When this package was brought to Lady Phipps she held it irresolute for some minutes. An idea flashed across her mind that it contained some hint of that unhappy woman's life, and a wild impulse rose in her heart to read it. But such thoughts could find no resting-place in her pure nature. She called to Norman Lovel, gave him the package, and bade him take it at once to the prison. Norman placed the package in his bosom, drew his cloak over it, and went forth one of the heaviest-hearted men ever called upon to undertake a cruel labor of love. He had stayed away from the prison purposely, hoping that the governor might yet return; but when the night stole on with such ruthless certainty, he was preparing to visit the prisoner with the heart-rending assurance that Sir William Phipps had uttered his irrevocable decree. There was no hope for her. On the morrow she must die. Filled with such trouble as youth seldom knows, he took the package in silence, and went his way. Norman found Barbara Stafford in her dungeon reading in a prayer-book which the authorities had permitted her to receive with other articles of her own property from her trunks in the farm-house. She looked up as Norman entered, and met his despairing glance with a faint smile. "I have been expecting you," she said. "And now I come to say--" He could not utter the word, but stood before her dumb with anguish. "That I must suffer to-morrow. Do not grieve; I expected it," she said, with sweet sadness. "It is true. The governor is inexorable." Never to his dying day did he forget the expression of that face when he told Barbara how hopeless his suit had been. It was like that of a grieved angel, calm and mournful, but holy with resignation. It seemed as if her soul were repeating the words of our Saviour, "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do!" Norman sat down by her, but could not speak. He had come himself with the terrible tidings, hoping to soften her fate by words of soothing and consolation, but the occasion was too overpowering; he could only sit at her feet and gaze wistfully into her eyes for the comfort he had lost all power to give. After a time the doomed woman made a gentle attempt to soothe him, and calm the anguish, which was the more terrible because of its stillness. But the very sound of her voice thrilled him with pain. She saw that he could not speak. Her hand fell gently on his head, and bending over him she whispered: "My son, remember how few years lie between this home and that meeting which will be all joy. Nay, do not weep so, or you will make me wish to live." "Oh, would to God that I could die for you!" cried the young man in a burst of passionate grief.