The Works of George W. M. Reynolds — page 199: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

182 THE COURT OF LONDON inside that ominous-looking door whereon no eye ever fails to linger a moment when passing along the front of New- gate. ‘“ Courage! ’’ whispers a voice in Dysart’s ear; he looks aside for an instant, and beholds the blackened countenance of the Hangman. Recalled to himself, as it were, from a hideous dream in which he appeared to have been walking, Dysart does summon all his courage to his aid; and fortunately for the complete gathering of his presence of mind at this supreme moment, he observes something white projecting from the sheriff's pocket. Ah! it is the reprieve, — the reprieve which he has placed thus handy, so that it may be drawn forth in a moment. After all, Dysart feels that-he is safe; and he ascends the steps of the scaffold, pinioned and trussed for death, with the conviction that he shall speedily descend those steps again to enter upon a new lease of life. A solemn stillness once more falls upon the crowd, and not a murmur is heard. His is not a crime which calls for the expression of public opinion in yells and execrations, and therefore not a reproachful voice is heard, not an abusive syllable is uttered. A dimness comes upon Dysart’s eyes; he closes them hard, then opens them promptly again, and his sight has now a horrible clearness. The rapid glance which he flings right and left shows him the countless myriads of human faces all turned toward that black funereal eminence on which he stands. The knell of St. Sepulchre’s Church falls like a sledge-hammer upon his brain. The eyes of the multitudes seem to pierce him through and through. And these are his sensations during the first quarter of a min- ute that he stands upon the scaffold; but then in that quar- ter of a minute are concentrated whole ages and ages of sense, feeling, faculty, and circumstance. He is now recalled to a livelier and keener appreciation of his position by the touch of the Hangman, who never- theless again breathes the word “‘ Courage” in his ear. He strives to speak; but at the instant his lips are wavering, the halter circles his neck. A shriek rises to the very tip ol his tongue, but it is stifled by the sudden drawing down of the nightcap over his face. Then the fingers of the Hangman are lifted from him, and he hears the wretch hasten away, Gomichbooks (E(0)