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Show It was moving today. He left the road and crossed the grassy meadow before him. It was still cold enough for the grass to crunch under his feet. Somehow walking across this meadow reminded him of walking across a heath in Yorkshire. Of all his youthful days in Yorkshire, he loved and remembered best the days he spent on the heath. He thought of how Hannah had wanted to hold him home that day, but she it was who handed him his hat so he wouldn't miss the ferry. To him, her devotion was as constant and rich as a sweep of Yorkshire heath crowned with blooming heather. Did she know she was loved so much? The Stangate Ferry was lolling in the water. It was a horse ferry, but there was always room for an extra pedestrian or two. He was che last to board. The ferry moved slowly keeping rhythm with the fog. When it glided in to the King's stairs near Westminster Abbey where all passengers debarked, Lathrop hesitated then stepped off. Drawn by a sound of discordant voices, he rounded a corner and the scene came into full view. Among the usual hostile rabble who frequented executions there were some women and children and maybe twenty or thirty men. Those with troubled concerned looks were the obvious sympathizers of the victims; the others had a |
