I took a very slight interest in the matter, and heard very little concerning it till its judicial conclusion by the conviction of the offender, and his condemnation to death.  The decision on the recorder’s report was this time communicated to the authorities of Newgate on a Saturday, so that the batch ordered for execution, amongst whom was Justin Arnold, would not be hanged till the Monday morning.  Rather late in the evening a note once more reached me from the chaplain of the prison.  Justin Arnold wished to see me—­me, not Mr. Flint.  He had something of importance to communicate, he said, relative to a person in whom I had once felt great interest.  It flashed across me that this Justin might be the “brother” of Jane Eccles, and I determined to see him.  I immediately sought out one of the sheriffs, and obtained an order empowering me to see the prisoner on the afternoon of the morrow, (Sunday).

I found that the convict had expressed great anxiety lest I should decline to see him.  My hoped-for visit was the only matter which appeared to occupy the mind or excite the care of the mocking, desperate young man; even the early and shameful termination of his own life on the morrow, he seemed to be utterly reckless of.  Thus prepared, I was the less surprised at the scene which awaited me in the prisoner’s cell, where I found him in angry altercation with the pale and affrighted chaplain.

I had never seen Justin Arnold before, this I was convinced of the instant I saw him; but he knew and greeted me instantly by name.  His swarthy, excited features were flushed and angry; and after briefly thanking me for complying with his wishes, he added in a violent rapid tone, “This good man has been teasing me.  He says, and truly, that I have defied God by my life; and now he wishes me to mock that inscrutable Being, on the eve of death, by words without sense, meaning, or truth!”

“No, no, no!” ejaculated the reverend gentleman.  “I exhorted you to true repentance, to peace, charity, to”—­

“True repentance, peace, charity!” broke in the prisoner, with a scornful burst; “when my heart is full of rage, and bitterness, and despair!  Give me time for this repentance which you say is so needful—­time to lure back long since banished hope, and peace, and faith!  Poh!—­you but flout me with words without meaning.  I am unfit, you say, for the presence of men, but quite fit for that of God, before whom you are about to arrogantly cast me!  Be it so—­my deeds are upon my head!  It is at least not my fault that I am hurled to judgment before the Eternal Judge himself commanded my presence there!”

“He may be unworthy to live,” murmured the scared chaplain, “but oh, how utterly unfit to die!”

“That is true,” rejoined Justin Arnold, with undiminished vehemence.  “Those, if you will, are words of truth and sense—­go you and preach them to the makers and executioners of English law.  In the meantime I would speak privately with this gentleman.”