No one steps forward to oppose the act. The ruffian, bristling with bowie-knife and pistols, has it all to himself or, rather, is he assisted by a scoundrel of the same kidney—one of the ci-devant guards of the prisoner.
The spectators stand aside, or look tranquilly upon the proceedings. Most express a mute approval—some encouraging the executioners with earnest vociferations of “Up with him! Hang him!”
A few seem stupefied by surprise; a less number show sympathy; but not one dares to give proof of it, by taking part with the prisoner.
The rope is around his neck—the end with the noose upon it. The other is being swung over the sycamore.
“Soon must the soul of Maurice Gerald go back to its God!”
Chapter Sixty Four.
A Series of Interludes.
“Soon the soul of Maurice Gerald must go back to its God!”