"I was admiring the steadiness of his hand," said George. "I own mine might have shaken a little in the circumstances."
It was very dark. A black fog wrapt the city in gloom, and the cheerless cold was intense. Barnabas Thorpe sat on the floor in a corner of the ward, with Jack's head resting against him.
The preacher had seen Death often enough in one guise or another. He believed him to be coming close,—not only to the poor soul he, Barnabas, was doing his best to support, but to himself.
Now he knew what his presentiment had meant; his horror of London was justified.
He sat facing the situation, with his lips set hard. He had always held his life lightly, and had risked it oftener than most men; but, all the same, he had a good healthy love of it, and would have liked to fight hard for it; and the disgrace touched him. The Thorpes had always held their heads high. Poor Tom!—and Margaret! A short sharp sound broke from his lips at that last thought. Could he let Margaret go?
"I say, do you think I'll cheat the hangman?" said Jack.
"I do," said Barnabas. "Do you want some water? How dark it is!"
He could hardly see Jack's face. The man was sinking fast, and the preacher was glad of it! For once, he had no desire to cure. Better that the poor fellow should die in comparative peace here, than watched by a mob outside; and on the gallows. After all, a man can die but once! He held the cup to Jack's lips; lifted him as tenderly as a woman might have, then laid him down again.
After all, a man can only die once! Yes,—and he can live on earth only once, to hold the woman he has chosen in his arms, and to win the sweetness of her love.