"If his
crime is great, so will his punishment be heavy."
"Lead on," cried the peddler, dropping his pack from his shoulders, and
advancing towards the door with a manner of incomprehensible dignity.
"Whither?" asked Dunwoodie, in amazement.
"To the gallows."
"No," said the major, recoiling in horror at his own justice. "My duty
requires that I order you to be executed, but surely not so hastily;
take until nine to-morrow to prepare for the awful change."
Dunwoodie whispered his orders in the ear of a subaltern, and motioned
to the peddler to withdraw. The interruption caused by this scene
prevented further enjoyment around the table, and the officers dispersed
to their several places of rest. In a short time the only noise to be
heard was the heavy tread of the sentinel, as he paced the frozen ground
in front of the Hotel Flanagan.
CHAPTER XVII
There are, whose changing lineaments
Express each guileless passion of the breast;
Where Love, and Hope, and tender-hearted Pity
Are seen reflected, as from a mirror's face;
But cold experience can veil these hues
With looks, invented shrewdly to encompass
The cunning purposes of base deceit.
--Duo.
The officer to whose keeping Dunwoodie had committed the peddler
transferred his charge to the custody of the regular sergeant of the
guard.
Pages:
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319