“Poor soul! her senses are going again,” said Mr. Wood, terrified by the wildness of her looks. “I was afraid it would be so.” “Only three days,” reiterated the widow, “three short short days,--and then all is over. Jonathan's wicked threat is fulfilled at last. The gallows is in view--I see it with all its hideous apparatus!--ough!” and shuddering violently, she placed her hands before her, as if to exclude some frightful vision from her sight. “Do not despair, my sweet soul,” said Wood, in a soothing tone. “Do not despair!” echoed Mrs. Sheppard, with a laugh that cut the ears of those who listened to it like a razor,--“Do not despair! And who or what shall give me comfort when my son is gone? I have wept till my eyes are dry,--suffered till my heart is broken,--prayed till the voice of prayer is dumb,--and all of no avail. He will be hanged--hanged--hanged. Ha! ha! What have I left but despair and madness? Promise me one thing, Mr. Wood,” she continued, with a sudden change of tone, and convulsively clutching the carpenter's arm, “promise it me.” “Anything, my dear,” replied Wood, “What is it?” “Bury us together in one grave in Willesden churchyard. There is a small yew-tree west of the church. Beneath that tree let us lie. In one grave, mind. Do you promise to do this?” “Solemnly,” rejoined the carpenter. “Enough,” said the widow, gratefully. “I must see him to-night.” “Impossible, dear Mrs. Sheppard,” said Thames. “To-morrow I will take you to him.” “To-morrow will be too late,” replied the widow, in a hollow voice, “I feel it will. I must go to-night, or I shall never behold him again. I must bless him before I die. I have strength enough to drag myself there, and I do not want to return.” “Be pacified, sweet soul,” said Wood, looking meaningly at Thames; “you _shall_ go, and I will accompany you.” “A mother's blessing on you,” replied Mrs. Sheppard, fervently. “And now,” she added, with somewhat more composure, “leave me, dear friends, I entreat, for a few minutes to collect my scattered thoughts--to prepare myself for what I have to go through--to pray for my son.” “Shall we do so?” whispered Winifred to her father. “By all means,” returned Wood; “don't delay an instant.” And, followed by the young couple, who gazed wistfully at the poor sufferer, he hastily quitted the room, and locked the door after him. Mrs. Sheppard was no sooner alone than she fell upon her knees by the side of the couch, and poured forth her heart in prayer. So absorbed was she by her passionate supplications that she was insensible to anything passing around her, until she felt a touch upon her shoulder, and heard a well-known voice breathe in her ear--“Mother!” She started at the sound as if an apparition had called her, screamed, and fell into her son's outstretched arms. “Mother! dear mother!” cried Jack, folding her to his breast. “My son! my dear, dear son!” returned Mrs. Sheppard, returning his embrace with all a parent's tenderness.