“All right and regular, Wilcox, I suppose?” he said. “No mistake, eh?”
“No, sir,” said the constable, and he rapidly recounted the facts, and showed the revolver.
The governor nodded.
“Anything to say?” he asked of the prisoner, courteously.
“Nothing,” replied Faradeane, gravely.
The governor signed to a turnkey, and Faradeane was conducted to his cell.
As the lock sprang into its place with an ominous click, and he found himself alone, he started, and looked round like a man awaking from some hideous dream, and made a step toward the iron door; then he stopped, and, with a sigh, sank on to the prison bed.
“God give me strength to go through with it!” he murmured. “Let me remember it is for her sake! Oh, my darling, for your sake!”
CHAPTER XXVI.
“WILLFUL MURDER.”
The shades of evening fell upon the wedding day; the guests had gone, with one theme upon their lips; the village was all astir with excitement; the Grange was thronged with a hustling crowd, all talking of the tragic event which had fallen like a thunderbolt upon the marriage festivities.