Hour after hour passed; and at length evening came.
"Arthur," said Tom Rain, breaking a silence during which he had partially dozed, and now aroused by a sudden idea that had struck him,—"Arthur, I have a strange fancy—a whim, which I much desire you would gratify——"
"Name it, Thomas," returned the nobleman.
"I should like to see the evening paper," continued Tom Rain. "I need scarcely tell you that never again will the highways of this nor any other country be rendered dangerous by me—never shall this right hand of mine perpetrate a crime. My career as a desperate plunderer terminated this morning—on the roof of the gaol: from the instant of my resuscitation I date a new term of existence—new in a moral as well as in a physical sense. But I should like to see what is said of me in my last moments."
For an instant the Earl hesitated—but only for an instant; and Jacob Smith was sent to purchase the evening newspaper.
In due time he returned; and Rainford sate up in bed to read the account of his own execution!
"I am glad of that!" he exclaimed, as his eyes ran down the column headed with the awful words—EXECUTION OF THOMAS RAINFORD; and his countenance became flushed with excitement, as he read aloud, in a tone that trembled not in the least degree, a few of the sentences which seemed to give him pleasure:—"He underwent the dreadful process of pinioning with extraordinary courage"—"his footsteps were as firm as if anything save a scaffold were his destination"—"he ascended the stairs leading to the roof of the prison with steps that faltered not"—"the same dauntless courage sustained him as he mounted the fatal ladder which conducted him to the drop"—"nor did he once exhibit signs of fear; no, not even when the executioner descended beneath the platform to draw the bolt that was to launch him into eternity."—"Thus died a man who possessed a courage that would have rendered him distinguished had his destinies cast him in the profession of arms."
"For heaven's sake, no more of this, my dear brother," exclaimed the Earl, painfully excited.
"Burn the paper, Arthur," said Tom Rain, handing it to the nobleman, and then throwing himself back on his pillow. "I have seen enough—and never wish to read that narrative again. But pardon me for having given you pain; and think not it was any frivolous sentiment of vanity that made me desirous to peruse the account, or that excited me as I read it. I merely wished to convince myself that no injustice was done me, Arthur," he added, very seriously; "for, of all things, I abominate a coward; and I confess—it may be a weakness on my part—that I should not like my last moments to have been misrepresented. But let us talk no more on this topic—since it gives you pain. And now, by way of changing the conversation, I will tell you some of the plans I have shadowed out in my mind. Perhaps they may never be realized:—I hope they may."
Arthur had set fire to the newspaper by means of a lamp which was burning upon the table; and, having crushed out the expiring flames with his foot, he drew his chair towards the bed, to listen with attention to his half-brother.