senses. I have a confused
remembrance of swaying hither and thither in a crowd; of execration, and
pity, and gaping curiosity; and then I got out, and some one passed me,
whose arm I grasped. It was Mr. A----.

"'Tell me,' I said, 'is there no hope? No recommendation to mercy?
Nothing?'

"He dragged me into a room, and, seizing me by the button, exclaimed--

"'We don't want mercy; we want justice! I say, sir, curse the present
condition of the law! It _must_ be altered, and I shall live to see it.
If I might have addressed the jury--there were a dozen points--we should
have carried him through. Besides,' he added, in a tone that seemed to
apologize for such a secondary consideration, 'I may say to you that I
fully believe that he is innocent, and am as sorry on his account as on
my own that we have lost the case.'

"And so the day is ended. _Fiat voluntas Domini!_"

* * * * *

Yes, Eleanor! Dr. Penn was right. The day did end--and the next--and
the next; and drop by drop the cup of sorrow was drained. And when the
draught is done, should we be the better, Nelly, if it had been nectar?

I had neither died nor gone mad when the day came--the last complete day
that George was to see on earth. It was Sunday; and, after a sleepless
night, I saw the red sun break through the grey morning. I always sleep
with my window open; and, as I lay and watched the sunrise, I thought--

"He will see this sunrise, and to-morrow's sunrise; but no other! No,
no!--never more!"

But then a stronger thought seemed to rise involuntarily against that
one--

"Peace, fool! If this be the sorrow, it is one that must come to all
men."

And then, Nelly (it is strange, but it was so), there broke out in the
stone pine by my window a chorus of little birds whom the sunbeams had
awakened; and they sang so sweet and so loud (like the white bird that
sang to the monk Felix), that earthly cares seemed to fade away, and I
fell asleep, and slept the first sound, dreamless sleep that had blessed
me since our great trouble came.

CHAPTER V.

BETWEEN TWO WORLDS.

Dr. Penn was with George this day, and was to be with him to the last.
His duty was taken by a curate.

I will not attempt to describe my feelings at this terrible time, but
merely narrate circumstantially the wonderful events (or illusions, call
them which you will) of the evening.

We sat up-stairs in the blue room, and Harriet fell asleep