pity. In vain. If pity or sympathy were there, only the bowed head and averted face manifested it. In that dark hour, like her Master, "the Man of sorrows," she stood forsaken and alone. We can see the quivering of her whole frame, as the stern, terrible words fall upon her clouded hearing, and see her waver and shrink and totter, as if the summer thunder-bolt had blasted her. It is but for a moment: the weak woman has faltered—but the believing disciple stands firm again; she knows in whom she has believed—she knows that her "Redeemer liveth;" and trusting in his love and power, she, who has meekly followed his example through life, follows it even now. We see her fold her fettered arms across her submissive breast, as, raising her dim eyes to heaven, she faintly murmurs, in his own words, "Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do."
When this mockery of religion on the part of the Church was over, she was again taken to Salem jail, where she remained until the 19th of July, when she was hung at Gallow's Hill.
