She was silenced at once, and the solemn voice that had begun to address me went on with what it had to say. It had been, it seemed, a revolting crime—born of a man's evil passions; it must meet the penalty set out in the law. The recommendation of the jury to mercy on account of my youth should be forwarded to a proper quarter; but the duty of the judge now was clear. I listened patiently until the last words came to me across the hushed court—
"And may God have mercy on your soul!"
I stood still for a moment, and looked about me over that sea of faces, all turned, without exception, in my direction. The little juryman was dabbing at his eyes, without any attempt at concealment; my guardian was watching me, with nervous fingers plucking at his lips. Then it all faded, like a dream that was ended, and I went swiftly down out of the world.
CHAPTER VI
[I LEAVE THE WORLD]
Although in my uneasy slumbers I killed Gavin Hockley a hundred times at least—saw him lying at my feet, and realized clearly what I had done—I cannot say that such hauntings filled me with any horror in my waking moments. The thing had been done, and I had the savage certainty that it had been done well. Almost it seemed to me that I had gone before the woman I loved, and cleared the path for her—striking out of my way and hers the noxious thing that had menaced her. That was well done, and the path was clear; what else could matter?
It would be idle to suggest that I did not think about my fate. So many days in which to live, and with each morning one the less; so many times to look upon the faces of those who guarded me; so many meals to be got through; that was all. Then would come that last dreadful morning when they would wake me; when I would get, perhaps, a glimpse of the sunshine for which I longed, and would hear the passing bell; then—"to hang by the neck until you are dead."
In the time that was left me I travelled many, many miles. I seemed to see myself in a sort of perspective, narrowing down to the years that I could first remember, when I had been a child. I saw myself a happy boy at school; remembered the names of other happy boys, who would read of my fate, and shudder at what I had done; for I had been regarded as a gentle, amiable creature at school; I do not think I had ever even fought a boyish battle. They would talk about me—would say: "Why, I knew this chap at school!" and so would gain some temporary notoriety from the knowledge.
I remembered again a happy year or two in an old-fashioned German town; thought with tears of loyal brave friendships formed then—friendships that were never to be broken this side the grave. How we had mapped out then all we were to do—this man a writer, and this other a painter, and this stronger one a soldier! And then I fell to wondering in what obscure place within the prison they would bury me—for my bones to be found afterwards—long, long afterwards; when perhaps they might recall how young I was, and how brutal my crime.