They roused her up, after this, to hear the verdict of _Guilty_ and her doom spoken by the judge. "Pris'ner at the bar," said the Clerk of Arraigns, "have ye anything to say why this court should not pass sentence o' death?" She held tight of the rail before her, and spoke out loud and clear-- "My Lord and gentlemen all, I be a guilty woman; an' I be ready to die at once for my sin. But if ye kill me now, ye kill the child in my body--an' he is innocent." Well, 'twas found she spoke truth; and the hanging was put off till after the time of her delivery. She was led back to prison, and there, about the end of June, her child was born, and died before he was six hours old. But the mother recovered, and quietly abode the time of her hanging. I can mind her execution very well; for father and mother had determined it would be an excellent thing for my rickets to take me into Bodmin that day, and get a touch of the dead woman's hand, which in those times was considered an unfailing remedy. So we borrowed the parson's manure-cart, and cleaned it thoroughly, and drove in together. The place of the hangings, then, was a little door in the prison-wall, looking over the bank where the railway now goes, and a dismal piece of water called Jail-pool, where the townsfolk drowned most of the dogs and cats they'd no further use for. All the bank under the gallows was that thick with people you could almost walk upon their heads; and my ribs were squeezed by the crowd so that I couldn't breathe freely for a month after. Back across the pool, the fields along the side of the valley were lined with booths and sweet-stalls and standings--a perfect Whitsun-fair; and a din going up that cracked your ears. But there was the stillness of death when the woman came forth, with the sheriff and the chaplain reading in his book, and the unnamed man behind--all from the little door. She wore a strait black gown, and a white kerchief about her neck--a lovely woman, young and white and tearless. She ran her eye over the crowd and stepped forward a pace, as if to speak; but lifted a finger and beckoned instead: and out of the people a man fought his way to the foot of the scaffold. 'Twas the dashing sergeant, that was here upon sick-leave. Sick he was, I believe. His face above his shining regimentals was grey as a slate; for he had committed perjury to save his skin, and on the face of the perjured no sun will ever shine. "Have you got it?" the doomed woman said, many hearing the words. He tried to reach, but the scaffold was too high, so he tossed up what was in his hand, and the woman caught it--a little screw of tissue-paper. "I must see that, please!" said the sheriff, laying a hand upon her arm. "'Tis but a weddin'-ring, sir"--and she slipped it over her finger. Then she kissed it once, under the beam, and, lookin' into the dragoon's eyes, spoke very slow-- "_Husband, our child shall go wi' you; an' when I want you he shall fetch you._"