Again the fair face—now death-like in hue—was seen at the window of the mourning coach, and Jemmy's dying gaze was fixed upon it.
As his lifeless body was cut down and placed upon the block to be mutilated, and the executioner flung his faithful heart, which happily had ceased beating, into the flames, a cry was heard, and those nearest the mourning coach we have alluded to pressed towards it, and beheld the inanimate form of a beautiful girl lying in the arms of an attendant.
All was over.
The story spread from lip to lip among the deeply-sympathising crowd, and many a tear was shed, and many a prayer breathed that lovers so fond and true might be united above.
Before allowing the curtain to drop on this ghastly spectacle, which lasted upwards of an hour, we feel bound to state that all the sufferers died bravely. Not one quailed. With his last breath, and in a loud voice, Captain Deacon called out "God save King James the Third!"
When the halter was placed round poor Tom Syddall's neck, the executioner remarked that he trembled.
"Tremble!" exclaimed Tom, indignantly. "I recoil from thy hateful touch—that is all."
And to prove that his courage was unshaken, he took a pinch of snuff.
The heads of these two brave men were sent to Manchester, and fixed upon spikes on the top of the Exchange.
When he heard that this had been done, Dr. Deacon came forth, and gazed steadfastly at the relics, but without manifesting any sign of grief.