She stood leaning against the open door leading to the balcony, and gazed at the flaming horizon.

Her soul was with those pious martyrs, for whom she was sending up her heart-felt prayers to God, and whom she, in her feverish exaltation, envied their death of torture.

Entirely borne away from the present, she had heard neither the petitions of those who protected her, nor the king's reply.
A hand laid upon her shoulder roused her from her reverie.
It was Catharine, the young queen, who stood near her.
"Anne Askew," said she, in a hurried whisper, "if your life is dear to you, comply with the king's demand." She seized the young girl's hand, and led her to the king.
"Sire," said she, in a full voice, "forgive the exalted and impassioned agony of a poor girl, who has now, for the first time, been witness of an execution, and whose mind has been so much impressed by it that she is scarcely conscious of the mad and criminal words that she has uttered before you! Pardon her, then, your majesty, for she is prepared cheerfully to retract." A cry of amazement burst from Anne's lips, and her eyes flashed with anger, as she dashed the queen's hand away from her.
"I retract!" exclaimed she, with a contemptuous smile.

"Never, my lady, never! No! as sure as I hope for God to be gracious to me in my last hour, I retract not! It is true, it was agony and horror that made me speak; but what I have spoken is yet, nevertheless, the truth.

Horror caused me to speak, and forced me to show my soul undisguised.