CHAPTER XV
BARBARA LANISON IN TOWN
Londoners had crowded towards Tower Hill from an early hour, had seized
every point of vantage, or looked down from high windows and roofs upon
that little square of space which was kept clear and strongly guarded.
To a few, perhaps, it was mere sight-seeing, an excitement, a means of
passing a holiday; but to the majority it was a day of mourning, a time
for silence and tears. Ill-fated rebellion was to be followed by the
judicial murder of a popular idol. There had been tales current of this
man's cowardice. He had crawled at the King's feet, begging slavishly
for his life, had been willing to resign honour and liberty, his creed,
and his very manhood so that he might escape the fate awaiting him. He
had begged and petitioned for the intercession of every person who might
have the power to say a word in his favour. He had shown himself a
craven in every possible way, so it was said. This silent crowd,
however, had no certain knowledge of the truth of these rumours; they
might be, probably were, false reports to belittle him in the minds of
the populace. What this waiting multitude remembered was that James,
Duke of Monmouth, was a soldier of distinction and was doomed to die a
martyr for the Protestant faith.
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