The fact is that at that time Peace was in penal servitude doing the penitent business and winning a “ticket of leave.”
Peace, during his last days, frequently expressed the hope that he would be able to walk to the scaffold.
On this matter he seemed exceedingly anxious; for, courageous as he undoubtedly was, he imagined that if he had to be carried it would look as if he was a coward.
The impression of one who saw him at the time was that he was suffering from partial paralysis of the lower extremities—a result, it might be, of his terrible leap from the train on his way to Sheffield.
His general health had somewhat improved.
He had, from the very moment of his conviction, regarded his speedy death as inevitable, and now that the time was rapidly approaching he showed no fear, nor gave any indication that he was not to meet the last act of justice with composure.
The stealing of the portrait, by Gainsborough, of the Duchess of Devonshire will be fresh in the minds of many of our readers.
It will be remembered that the picture, which was valued at ten thousand guineas, was very cleverly cut from its frame one night, and that since then no tidings whatever have been obtained as to its whereabouts.
The robbery looked like such a one as Peace would commit—it was so cleverly managed, and the thief left no trace behind.
It is not unnatural, therefore, that he should have been regarded as the thief, and we believe he had been seen on the subject by two or three gentlemen interested in the matter.