A stifled
cry, like one immense groan rose from below--above in the reek and
blaze all was silent. But from out that fire I saw--yes, and
another saw it too (an English soldier, rushing to add a faggot to
the pyre, a token of his hate to the Maid), and it so wrought upon
him that he dropped his burden, fell upon his knees and was like to
die of the fear--I saw a white dove rise from the smoke wreaths of
that ghastly pile, hover a moment, just touched by the glare of the
fire, and then dart heavenwards as upon eagle's wings.
Yes, I saw it. To the day of my death will I swear it. I saw what
she had seen in vision long ago; and upon my heart there fell a
strange sense of peace and calm. It had not hurt her--it had been
as she once said. Her saints had been with her to the end. She had
triumphed. All was well. Called of her Country, she had answered
nobly to the call. Her Country had awarded her a fiery death; but
in that fiery chariot she had ascended to the Lord, in whom she
trusted, hereafter to receive the crown of glory that fadeth not
away.
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