.

It had grown late; lights were brought in and placed before the judge,
upon whose scarlet robes and pale, agitated face they flickered
strangely in the draught from an open window at the back of the
court-house. The greater part of the building was in shadow; here and
there a chance ray of light rested on one or two in a row of raised
faces, and threw some insignificant countenance into startling temporary
distinctness. A breathless hush pervaded the whole room. Every eye was
fixed on the central figures of the scene--on the criminal as he stood
with hands still grasping the side of the dock, his head defiantly
raised, his shoulders braced as if to support a blow; on the judge,
whose pale features quivered with emotion as he donned the black cap and
uttered the fatal words which condemned Andrew Westwood to meet death by
the hangman's hand.

"And may the Lord have mercy upon your soul!"

The words were scarcely spoken before a loud scream rang through the
hall. Westwood turned round sharply; his eyes roved anxiously over the
throng of faces, and seemed to pierce the gloom that had gathered about
the benches in the background. He saw a little group of persons gathered
about the body of a child whom they were carrying into the fresh air. It
was his own little daughter who had cried out and fainted at the sound
of those fateful words.

The prisoner was instantly removed by two warders; but it was noted that
before he left the dock he threw up his hands as if in a wild gesture of
supplication to the heavens that would not hear. He made eager inquiries
of the warders as to the welfare of his child; and it was perhaps owing
to the compassion of one of them that the chaplain came to him an hour
later in his cell with news of her. She was better, she was in the hands
of kindly women who would take care of her, and she would come to see
her father by-and-bye. A convulsive twitch passed over Andrew's face.

"No, no," he said; "I don't want to see her. What good would that do?"

The chaplain, a kindly man whose sensibilities were not yet blunted by
the painful scenes through which he had constantly to pass, uttered a
word of remonstrance.

"Surely," he said, "you would like to see her again? She seems to love
you dearly."

"I'm not saying that I don't love her myself," said the man, turning
away his face. Then, after a moment's pause, and in a stifled
voice--"She's dearer to me than the apple of my eye. And that's wher