“It is a terrible thing to see a fellow-creature put to death――terrible to even the most callous and unimpressionable. But it is a necessity――an absolute and imperative necessity.” “Undoubtedly it is.” “I do not complain of the law as it stands,” observed the other; “I think it a just and reasonable law; for the very least a member of a civilised community has a right to expect at the hands of his fellow-citizens, should he fall by the blow of an assassin, is that his murderer, after being convicted by a jury of his countrymen, should be put to death. What say you?” “I am of the same opinion as yourself.” “I think the mischief arises, or has arisen, on more than one occasion, by the injudicious use made of the prerogative of the Crown. Villains of the deepest dye have been respited, while criminals of a lesser degree have been executed. This, I think, has materially weakened the effects of the punishment of death. It is not only unjust, but is manifestly injurious. It is by the reliability of punishment――by the certainty that punishment follows conviction――that we can hope or expect it to act as a deterrent from the commission of crime. I have given the subject some consideration, and I could cite many instances in which the clemency of the Crown has been made use of in an unjust and most injudicious manner.” “I am not so well up in the subject as you are,” remarked Peace, who throughout his life was always ready to moralise; “still, at the same time, I see the force of your argument.” “Well, sir, I will instance a case which came under my own knowledge. In the year 1844 I had a brother residing at Battersea, and, when in the metropolis, I was in the habit of paying him a visit once or, indeed, sometimes twice a week. One evening I was crossing Battersea Bridge, on the left-hand side going from the Bridge-road, when all of a sudden I observed a woman on the opposite side running along with her hands to her throat, from which a stream of blood was flowing. I was, as you can readily imagine, moved to an extremity of fear at the heartrending sight. The poor creature proceeded onwards with tottering steps, and did not stop till she had reached the ‘Old Swan’ tavern, on the Battersea side of the bridge. This was kept at that time by a man named Goslin, who was a friend of my brother.” “And what followed?” inquired Peace. “You shall hear, for I remember every incident in this fearful tragedy as clearly as if it had occurred but yesterday. The woman rushed in front of the bar of the ‘Swan,’ and fell on the floor, deluging the place with her blood. Her throat was cut from ear to ear. I arrived at the tavern just in time to see her fall, and to also see her breathe her last.” “And who was her murderer?”