“Ah, sir! all is changed when a prisoner is condemned to death. The rules that govern us in taking care of them are very strict. From the moment sentence is passed they are cut off from the living, as one may say, and have no more to do on this earth but to use the few days left to prepare for death!” said the warden, with a heavy sigh.
“Great Heaven! Anderson, do you mean to say that no friend may go to her to try to alleviate her sufferings through this horrible calamity?”
“Sir, the gaol chaplain will visit her. Two female turnkeys will always be with her; and by applying to the sheriff, you may obtain an order to see her, though even then only in the presence of others.”
“Oh, Eudora! Eudora! has it come to this! Oh, God! what a world of chaos and horror is this, in which the innocent are sacrificed and the guilty are triumphant!” cried Malcolm distractedly.
“But there is another world, Mr. Montrose, in which the ways of God shall be justified to man,” said the warden, solemnly.
“Aye, there is another! and thank God that this life which leads to it is short! A few more years of this mystery of iniquity—this whirling confusion in which truth is lost and good trampled to dust by evil, and each sinner’s or sufferer’s share in the madness of life will be over forever! Would to God it were over with that poor, sweet victim even now! Oh, would that she might never have waked again to consciousness of suffering here!” exclaimed Malcolm with impassionate earnestness.
“Mr. Montrose, you are dreadfully agitated. Pray come into my apartment and sit down, and try to compose yourself, while I go to the cell to see how she is doing and bring you word,” advised the warden, opening a side-door, and admitting his visitor into the office.
Malcolm paced up and down the floor with disordered steps until the return of the warden from his errand.
“Well, sir, how is she?” he hurriedly inquired as Mr. Anderson entered.
“Lying still in a deep swoon,” replied the warden.