As he entered the room in his black suit of clerical cut I had an idea that he dropped a carpet-bag in the passage—a bag containing the rope and straps by the aid of which he had taken the life of a fellow-being an hour ago; but he advanced towards me in such a pleasant way, and bowed so politely, that my dread soon vanished, and in a few minutes we were in the midst of a quiet chat on the subject of Peace’s execution.
Without, the snow fell thickly, and a piercing wind swept round the house, with an angry, stormy sound; but within the curtains were drawn; a bright fire sent its glow throughout the room, and now and then gleamed on Marwood’s face, making it look quite benevolent.
Seated by the fireside, conversing earnestly, we did not notice that the gentleman whose guest he was had tired of knocking, and entered the room to welcome his old friend.
Seeing him, Marwood immediately rose from the arm-chair in which he had been seated, and, bowing, said: “My kind regards. I pray that we may have happy lives, and that our work will be well done on earth.”
A rosy-cheeked, chubby-face boy toddled into the room as he was speaking, and, seeing the little fellow, Marwood patted him on the head kindly, and with a smile on his face said: “I hope you will make a very good man.”
A kind-hearted man enough, despite his profession, the executioner had promised me a private interview, and as soon as we were alone again he referred to the great skill he had attained in the science of hanging, and told me how Peace met his death.
“A firmer step never walked to the scaffold,” he said. “I admired his bravery; he met his fate like a man; he acknowledged his guilt, and his hope in God with regard to his future was very good.”
“But,” I asked, “don’t you think he feared death?”
“No,” replied Marwood; “during the seven years I have officiated as executioner I never met a man who faced death with greater calmness.”
“You mean to say then that he met his fate without a tremour?”