He did not think now with a savage anger of what might be and was not;he was conscious only of deep stillness creeping over him.At first he saw a sea of faces:the mill-men,--women he had known,drunken and bloated,--Janey's timid and pitiful-poor old Debs:then they floated together like a mist,and faded away,leaving only the clear,pearly moonlight.
Whether,as the pure light crept up the stretched-out figure,it brought with It calm and peace,who shall say?His dumb soul was alone with God in judgment.A Voice may have spoken for it from far-off Calvary,"Father,forgive them,for they know not what they do!"Who dare say?Fainter and fainter the heart rose and fell,slower and slower the moon floated from behind a cloud,until,when at last its full tide of white splendor swept over the cell,it seemed to wrap and fold into a deeper stillness the dead figure that never should move again.Silence deeper than the Night!Nothing that moved,save the black,nauseous stream of blood dripping slowly from the pallet to the floor!
There was outcry and crowd enough in the cell the next day.The coroner and his jury,the local editors,Kirby himself,and boys with their hands thrust knowingly into their pockets and heads on one side,jammed into the corners.Coming and going all day.