“Hush! Order!” ejaculated another of the crowd. “This aint a time to be a-quarrelin’.” “Right you air, old man,” said another. “Pies, all hot――all hot,” shouted out an itinerant vendor of those delicacies. “Here’s some of the right sort, all hot.” Several persons became purchasers. The morning air had given them an appetite, and they devoured the pies with evident relish. A man in a black suit, with a white necktie and a low crowned hat, proceeded to distribute tracts to the gaping throng. In a few moments he got unmercifully chaffed, but heedless of this he proceeded on his mission. The hours passed on. It was nearly eight o’clock. A man in a sable suit, bent form, and a feeble step, made for the door of one of the houses opposite to the gaol. He wore green spectacles, and to all appearance was a cripple, with a false arm. He passed through the doorway, and in a few moments after this had taken up his position at one of the front windows of the second floor of the house he had entered. He seemed to be a broken, afflicted creature, who was past the meridian of life. His form was bent with premature age or disease――it was not possible to say which. This person, who was disguised so completely that his own mother would not have known him, was our hero, Charles Peace. He had come to see the last of Ned Gregson. His make-up suggested a Dissenting minister. He seated himself by the side of a tall, thin, serious-looking person, of quiet manners and gentlemanly appearance. The prison bell began to toll. Then, as if by presentiment, the crowd became more orderly, the men ceased their jests, and the vendors their cries. “It is nearly time for the carrying out the final act of the law upon the poor condemned wretch,” said the tall gentleman to Peace. “What must be his feelings now?” “Ah, sir! the thought is terrible. It is painful to dwell upon. What, indeed, must be his feelings?” Here he heaved a profound sigh. “I have never attended an execution,” remarked the other; “and now my heart begins to fail me. I wish I had kept away. And you――――” “I, like yourself, have never witnessed a scene of this nature, but, having come, I shall endeavour to fortify myself as I best can.” “I am not an advocate for the abolition of the punishment of death,” remarked Peace’s tall companion. “I frankly own that I do not believe it can with safety be done away with.” “Most assuredly not,” returned Peace, in the mildest tone of voice. “In the interests of society it is requisite that the guilty should not escape punishment. The murderer is unworthy of sympathy from his fellow-man.” “I am quite of your opinion――indeed, I may say that you express my sentiments to the very letter.” Peace bowed, and his face wore a complacent expression, which was altogether at variance with its ordinary appearance. His companion was evidently quite taken up with him.