Their decision was read to Sam, who contented himself with saying, "It is well--but why has this man stolen? Why has this man murdered? These are questions to which they make no answer." He was carried back to prison--he supped almost gayly. He had no wish to make an appeal against his sentence. The old woman who had nursed him entreated him with tears to do so. He complied out of kindness to her. It would appear as if he had resisted till the very last moment, for when he signed his petition in the register, the legal delay of three days had expired some minutes before. The benevolent old nurse gave him a crown. He accepted the money and thanked her. While his appeal was pending, offers of escape were made him. There was thrown, one after the other, in his dungeon, through its air-hole, a nail, a bit of iron file, and the handle of a bucket. Any of these three tools would have been sufficient to so skillful a man as Sam Needy to cut through his irons. He gave up the nail, the file, and the handle to the turnkey. On the 10th of June, 1834, seven months after the deed, its expiation arrived. That day, at seven o'clock in the morning, the recorder of the tribunal entered Sam Needy's dungeon, and announced to him that he had not more than an hour to live. His petition was rejected. "Come," said Sam, coldly, "I have this night slept well, without troubling myself that I should sleep still better the next." It would appear as if the words of strong men always receive a certain dignity from approaching death. The chaplain arrived--then the executioner. He was humble to the one, gentle to the other. He maintained a perfect ease of spirit. He listened to the chaplain with extreme attention, accusing himself of many things, and regretting that he had not been instructed in religion. At his request they had given him back the scissors with which he had wounded himself. One blade, which had been broken in his breast, was wanting. He entreated the jailor to have these scissors taken to Heartall as from himself. He besought those who bound his hands to place in his right hand the crown-piece which the good nurse had given him--the only thing which was now remaining to him. At a quarter to eight he was led out of his prison, with the customary mournful procession which attends the condemned. He was pale; his eyes were fixed on the chaplain--but he walked with a firm step.