Somewhere, perhaps, in the crowd was Susan, weeping and praying for her man. When the search-light passed Bertram stared closely at some of the women’s faces, but did not see his sister, though more than once his heart gave a thump because he thought some girl was like her. The light of dawn crept into the sky, above the prison walls. Presently a silver streak broke through the black clouds. The crowd perceived it, and because the hour of execution was coming near, the wail of the women rose louder, with greater anguish.
“Christ have mercy on him!”
“Lord have mercy on him!”
A bell began to toll. Bertram could see it wagging to and fro in the turret of a chapel above the prison wall.
A priest stood up on a box, or some small platform, and spoke some words to the crowd, which Bertram failed to hear. Somewhere in the crowd a woman shrieked, and then was hushed down. All heads were bowed, and a dreadful hush came upon them for what seemed like a long time to Bertram, before the patter of prayers rose again. The dawn was creeping up, and the sky was grey, and rain began to fall.
Bertram was conscious of stones cutting into his knees. He was faint with hunger, and felt a little sick. He found himself trembling, and a cold sweat broke upon his forehead.
Dennis O’Brien! Susan’s husband!
What year was this? 1921! Nineteen hundred and twenty one years in the Christian era! After the Great War. . . . Civilisation! . . . Peace! . . . The Self-Determination of Peoples! . . . Liberty! . . . What was Joyce doing? . . . What was all this tragedy called Life? . . . Where was God? . . . Where was Susan in the crowd? . . . Oh, Christ!
The silver streak broadened, and the top of the prison wall was clear cut against the sky.
The bell tolled. A strange deep sigh came from the crowd. The bell stopped tolling. Above the prison wall a little black square fluttered.