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Updated: May 16, 2025
The towers of Tyburn-gate rose a hundred yards away, empty now, but crowded this morning; and behind them the long road with the fields and great mansions on this side and that, leading down to the city in front and Westminster on the right, those two dens of the tiger that had snarled so fiercely a few hours before, as she licked her lips red with martyrs' blood.
"The hurdles came along here," he said; and Chris looked at him vacantly as if he did not understand. Then they were under Tyburn-gate, and the clump of elms stood before them. It was a wide open space, dusty now and trampled. What grass there had been in patches by the two little streams that flowed together here, was crushed and flat under foot.
Urging his steed along Oxford Road, as that great approach to the metropolis was then termed, he soon passed Marylebone Lane, beyond which, with the exception of a few scattered houses, the country was completely open on the right, and laid out in pleasant fields and gardens; nor did he draw in the rein until he arrived at Tyburn-gate, where, before he turned off upon the Edgeware Road, he halted for a moment, to glance at the place of execution.
It was here that they had suffered, these gallant knights of God; they had stood below these beams, their feet on the cart that was their chariot of glory, their necks in the rope that would be their heavenly badge; they had looked out where he was looking as they made their little speeches, over the faces to Tyburn-gate, with the same sun that was now behind him, shining into their eyes.
They were soon out again on the long straight road that led to Tyburn, for Chris walked desperately fast, paying little heed to his companion except at the corners when he had to wait to know the way; and presently Tyburn-gate began to raise its head high against the sky. Once the strange monk, whose name Chris had not even troubled to ask, plucked him by his hanging sleeve.
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