” Hill staggered to his feet and drew a folded paper from his pocket. In the midst of them there was a cart with a man in it—and that man was Jack—my son Jack—they were going to hang him. Crack went the whip, and away floundered the heavy vehicle through the deep ruts of the ill-kept road, or rather lane, (for it was little better,) which, then, led across Southampton Fields. She mentally reprimanded herself to alter her own visage so as not to appear depraved. All at once they came to the top, the faded blue sky overhead, and whichever way he looked, the horizon, the great rocking circle which hemmed them in. His heart was beating, but faintly and slowly, with ominous intermissions.
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