"Farewell!" blubbered the executioner's wife, pressing his hand to her lips. Why? If she had put the query to herself, she could not have answered it. She could still remember his face, the perpetually wet lips that turned down at the sides, his drooping Roman eyes. Wood, who was standing at the edge of a raised platform, anxiously waving his hand to him. He was an officer, and a person of very great sense, and altogether a desirable parti. Do you mind talking to some one else. She calmed herself, breathing deeply. That night in his den he smoked many pipes. Apologizing for their detention, he answered the questions put to him respecting the boys, by positively denying that any such prisoners had been entrusted to his charge, but offered to conduct him to every cell in the building to prove the truth of his assertion. "But never mind who, or what I am. He refused his food,—and even when better provisions were offered him, rejected them. The change in her face was not a pleasant one. Gerald caught the look and slipped the weapon into his pocket. I know my son's voice too well.
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