in particular constitute a record of hard struggle, poverty and lack of recognition.  When nine he tried his hand at tragedy and comedy, and was sent, after his father’s death in 1819, to Copenhagen, where he engaged in various occupations with little success, until his talents attracted the attention of a few influential personages, who provided him with the means for continuing his studies.  He won considerable reputation with some early