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CHAPTER XX.
THE DAY OF EXECUTION.
"Perhaps the dreaded future has less bitterness than I think—
The Lord may sweeten the water before I stoop to drink—
Or, if Marah must be Marah, He will stand beside the brink."
Time, the inexorable messenger, whose tardy pace no passionate wishes, however ardent, can accelerate, whose rapid flight no breaking heart can arrest, moving on in his regular course, all unheeding of human joys and sorrows—ever the same, regardless "if empires rise or empires fall"—was bringing on the dreadful hour.
The last terrible day—the day appointed for the execution—had come. Clear, bright, and beautiful it dawned upon the earth, as if its cloudless light was sent in mockery, to tantalize the sad eyes which were doomed before it reached its zenith to be closed in death, and see its sweet light no more forever.
