IT was a sight that some people remembered better even than their ownsorrows--the sight in that grey clear morning, when the fatal cartwith the two young women in it was descried by the waiting watchingmultitude, cleaving its way towards the hideous symbol of a deliberatelyinflicted sudden death.
All Stoniton had heard of Dinah Morris, the young Methodist woman whohad brought the obstinate criminal to confess, and there was as mucheagerness to see her as to see the wretched Hetty.
But Dinah was hardly conscious of the multitude. When Hetty hadcaught sight of the vast crowd in the distance, she had clutched Dinahconvulsively.
"Close your eyes, Hetty," Dinah said, "and let us pray without ceasingto God."
And in a low voice, as the cart went slowly along through the midst ofthe gazing crowd, she poured forth her soul with the wrestling intensityof a last pleading, for the trembling creature that clung to her andclutched her as the only visible sign of love and pity.
Dinah did not know that the crowd was silent, gazing at her with a sortof awe--she did not even know how near they were to the fatal spot, whenthe cart stopped, and she shrank appalled at a loud shout hideous to herear, like a vast yell of demons. Hetty's shriek mingled with the sound,and they clasped each other in mutual horror.
But it was not a shout of execration--not a yell of exultant cruelty.
It was a shout of sudden excitement at the appearance of a horsemancleaving the crowd at full gallop. The horse is hot and distressed, butanswers to the desperate spurring; the rider looks as if his eyes wereglazed by madness, and he saw nothing but what was unseen by others.See, he has something in his hand--he is holding it up as if it were asignal.
The Sheriff knows him: it is Arthur Donnithorne, carrying in his hand ahard-won release from death.