nute, and we shall meet again. Bravely, then, and
fear not."

Sim was struggling to regain composure. He succeeded. His tears were
gone, but a wild look came into his face. Ralph dreaded this more than
tears.

"Be quiet, Sim," he whispered; "be still, and say no word."

The under sheriff approached Ralph.

"Have you any statement to make?" he said.

"None."

"Nor you?" said the officer, turning to Ralph's companion.

Sim was trying to overcome his emotion.

"He has nothing to say," said Ralph quietly. Then he whispered again
in Sim's ear, "Bravely."

Removing his arm from Sim's convulsive grasp, he threw off his long
coat. At that moment the bleared sun lit up his lifted face. There was
a hush of awe.

Then, with a frantic gesture, Sim sprang forward, and seizing the arm
of the under sheriff, he cried hysterically,--

"Ay, but I _have_ something to say. He is innocent--take me back and
let me prove it--he is innocent--it's true--it's true--I say it's
true--let me prove it."

With a face charged with sorrow, Ralph walked to Sim and said, "One
moment more and we had clasped hands in heaven."

* * * * *

But now there was a movement at the back. The sheriff himself was seen
stepping from the window to the scaffold. He was followed by Willy Ray
and John Jackson. Two women stood together behind, Rotha and Mrs.
Garth.

Willy came forward and fell on his brother's neck.

"God has had mercy upon us," he cried, amid a flood of tears.

Ralph looked amazed. The sheriff said something to him which he did
not hear. The words were inaudible to the crowd, but the quick
sympathy of the great heart of the people caught the unheard message.

"A reprieve! a reprieve!" shouted fifty voices.

A woman fainted at the window behind. It was Rotha.

The two men were led off with staring eyes. They walked like men in a
dream.

Saved! saved! saved!

Then there went up a mighty shout. It was one vast voice, more loud
than the blast on the mountains, more deep than the roar of the sea!

CHAPTER LI. SIX MONTHS AFTER.

It was the height of a Cumbrian summer. Bracken Mere was as smooth as
a sheet of glass. The hills were green, gray, and purple to the
summits, and their clear outlines stood out against the sky. The sky
itself would have been cloudless but for one long scarf of plaited
white which wore away across a lake of blue. The ghyll fell like a
furled flag. The thin river und