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sons, for the obvious duty which I myself felt he had done to himself and to society—but I rejected them all, and, in despair, he was about to retire, when a sudden thought came over me. “Stay, William—there is one thing—there is one way in which I can be assured that your motive was not malicious, and that you have been stimulated as you say, solely by a belief in the necessity of what you have done!” “Speak—say, any thing, but grant me your forgiveness—give me your good opinion!” “Ridiculous! the good opinion of a murderer—the hated, the despised of the community;—of what good is it to you or to any body?” “True—true!—but even with the murderer I would be at peace— I would not have him die with an ill feeling towards me. But there is yet another thought which prompts the desire in this case. It is from my associate and companion that I would have forgiveness, for the violation of that confidence which grew out of that association. For this I would have your forgiveness!” “The distinction is somewhat nice, but you shall have what you ask—cheerfully have it—upon one condition!” “What is that, say on—I will gladly serve you.” “Justice demands a victim and I must die; but it is not necessary to justice that I should die in a particular manner. I would not die by the rope, in the presence of a gaping multitude—you must provide me with a dagger—a knife, any thing by which I may free myself from the ignominy of such a death.” “Impossible! that will be wrong—it will be criminal. Justice, it is true, may not care whether the rope or the steel shall serve her purposes , but she requires that her officer, at least, shall do it; otherwise it is not her act. It is your will, not hers, that would be performed—her claim would be defeated.” “Shallow sophistry!—this then is your friendship—but I knew it would be so—away, and may—” He stopped me in my curse.— “Stay!”—he exclaimed hurriedly, and with terror—“any thing but that. I will do as you require.” CHAPTER XIX. The day of retribution—of a fearful trial, is come!—Horrible mockery!—the sunlight streams through the iron grating, and falls CHAPTER XVIII 59 Simms-MFaber final pages:Layout 1 4/10/08 11:51 AM Page 59 upon the straw of this accursed dungeon. How beautifully—how wooingly it looks—lovelier than ever, about to be forever lost! Do I tremble —would I yet live and linger out the hours in a life of curses, among those who howl their denunciations forever in my ears? Could I survive this exposure, this infamy, and cherish life on any terms and at all hazards ! I would not die—not thus, not thus—on that horrible scaffolding , I shudder but to think on it. Yet what hope would I rely upon? I have none to whom in this perilous hour, I could turn in expectation. No fond spirit now labors, unsleepingly, for my relief. I have not lived for such an interest—I have not sought to enlist such affections—none hope—none seek my escape—none would assist in its consummation! I am alone—I must die!—and what,—horrible thought!—if he should not bring the weapon?—if his shrinking and woman-like conscience should scruple still to interfere with the decree of justice, and I should be led out in the accursed cart, through the jeering multitude, and go through all the trials of that death of shame and muscular agony!—let me not think of it. Let me not think!— And I closed my eyes as if to shut out thought, and rushed to the extremest corner of my cell, despairing of the appearance of Harding with the dagger he had promised. But a few hours were left, and the sharp and repeated strokes of the hammer, at a little distance, indicated the rapid progress of the executioner in his preparations for the terrible performance of his office. I groaned in my agony of thought, and buried my head still deeper in the meshes of my couch. But I lay not long in this hopelessness of soul. Thanks, thanks—the fates be praised—he comes—the bolts shoot back—the doors are unbarred— he is here! I shall not stand then on...

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