“‘It is, Adam—it is hard; yet, were it harder, it must be borne. Here is Lord Milverstoke, who hath lost his son—his only son—the heir to his title and his vast possessions—lost him in this mysterious and horrid way: is not that hard to be borne? Have you, Adam,—I ask you by your precious hopes of hereafter,—animosity towards him who believes you to be his son’s murderer?’
“There was an awful silence for nearly a minute, at the close of which Ayliffe, with an anguished face, said—
“‘Oh, sir! give me time to answer you! Pray for me! I know whose example I ought to imitate; but’—he suddenly seemed to have sunk into a reverie, which lasted for some time, at the end of which,—‘Sir—Mr Hylton,’ said he desperately, ‘am I truly to die on Monday week? Oh, tell me! tell me, sir! Life is sweet, I own!’
“He sprung towards Mr Hylton, and convulsively grasped his hands, looking into his face with frenzied earnestness.
“‘I cannot—I will not deceive you, Adam,’ replied Mr Hylton, looking aside and with a profound sigh. ‘My solemn duty is to prepare you for death! But—‘
“‘Ah!’ said he, with a desperate air, ‘to be hanged like a vile dog!—and every one cursing me, who am all the while innocent! and no burial service to be said over my poor body!—never—never to be buried!’ With a dismal groan he sunk back, and would have fallen from the bench, but for Mr. Hylton’s stepping forward. ‘Sir—sir,’ said Ayliffe presently, glaring with sudden wildness at Mr Hylton, ‘did you see the man at the door with the blunderbuss? There he stands! all day! all night! but never comes in!—never speaks!—Would that he would put it to my head, and finish me in a moment!’
“‘Adam! Adam! what awful language is this that I hear?’ said Mr Hylton, sternly. ‘Is this the way that you have spoken to your pious and venerable father?’
“‘No! no! no! sir!‘—he pressed his hand to his forehead—‘but my poor head wanders! I—I am better now! I seem just to have come out of a dream. But never should I dream thus, if you would ever stay with me—till—all is over!’
“Feeling it quite impossible to ask the miserable convict such questions as Mr Hylton had wished, he resolved not to make the attempt, but to do it as prudently and as early as might be, through old Ayliffe, or the chaplain or governor of the gaol. He was just about to leave, and was considering in what terms he could the most effectually address himself to Ayliffe, when, without any summons having issued from within, the door was unlocked, and the turnkey, thrusting in his head, said,—
“‘I say, my man, here’s the woman come with thy child, that thou’st been asking for. They’ll come in when the gentleman goes.’