"Dying!" repeated the judge, "yesterday she spoke with the voice of one who had years to live. Perhaps she wishes to defer the sentence, which she well merits, by feigning illness. If she will not rise from her bed, bring her into court upon it!"
The officer departed, and shortly afterwards re-appeared, and informed the judge that the Abbot of Gloucester was standing beside the prisoner and threatened to excommunicate the first who presumed to remove her.
"Does he? Does he dare think to evade justice thus—this subterfuge shall not avail!" exclaimed Skipwith with vehemence, and then musing an instant, he continued: "No, this subterfuge shall not avail—I will constitute the cell of the criminal a court of justice for this occasion. Officers of the Court proceed. I go to pronounce a just sentence:" and then, rising from the bench, and preceded by his officers, he departed to adopt the unprecedented course of passing sentence in a prison.
When the door of the dungeon was thrown open, Skipwith started at the unexpected sight he beheld; but, instantly recollecting himself, he walked on, determined to persevere. Edith was lying on her back upon the mattress, her eyes half opened, and the ghastly seal of death impressed on every feature. Margaret and her husband were kneeling on one side, and the Abbot Horton and Father John standing on the other. A lighted taper and a box of chrism, which the monk held in his hand, told that the last sacrament of the church had been administered—a sacrament that cannot be administered to a condemned criminal.
Holgrave suddenly rose from his knees and withdrew to the farthest corner of the cell. Margaret continued to kneel, and raised her burning eyes towards the judge with terrified astonishment.
The abbot turned pale with rage as he beheld the somewhat abashed Skipwith enter.
"What! impious man! Do you thirst so for innocent blood that you harass the last moments of the dying! Retire, or I curse thee—depart, ere I invoke heaven's wrath on thine head!"
"Insolent priest!" returned Skipwith, in a suppressed tone, as his look wandered from the abbot to the distorted features of the departing. "I come, not as an individual to harass, but as a judge to fulfil the law."
He then put on the black cap and slowly commenced the sentence. The life that had seemed to have departed from the still and contracted form, rallied for a moment—the eyes unclosed and fixed on the appalled countenance of Skipwith; and, when the concluding invocation of mercy for the soul of the criminal fell tremulously from the lips of the judge, she, in a voice low but distinct, answered "Amen!" and then a slight tremor and a faint gasp released the soul of Edith.
"The Lord will have mercy on her, vindictive judge," said the abbot, "though you had none; but she is now beyond your malice, and the glorified spirit will accuse you of this when——"