As the locksmith walked slowly away from Sir John Chester’s chambers1, he lingered under the trees which shaded the path, almost hoping that he might be summoned to return. He had turned back thrice, and still loitered at the corner, when the clock struck twelve.
It was a solemn sound, and not merely for its reference to to-morrow; for he knew that in that chime the murderer’s knell2 was rung. He had seen him pass along the crowded street, amidst the execration3 of the throng4; and marked his quivering lip, and trembling limbs; the ashy hue5 upon his face, his clammy brow, the wild distraction6 of his eye — the fear of death that swallowed up all other thoughts, and gnawed7 without cessation at his heart and brain. He had marked the wandering look, seeking for hope, and finding, turn where it would, despair. He had seen the remorseful8, pitiful, desolate9 creature, riding, with his coffin10 by his side, to the gibbet. He knew that, to the last, he had been an unyielding, obdurate11 man; that in the savage12 terror of his condition he had hardened, rather than relented, to his wife and child; and that the last words which had passed his white lips were curses on them as his enemies.
Mr Haredale had determined13 to be there, and see it done. Nothing but the evidence of his own senses could satisfy that gloomy thirst for retribution which had been gathering14 upon him for so many years. The locksmith knew this, and when the chimes had ceased to vibrate, hurried away to meet him.
‘For these two men,’ he said, as he went, ‘I can do no more. Heaven have mercy on them!— Alas15! I say I can do no more for them, but whom can I help? Mary Rudge will have a home, and a firm friend when she most wants one; but Barnaby — poor Barnaby — willing Barnaby — what aid can I render him? There are many, many men of sense, God forgive me,’ cried the honest locksmith, stopping in a narrow count to pass his hand across his eyes, ‘I could better afford to lose than Barnaby. We have always been good friends, but I never knew, till now, how much I loved the lad.’
There were not many in the great city who thought of Barnaby that day, otherwise than as an actor in a show which was to take place to-morrow. But if the whole population had had him in their minds, and had wished his life to be spared, not one among them could have done so with a purer zeal16 or greater singleness of heart than the good locksmith.
Barnaby was to die. There was no hope. It is not the least evil attendant upon the frequent exhibition of this last dread17 punishment, of Death, that it hardens the minds of those who deal it out, and makes them, though they be amiable18 men in other respects, indifferent to, or unconscious of, their great responsibility. The word had gone forth19 that Barnaby was to die. It went forth, every month, for lighter20 crimes. It was a thing so common, that very few were startled by the awful sentence, or cared to question its propriety21. Just then, too, when the law had been so flagrantly outraged22, its dignity must be asserted. The symbol of its dignity,— stamped upon every page of the criminal statute-book,— was the gallows23; and Barnaby was to die.
They had tried to save him. The locksmith had carried petitions and memorials to the fountain-head, with his own hands. But the well was not one of mercy, and Barnaby was to die.
From the first his mother had never left him, save at night; and with her beside him, he was as usual contented24. On this last day, he was more elated and more proud than he had been yet; and when she dropped the book she had been reading to him aloud, and fell upon his neck, he stopped in his busy task of folding a piece of crape about his hat, and wondered at her anguish25. Grip uttered a feeble croak26, half in encouragement, it seemed, and half in remonstrance27, but he wanted heart to sustain it, and lapsed28 abruptly29 into silence.
With them who stood upon the brink30 of the great gulf31 which none can see beyond, Time, so soon to lose itself in vast Eternity32, rolled on like a mighty33 river, swollen34 and rapid as it nears the sea. It was morning but now; they had sat and talked together in a dream; and here was evening. The dreadful hour of separation, which even yesterday had seemed so distant, was at hand.
They walked out into the courtyard, clinging to each other, but not speaking. Barnaby knew that the jail was a dull, sad, miserable35 place, and looked forward to to-morrow, as to a passage from it to something bright and beautiful. He had a vague impression too, that he was expected to be brave — that he was a man of great consequence, and that the prison people would be glad to make him weep. He trod the ground more firmly as he thought of this, and bade her take heart and cry no more, and feel how steady his hand was. ‘They call me silly, mother. They shall see to-morrow!’
Dennis and Hugh were in the courtyard. Hugh came forth from his cell as they did, stretching himself as though he had been sleeping. Dennis sat upon a bench in a corner, with his knees and chin huddled36 together, and rocked himself to and fro like a person in severe pain.
The mother and son remained on one side of the court, and these two men upon the other. Hugh strode up and down, glancing fiercely every now and then at the bright summer sky, and looking round, when he had done so, at the walls.
‘No reprieve37, no reprieve! Nobody comes near us. There’s only the night left now!’ moaned Dennis faintly, as he wrung38 his hands. ‘Do you think they’ll reprieve me in the night, brother? I’ve known reprieves39 come in the night, afore now. I’ve known ’em come as late as five, six, and seven o’clock in the morning. Don’t you think there’s a good chance yet,— don’t you? Say you do. Say you do, young man,’ whined40 the miserable creature, with an imploring41 gesture towards Barnaby, ‘or I shall go mad!’
‘Better be mad than sane42, here,’ said Hugh. ‘GO mad.’
‘But tell me what you think. Somebody tell me what he thinks!’ cried the wretched object,— so mean, and wretched, and despicable, that even Pity’s self might have turned away, at sight of such a being in the likeness43 of a man —‘isn’t there a chance for me,— isn’t there a good chance for me? Isn’t it likely they may be doing this to frighten me? Don’t you think it is? Oh!’ he almost shrieked45, as he wrung his hands, ‘won’t anybody give me comfort!’
‘You ought to be the best, instead of the worst,’ said Hugh, stopping before him. ‘Ha, ha, ha! See the hangman, when it comes home to him!’
‘You don’t know what it is,’ cried Dennis, actually writhing46 as he spoke47: ‘I do. That I should come to be worked off! I! I! That I should come!’
‘And why not?’ said Hugh, as he thrust back his matted hair to get a better view of his late associate. ‘How often, before I knew your trade, did I hear you talking of this as if it was a treat?’
‘I an’t unconsistent,’ screamed the miserable creature; ‘I’d talk so again, if I was hangman. Some other man has got my old opinions at this minute. That makes it worse. Somebody’s longing48 to work me off. I know by myself that somebody must be!’
‘He’ll soon have his longing,’ said Hugh, resuming his walk. ‘Think of that, and be quiet.’
Although one of these men displayed, in his speech and bearing, the most reckless hardihood; and the other, in his every word and action, testified such an extreme of abject49 cowardice50 that it was humiliating to see him; it would be difficult to say which of them would most have repelled51 and shocked an observer. Hugh’s was the dogged desperation of a savage at the stake; the hangman was reduced to a condition little better, if any, than that of a hound with the halter round his neck. Yet, as Mr Dennis knew and could have told them, these were the two commonest states of mind in persons brought to their pass. Such was the wholesome52 growth of the seed sown by the law, that this kind of harvest was usually looked for, as a matter of course.
In one respect they all agreed. The wandering and uncontrollable train of thought, suggesting sudden recollections of things distant and long forgotten and remote from each other — the vague restless craving53 for something undefined, which nothing could satisfy — the swift flight of the minutes, fusing themselves into hours, as if by enchantment54 — the rapid coming of the solemn night — the shadow of death always upon them, and yet so dim and faint, that objects the meanest and most trivial started from the gloom beyond, and forced themselves upon the view — the impossibility of holding the mind, even if they had been so disposed, to penitence55 and preparation, or of keeping it to any point while one hideous56 fascination57 tempted58 it away — these things were common to them all, and varied59 only in their outward tokens.
‘Fetch me the book I left within — upon your bed,’ she said to Barnaby, as the clock struck. ‘Kiss me first.’
He looked in her face, and saw there, that the time was come. After a long embrace, he tore himself away, and ran to bring it to her; bidding her not stir till he came back. He soon returned, for a shriek44 recalled him,— but she was gone.
He ran to the yard-gate, and looked through. They were carrying her away. She had said her heart would break. It was better so.
‘Don’t you think,’ whimpered Dennis, creeping up to him, as he stood with his feet rooted to the ground, gazing at the blank walls —‘don’t you think there’s still a chance? It’s a dreadful end; it’s a terrible end for a man like me. Don’t you think there’s a chance? I don’t mean for you, I mean for me. Don’t let HIM hear us (meaning Hugh); ‘he’s so desperate.’
Now then,’ said the officer, who had been lounging in and out with his hands in his pockets, and yawning as if he were in the last extremity60 for some subject of interest: ‘it’s time to turn in, boys.’
‘Not yet,’ cried Dennis, ‘not yet. Not for an hour yet.’
‘I say,— your watch goes different from what it used to,’ returned the man. ‘Once upon a time it was always too fast. It’s got the other fault now.’
‘My friend,’ cried the wretched creature, falling on his knees, ‘my dear friend — you always were my dear friend — there’s some mistake. Some letter has been mislaid, or some messenger has been stopped upon the way. He may have fallen dead. I saw a man once, fall down dead in the street, myself, and he had papers in his pocket. Send to inquire. Let somebody go to inquire. They never will hang me. They never can.— Yes, they will,’ he cried, starting to his feet with a terrible scream. ‘They’ll hang me by a trick, and keep the pardon back. It’s a plot against me. I shall lose my life!’ And uttering another yell, he fell in a fit upon the ground.
‘See the hangman when it comes home to him!’ cried Hugh again, as they bore him away —‘Ha ha ha! Courage, bold Barnaby, what care we? Your hand! They do well to put us out of the world, for if we got loose a second time, we wouldn’t let them off so easy, eh? Another shake! A man can die but once. If you wake in the night, sing that out lustily, and fall asleep again. Ha ha ha!’
Barnaby glanced once more through the grate into the empty yard; and then watched Hugh as he strode to the steps leading to his sleeping-cell. He heard him shout, and burst into a roar of laughter, and saw him flourish his hat. Then he turned away himself, like one who walked in his sleep; and, without any sense of fear or sorrow, lay down on his pallet, listening for the clock to strike again.
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chambers
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| n.房间( chamber的名词复数 )；（议会的）议院；卧室；会议厅 | |
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knell
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| n.丧钟声；v.敲丧钟 | |
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execration
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| n.诅咒，念咒，憎恶 | |
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throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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hue
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| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
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distraction
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| n.精神涣散，精神不集中，消遣，娱乐 | |
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gnawed
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| 咬( gnaw的过去式和过去分词 )； （长时间） 折磨某人； （使）苦恼； （长时间）危害某事物 | |
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remorseful
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| adj.悔恨的 | |
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desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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coffin
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| n.棺材，灵柩 | |
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obdurate
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| adj.固执的，顽固的 | |
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savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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zeal
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| n.热心，热情，热忱 | |
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dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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lighter
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| n.打火机，点火器；驳船；v.用驳船运送；light的比较级 | |
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propriety
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| n.正当行为；正当；适当 | |
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outraged
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| a.震惊的，义愤填膺的 | |
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gallows
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| n.绞刑架，绞台 | |
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contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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croak
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| vi.嘎嘎叫，发牢骚 | |
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remonstrance
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| n抗议，抱怨 | |
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lapsed
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| adj.流失的，堕落的v.退步( lapse的过去式和过去分词 )；陷入；倒退；丧失 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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brink
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| n.(悬崖、河流等的)边缘，边沿 | |
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gulf
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| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
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eternity
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| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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huddled
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| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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reprieve
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| n.暂缓执行（死刑）；v.缓期执行；给…带来缓解 | |
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wrung
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| 绞( wring的过去式和过去分词 )； 握紧（尤指别人的手）； 把（湿衣服）拧干； 绞掉（水） | |
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reprieves
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| n.（死刑）缓期执行令( reprieve的名词复数 )；暂缓，暂止v.缓期执行（死刑）( reprieve的第三人称单数 ) | |
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40
whined
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| v.哀号( whine的过去式和过去分词 )；哀诉，诉怨 | |
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41
imploring
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| 恳求的，哀求的 | |
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42
sane
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| adj.心智健全的，神志清醒的，明智的，稳健的 | |
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43
likeness
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| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
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44
shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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45
shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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46
writhing
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| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的现在分词 ) | |
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47
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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48
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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49
abject
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| adj.极可怜的，卑屈的 | |
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50
cowardice
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| n.胆小，怯懦 | |
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51
repelled
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| v.击退( repel的过去式和过去分词 )；使厌恶；排斥；推开 | |
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52
wholesome
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| adj.适合；卫生的；有益健康的；显示身心健康的 | |
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53
craving
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| n.渴望,热望 | |
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54
enchantment
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| n.迷惑，妖术，魅力 | |
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55
penitence
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| n.忏悔，赎罪；悔过 | |
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56
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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57
fascination
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| n.令人着迷的事物，魅力，迷恋 | |
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58
tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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59
varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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extremity
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| n.末端，尽头；尽力；终极；极度 | |
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