“If I do, I care not,” rejoined Wild; “I shall have lived to see you hanged.”

“O Jack, dear, dear Jack!” cried Mrs. Marvel, who was now quite dissolved in tears, “I shall never survive this scene.”

“Hold your tongue, hussy!” cried her husband gruffly.  “Women ought never to show themselves on these occasions, unless they can behave themselves properly.”

“Farewell, Jack,” cried twenty voices.

Sheppard looked round, and exchanged kindly glances with several of those who addressed him.

“My limbs feel so light, now that my irons are removed,” he observed with a smile, “that I am half inclined to dance.”

“You’ll dance upon nothing, presently,” rejoined Jonathan, brutally.

“Farewell for ever,” said Jack, extending his hand to Mrs. Marvel.

“Farewell!” blubbered the executioner’s wife, pressing his hand to her lips.  “Here are a pair of gloves and a nosegay for you.  Oh dear!—­oh dear!  Be careful of him,” she added to her husband, “and get it over quickly, or never expect to see me again.”

“Peace, fool!” cried Marvel, angrily.  “Do you think I don’t know my own business?”

Austin and Langley then advanced to the prisoner, and, twinning their arms round his, led him down to the Lodge, whither he was followed by the sheriffs, the ordinary, Wild, and the other officials.

Meantime, every preparation had been made outside for his departure.  At the end of two long lines of foot-guards stood the cart with a powerful black horse harnessed to it.  At the head of the cart was placed the coffin.  On the right were several mounted grenadiers:  on the left, some half dozen javelin-men.  Soldiers were stationed at different points of the street to keep off the mob, and others were riding backwards and forwards to maintain an open space for the passage of the procession.

The assemblage which was gathered together was almost countless.  Every house-top, every window, every wall, every projection, had its occupants.  The wall of St. Sepulchre’s church was covered—­so was the tower.  The concourse extended along Giltspur Street as far as Smithfield.  No one was allowed to pass along Newgate Street, which was barricaded and protected by a strong constabulary force.

The first person who issued from the Lodge was Mr. Marvel, who proceeded to the cart, and took his seat upon the coffin.  The hangman is always an object of peculiar detestation to the mob, a tremendous hooting hailed his appearance, and both staves and swords were required to preserve order.

A deep silence, however, now prevailed, broken only by the tolling of the bells of Newgate and St. Sepulchre’s.  The mighty concourse became for a moment still.  Suddenly, such a shout as has seldom smitten human ears rent the air.  “He comes!” cried a thousand voices, and the shout ascended to Smithfield, descended to Snow Hill, and told those who were assembled on Holborn Hill that Sheppard had left the prison.