"Well!" cried Mrs. Sheppard, raising herself, and looking at him as if her life depended upon the answer. "He is respited?"
"Alas! no," replied Thames, sadly. "The warrant for his execution is arrived. There is no further hope."
"My poor son!" groaned the widow, sinking backwards.
"Heaven have mercy on his soul!" ejaculated Wood.
"Poor Jack!" cried Winifred, burying her face in her lover's bosom.
Not a word was uttered for some time, nor any sound heard except the stilled sobs of the unfortunate mother.
At length, she suddenly started to her feet; and before Winifred could prevent her, staggered up to Thames.
"When is he to suffer?" she demanded, fixing her large black eyes, which burnt with an insane gleam, upon him.
"On Friday," he replied.
"Friday!" echoed Mrs. Sheppard; "and to-day is Monday. He has three days to live. Only three days. Three short days. Horrible!"