otion in the corridors and chief chamber of the
guard-house.

"Where is the sheriff?" was the question asked on every hand.

Willy Ray was there, and had been for hours closeted with the
sheriff's assistant.

"Here is the confession duly signed," he said for the fiftieth time,
as he walked nervously to and fro.

"No use, none. Without the King's pardon or reprieve, the thing must
be done."

"But the witnesses will be with us within the hour. Put it back but
one little hour and they must be here."

"Impossible. We hold the King's warrant, and must obey it to the
letter."

"God in heaven! Do you not see yourself, do you not think that if this
thing is done, two innocent men will die?"

"It is not for me to think. My part is to act."

"Where is your chief? Can you go on without him?"

"We can and must."

* * * * *

The clock in the Market Place registered ten minutes to eight.
A pale-faced man in the crowd started a hymn.

"Stop his mouth," cried a voice from the roof of the shambles, "the
Quaker rascal!" And the men in blouses started a catch. But the
singing continued; others joined in it, and soon it swelled to a long
wave of song and flowed over that human sea.

But the clock was striking, and before its last bell had ceased to
ring, between the lines of the hymn, a window of the guard-house was
thrown open and a number of men stepped out.

In a moment the vast concourse was hushed to the stillness of death.

"Where is Wilfrey Lawson?" whispered one.

The sheriff was not there. The under sheriff and a burly fellow in
black were standing side by side.

Among those who were near to the scaffold on the ground in front of it
was one we know. Robbie Anderson had tramped the Market Place the long
night through. He had not been able to tear himself from the spot. His
eye was the first to catch sight of two men who came behind the
chaplain. One of these walked with a firm step, a broad-breasted man,
with an upturned face. Supported on his arm the other staggered along,
his head on his breast, his hair whiter, and his step feebler than of
old. Necks were craned forward to catch a glimpse of them.

* * * * *

"This is terrible," Sim whispered.

"Only a minute more, and it will be over," answered Ralph.

Sim burst into tears that shook his whole frame.

"Bravely, old friend," Ralph said, melted himself, despite his words
of cheer. "One mi