"None," replied the young man. "I knew when I wrote my signature at the bottom of that page that I was signing my death-warrant. But I wanted to sleep."
"Have you any favor to ask before you die?"
"One."
"What is it?"
"I have a sister whom I love and who adores me. Being orphans, we were educated together; we grew up side by side, and have never been parted. I should like to write to my sister."
"You are free to do so. But at the end of your letter you must write the postscript that we shall dictate to you."
"Thanks," said the young man, rising and bowing.
"Will you untie my hands," he added, "so that I may write."
The wish was granted. Morgan, who had been the one to question him, pushed the paper, pen, and ink toward him. The young man wrote a page with a hand that did not tremble.
"I have finished, gentlemen," said he; "will you dictate the postscript?"