He died with a
firmness worthy of his caste. Having laid his head upon the
block, the executioner brandished his axe in the air, and then
set it quietly down at his feet. Raising his head, Lord Stafford
inquired the cause of delay; the executioner replied he awaited a
sign. "Take your time," said he who stood at the verge of
eternity; "I shall make no sign." He who held the axe in his
hand hesitated a second, and then said in a low and troubled
voice, "Do you forgive me, sir?" To which Lord Stafford made
brief answer, "I do." Then he laid his head again upon the
blood-stained block. Once more the glitter of steel flashed
through the air, a groan arose from the crowd, and Lord
Stafford's head was severed from his body.
A reaction now set in, and gained strength daily. The remaining
peers were in due time liberated; the blood of innocent victims
was no longer shed; and the Duke of York was recalled. Such was
the end of the popish plot, which, says Archdeacon Eachard,
"after the strictest and coolest examinations, and after a full
length of time, the government could find very little foundation
to support so vast a fabrick, besides downright swearing and
assurance; not a gun, sword, nor dagger, not a flask of powder or
dark lanthorn, to effect this strange villainy, and with the
exception of Coleman's writings, not one slip of an original
letter of commission among those great numbers alledged to uphold
the reputation of the discoveries.
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