or of exit; the prisoners looked
after them, and listened breathlessly.

Sam gently touched the director's arm. "At least let me know why I am
condemned to death--tell me why you have separated him from me?"

"I have told you," answered the director; "_it is my will_."

He turned his back upon Sam, and was about to take hold of the latch
of the door.

On this answer Sam had retreated a step; the assembled statues who
were there saw him bring out his right hand, and the hatchet with it;
it was raised, and ere the victim could utter one cry, three blows,
one upon the other, had cleft his skull. At the moment, when he fell
back, a fourth blow laid his face open; then, as if his frenzy, once
let loose, _could not stop_, Sam struck a fifth blow; it was
useless--he was dead.

"Now for the other!" cried the murderer, and threw away the hatchet.
That other was himself. They saw him draw from his bosom the small
pair of scissors, and before any one could attempt to hinder him, bury
them in his breast. The blade was too short to penetrate. He struck
them in again and again, so many as twenty times. "Accursed heart!
cannot I then reach you?" and finally fell in a dead swoon, bathed in
his blood.

Which of these men was the victim of the other?

When Sam returned to consciousness, he was in bed, well attended, his
wounds carefully bandaged; a humane nurse was about his pillow, and
more than one magistrate, who asked him, with the appearance of great
interest, "Are you better?"

He had lost a great quantity of blood, but the scissors with which he
had wounded himself, had done their duty ill--none of the wounds were
dangerous.

The examinations commenced. They asked him if it were he who had
killed the director of the work-rooms. He replied, "It was." They
asked him why he had done it. He answered--_it was his will._

After this the wounds festered. He was seized with a severe fever, of
which he only did not die. November, December, January, and February,
went over in recovering him and preparing for his trial; physicians
and judges alike made him the object of their care--the former healed
his wounds, the latter made ready his scaffold. To be brief, on the
5th of April, 1834, he appeared, being perfectly cured, before the
Court of Sessions.

Sam made a good appearance before the court; he had been carefully
shaved, his head was bare; he was dressed in the sad prison livery of
two shades of gray.

When the trial was