A hush fell on the women when Stowell stepped out of the railway carriage, but as he made his way to his dog-cart at the gate, he heard one of them say,
"It's a wicked shame! But you'll be with the poor bogh at the end and that will comfort her."
A kind of savage pride had taken possession of Stowell.
"Not yet! Not yet!" he thought.
The law was wrong, therefore it was right to resist the law. It was more than right—it was a kind of sacred duty.
II
From that time forward the Judge went about like a criminal.
He stayed at home the following day to think out his plans. All his schemes revolved about Castle Rushen. The great, grey, bastioned fortress—how was he to get the prisoner out of it?
His first idea was to use the jailer, who was a simple soul and had obligations to his family. But he abandoned this thought rather from fear of the old man's garrulous tongue than from qualms of conscience.
It was Tuesday, and Bessie's execution had been fixed for the Monday following, but the day passed without bringing any better thought to him.