Present as Jerrem’s fears had been to Reuben’s eyes and to his mind, until he saw the transport of agitated joy which this assurance gave to Jerrem he had never grasped a tithe of the terrible dread which during the last few days had taken such complete hold of the poor fellow’s inmost thoughts.  Now, as he read again and again the words which Adam had written, a torrent of tears burst forth from his eyes:  in an ecstasy of relief he caught Joan to his heart, wrung Reuben’s hand, and from that moment began to gradually compose himself into a state of greater ease and seeming tranquillity.  Confident, through the unbroken trust of years, that Adam’s promise, once given, might be implicitly relied on, Jerrem needed no further assurance than these few written words to satisfy him that every human effort would be made on his behalf; and the knowledge of this, and that old comrades would be near, waiting to unite their strength for his body’s rescue, was in itself a balm and consolation.  He grew quite loquacious about the crestfallen authorities, the surprise of the crowd and the disappointment of the ruffianly mob deprived of their certain prey; while the two who listened sat with a tightening grip upon their hearts, for when these things should come to be the life of him who spoke them would have passed away, and the immortal soul have flown from out that perishable husk on which his last vain thoughts were still being centred.

Poor Joan!  The time had yet to come when she would spend herself with many a sad regret and sharp upbraiding that this and that had not been said and done; but now, her spirit swallowed up in desolation and sunk beneath the burden of despair, she sat all silent close by Jerrem’s side, covering his hands with many a mute caress, yet never daring to lift up her eyes to look into his face without a burst of grief sweeping across to shake her like a reed.  Jerrem could eat and drink, but Joan’s lips never tasted food.  A fever seemed to burn within and fill her with its restless torment:  the beatings of her throbbing heart turned her first hot, then cold, as each pulse said the time to part was hurrying to its end.

By Jerrem’s wish, Joan was not told that on the morning of his death to Reuben alone admittance to him had been granted:  therefore when the eve of that morrow came, and the time to say farewell actually arrived, the girl was spared the knowledge that this parting was more than the shadow of that last good-bye which so soon would have to be said for ever.  Still, the sudden change in Jerrem’s face pierced her afresh and broke down that last barrier of control over a grief she could subdue no longer.  In vain the turnkeys warned them that time was up and Joan must go.  Reuben entreated too that they should say good-bye:  the two but clung together in more desperate necessity, until Reuben, seeing that further force would be required, stepped forward, and stretching out his hand found it caught at by Jerrem and held