Her thoughts were with the poor
condemned man who was to die the next day.
And suddenly she flew out of the room, summoned her groom, mounted
her horse, and rode away.
In his condemned cell Black Donald was bitterly realizing how
unprepared he was to die, and how utterly impossible it was for him
to prepare in the short hours left him. He tried to pray, but could
form no other petition than that he might be allowed, if possible, a
little longer to fit himself to meet his Creator. From his cell he
could hear the striking of the great clock in the prison hall. And
as every hour struck it seemed "a nail driven in his coffin."
At eight o'clock that night the warden sat in his little office,
consulting the sheriff about some details of the approaching
execution. While they were still in discussion, a turnkey opened the
door, saying:
"A lady to see the warden."
And Capitola stood before them!
"Miss Black!" exclaimed both sheriff and warden, rising in surprise,
gazing upon our heroine, and addressing her by the name under which
they had first known her.
"Yes, gentlemen, it is I. The truth is, I cannot rest tonight
without saying a few words of comfort to the poor man who is to die
to-morrow. So I came hither, attended by my groom, to know if I may
see him for a few minutes."
"Miss Black, here is the sheriff.
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