"Half-past three."
"And what time to-morrow?"
"Early. I don't know the exact hour."
"Is it known outside—I mean, does the world know?"
"I don't know; I expect so."
"Ah," said Paul. "She will come to-night; so will he. But mother cannot come—no, of course she cannot come; but I am glad she knows nothing."
"My brother," said the chaplain, "may I not speak to you about higher things? Remember that in a few hours——"
"Stop!" said Paul. "It's good of you to come, and I'm afraid that in the past I've sometimes spoken rudely to you. I have regarded you as one who has done his duty, just as the warders have done theirs; and just as they are paid to lock the door upon me and bring me food at stated intervals, so you've been paid to utter your shibboleths and to say your prayers. But perhaps you've meant all right. Still, nothing that you can say would help me. I have no confession to make to you, not a word, except that I adhere to what I said in the courts: I am absolutely innocent of this murder. There's no crime on my soul!"
"But are you ready to meet your God?" said the chaplain.
"Pardon me," said Paul, and his voice quivered with emotion, "but that's a subject too sacred to talk about. Hark! what's that?"