"Yes, yes," replied Edgeworth Bess. Opposite the gallows was an open gallery, or scaffolding, like the stand at a racecourse, which, on state occasions, was crowded with spectators. Why had he kissed her? What had led him into that? Neither love nor passion— utter blankness so far as reducing the act to terms. She hoped the lights would become hot enough to melt her into the floor. The easel and palette having been packed up, and the canvass carefully removed by Austin, the party took leave of the prisoner, who was so much abstracted that he scarcely noticed their departure. And God had let him do it! He was—and now he perfectly understood that he was—treading the queerest labyrinth a man had ever entered.
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