eemed like some amends to her conscience
for having slept through so many hours of the night if she made the
attempt. She went up to the porter's lodge, and asked the little girl
sweeping out the place if she might see Abraham Dixon. The child stared
at her, and ran into the house, bringing out her father, a great burly
man, who had not yet donned either coat or waistcoat, and who,
consequently, felt the morning air as rather nipping. To him Ellinor
repeated her question.

"Him as is to be hung come Saturday se'nnight? Why, ma'am, I've nought
to do with it. You may go to the governor's house and try; but, if
you'll excuse me, you'll have your walk for your pains. Them in the
condemned cells is never seen by nobody without the sheriff's order. You
may go up to the governor's house and welcome; but they'll only tell you
the same. Yon's the governor's house."

Ellinor fully believed the man, and yet she went on to the house
indicated, as if she still hoped that in her case there might be some
exception to the rule, which she now remembered to have heard of before,
in days when such a possible desire as to see a condemned prisoner was
treated by her as a wish that some people might have, did have--people as
far removed from her circle of circumstances as the inhabitants of the
moon. Of course she met with the same reply, a little more abruptly
given, as if every man was from his birth bound to know such an obvious
regulation.

She went out past the porter, now fully clothed. He was sorry for her
disappointment, but could not help saying, with a slight tone of
exultation: "Well, you see I was right, ma'am!"

She walked as nearly round the castle as ever she could, looking up at
the few high-barred windows she could see, and wondering in what part of
the building Dixon was confined. Then she went into the adjoining
churchyard, and sitting down upon a tombstone, she gazed idly at the view
spread below her--a view which was considered as the lion of the place,
to be shown to all strangers by the inhabitants of Hellingford. Ellinor
did not see it, however; she only saw the blackness of that fatal night,
the hurried work--the lanterns glancing to and fro. She only heard the
hard breathing of those who are engaged upon unwonted labour; the few
hoarse muttered words; the swaying of the branches to and fro. All at
once the church clock above her struck eight, and then pealed out for
distant labourers to cease their