He thought of his oath as Deemster and of the execration that would fall on him if found out. He remembered his father's motto: "Justice is the most sacred thing on earth." No, no, it was impossible! His honour as a Judge forbade it. But, as the train ran on, the call of nature conquered and he asked himself what, after all, was his honour as a Judge compared with that poor girl's life? "Nothing! Nothing!" Bessie Collister must not die! She must not remain in prison! She must escape! He must help her to do so. Secretly, though, nobody knowing, not even the girl herself or Fenella. At St. John's, a junction between the north of the island and the south, the Bishop of the island stepped into Stowell's compartment. He had been holding a confirmation service at a neighbouring church, and a company of young girls, in white muslin frocks, were seeing him off from the platform. While the carriages were being coupled he stood at the open door and said good-bye to them. "And now go home, dear children, and have your suppers and get to bed. Home, sweet home, you know!" But the children would not go until they had sung again in their sweet young voices the hymn they had just been singing in church--"Now the day is over." By the time the engine whistled and the train was moving out of the station, they had reached the verse-- "_Comfort every sufferer, Watching late in pain, Those who plan some evil From their sin restrain._" Stowell dare not look at them. He was thinking of the girl in Castle Rushen and picturing to himself a similar scene of joy and innocence which might have taken place only a few years before in the station by the glen. "Ah!" said the Bishop, settling himself in his seat. He was a short, dapper, almost dainty little man, who talked continually like the brook that often runs behind a Manx cottage and fills it with cheerful chatter. "I suppose you've heard the news, Deemster?" He produced a small evening newspaper. "That poor young person in Castle Rushen is to be executed after all! Terrible, isn't it?" Stowell bent his head. "I really thought that after your address to the Jury she would have been pardoned. But who am I to set up my opinion against that of the King's advisers? And then think of the effect of bad example! Those dear children, for instance, they are not too young to remember. And if that unhappy girl had got off who knows what effect...." Stowell, nursing the fires of his rebellion, hardly heard the running stream of commonplace. "And then Holy Wedlock! I always say that every act of carnal transgression is a sin against the marriage altar." The train was running along the western coast; the sun was setting; the Irish mountains were purple against the red glow of the sky behind them. "And then think of the poor soul herself! It may be best for her too! God knows to what depths she might have descended!"