“The execution is set for the week beginning the fifth,” she continued, in the same hollow, mechanical voice. “My God—that’s next Monday!”
She had risen now and was pacing the room.
“No! I’m not going to faint. I wish I could. I wish I could cry. I wish I could do something. Oh, those Elmores—they must have sent it. No one would have been so cruel but they.”
She stopped and gazed wildly out of the window at the prison. Neither of us knew what to say for the moment.
“Many times from this window,” she cried, “I have seen a man walk out of that prison gate. I always watch to see what he does, though I know it is no use. If he stands in the free air, stops short, and looks up suddenly, taking a long look at every house—I hope. But he always turns for a quick, backward look at the prison and goes half running down the hill. They always stop in that fashion, when the steel door opens outward. Yet I have always looked and hoped. But I can hope no more—no more. The last chance is gone.”
“No—not the last chance,” exclaimed Craig, springing to her side lest she should fall. Then he added gently, “You must come with me to East Point—immediately.”
“What—leave him here—alone—in the last days? No—no—no. Never. I must see him. I wonder if they have told him yet.”
It was evident that she had lost faith in Kennedy, in everybody, now.
“Mrs. Godwin,” he urged. “Come—you must. It is a last chance.”
Eagerly he was pouring out the story of the discovery of the afternoon by the little detectascope.