Presently he heard the wheels and the
rapid trot of the horses. His heart failed him, and he could almost
have fainted.
"What's the news?" said the clerk to the coachman. "All the whole d-
--d lot convicted, and one of 'em going to be hung."
"One of them hung! Which one is that?"
"Why, him as killed the soldier, of course--the Frenchman."
"A d---d good job too," replied the clerk. "I should like to serve
every --- Frenchman in the country the same way."
Zachariah could not listen any longer, but went home, and all night
long a continuous series of fearful images passed before his eyes--
condemned cells, ropes, gallows and the actual fall of the victim,
down to the contortion of his muscles. He made up his mind on the
following day that he would see Caillaud before he died, and he told
his wife he was going. She was silent for a moment, and then she
said:
"You will do as you like, I suppose: but I cannot see what is the
use of it. You can do no good; you will lose your place here; it
will cost you something; and when you get there you may have to stop
there."
Zachariah could not restrain himself.
"Good God!" he cried, "you hear that one of my best friends is about
to be hung, and you sit there like a statue--not a single word of
sympathy or horror--you care no more than a stone.
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