I had long been aware of this strange figuration in my hand, and had often wondered what it presaged.  But now, as once more I looked at it, it came upon me with sudden conviction that in some way I was destined to be delivered from death at the last moment, and I thought that if this be so it would be horrible should C. have been killed first.  If I were to be saved I should certainly save him also, for my pardon would involve the pardon of both, or my rescue the rescue of both.  Therefore it was important to provide for his safety until after my fate was decided.  The officer seemed to take this last request into more serious consideration than the first.  He said shortly:  “I may be able to manage that for you,” and then at once rose and took up the papers I had signed.  “When are we to be shot?” I asked him.  “Tomorrow morning,” he replied, as promptly as before.  Then he went out, turning the key of the guardroom upon me.

The dawn of the next day broke darkly.  It was a terribly stormy day; great black lurid thunderclouds lay piled along the horizon, and came up slowly and awfully against the wind.  I looked upon them with terror; they seemed so near the earth, and so like living, watching things.  They hung out of the sky, extending long ghostly arms downwards, and their gloom and density seemed supernatural.  The soldiers took us out, our hands bound behind us, into a quadrangle at the back of their barracks.  The scene is sharply impressed on my mind.  A palisade of two sides of a square, made of wooden planks, ran round the quadrangle.  Behind this palisade, and pressed up close against it, was a mob of men and women—­the people of the town—­come to see the execution.  But their faces were sympathetic; an unmistakable look of mingled grief and rage, not unmixed with desperation—­for they were a down-trodden folk—­shone in the hundreds of eyes turned towards us.  I was the only woman among the condemned.  C. was there, and poor “Fou,” looking bewildered, and one or two other prisoners.  On the third and fourth sides of the quadrangle was a high wall, and in a certain place was a niche partly enclosing the trunk of a tree, cut off at the top.  An iron ring was driven into the trunk midway, evidently for the purpose of securing condemned persons for execution.  I guessed it would be used for that now.  In the centre of the square piece of ground stood a file of soldiers, armed with carbines, and an officer with a drawn sabre.  The palisade was guarded by a row of soldiers somewhat sparsely distributed, ertainly not more than a dozen in all.  A Catholic priest in a black cassock walked beside me, and as we were conducted into the enclosure, he turned to me and offered religious consolation.  I declined his ministrations, but asked him anxiously if he knew which of us was to die first.  “You,” he replied; “the officer in charge of you said you wished it, and he has been able to accede