It was one o'clock on Saturday. Gertrude Lodge, having been admitted tothe jail as above described, was sitting in a waiting-room within thesecond gate, which stood under a classic archway of ashlar, thencomparatively modern, and bearing the inscription, 'COVNTY JAIL: 1793.'This had been the facade she saw from the heath the day before. Near athand was a passage to the roof on which the gallows stood.

The town was thronged, and the market suspended; but Gertrude had seenscarcely a soul. Having kept her room till the hour of the appointment,she had proceeded to the spot by a way which avoided the open space belowthe cliff where the spectators had gathered; but she could, even now,hear the multitudinous babble of their voices, out of which rose atintervals the hoarse croak of a single voice uttering the words, 'Lastdying speech and confession!' There had been no reprieve, and theexecution was over; but the crowd still waited to see the body takendown.

Soon the persistent girl heard a trampling overhead, then a hand beckonedto her, and, following directions, she went out and crossed the innerpaved court beyond the gatehouse, her knees trembling so that she couldscarcely walk. One of her arms was out of its sleeve, and only coveredby her shawl.

On the spot at which she had now arrived were two trestles, and beforeshe could think of their purpose she heard heavy feet descending stairssomewhere at her back. Turn her head she would not, or could not, and,rigid in this position, she was conscious of a rough coffin passing hershoulder, borne by four men. It was open, and in it lay the body of ayoung man, wearing the smockfrock of a rustic, and fustian breeches. Thecorpse had been thrown into the coffin so hastily that the skirt of thesmockfrock was hanging over. The burden was temporarily deposited on thetrestles.

By this time the young woman's state was such that a gray mist seemed tofloat before her eyes, on account of which, and the veil she wore, shecould scarcely discern anything: it was as though she had nearly died,but was held up by a sort of galvanism.

'Now!' said a voice close at hand, and she was just conscious that theword had been addressed to her.

By a last strenuous effort she advanced, at the same time hearing personsapproaching behind her. She bared her poor curst arm; and Davies,uncovering the face of the corpse, took Gertrude's hand, and held it sothat her arm lay across the dead man's neck, upon a line the colour of anunripe blackberry, which surrounded it.

Gertrude shrieked: 'the turn o' the blood,' predicted by the conjuror,had taken place. But at that moment a second shriek rent the air of theenclosure: it was not Gertrude's, and its effect upon her was to make herstart round.

Immediately behind her stood Rhoda Brook, her face drawn, and her eyesred with weeping. Behind Rhoda stood Gertrude's own husband; hiscountenance lined, his eyes dim, but without a tear.

'D-n you! what are you doing here?' he said hoarsely.

'Hussy--to come between us and our child now!' cried Rhoda. 'This is themeaning of what Satan showed me in the vision! You are like her atlast!' And clutching the bare arm of the younger woman, she pulled herunresistingly back against the wall. Immediately Brook had loosened herhold the fragile young Gertrude slid down against the feet of herhusband. When he lifted her up she was unconscious.

The mere sight of the twain had been enough to suggest to her that thedead young man was Rhoda's son. At that time the relatives of anexecuted convict had the privilege of claiming the body for burial, ifthey chose to do so; and it was for this purpose that Lodge was awaitingthe inquest with Rhoda. He had been summoned by her as soon as the youngman was taken in the crime, and at different times since; and he hadattended in court during the trial. This was the 'holiday' he had beenindulging in of late. The two wretched parents had wished to avoidexposure; and hence had come themselves for the body, a waggon and sheetfor its conveyance and covering being in waiting outside.

Gertrude's case was so serious that it was deemed advisable to call toher the surgeon who was at hand. She was taken out of the jail into thetown; but she never reached home alive. Her delicate vitality, sappedperhaps by the paralyzed arm, collapsed under the double shock thatfollowed the severe strain, physical and mental, to which she hadsubjected herself during the previous twenty-four hours. Her blood hadbeen 'turned' indeed--too far. Her death took place in the town threedays after.

Her husband was never seen in Casterbridge again; once only in the oldmarket-place at Anglebury, which he had so much frequented, and veryseldom in public anywhere. Burdened at first with moodiness and remorse,he eventually changed for the better, and appeared as a chastened andthoughtful man. Soon after attending the funeral of his poor young wifehe took steps towards giving up the farms in Holmstoke and the adjoiningparish, and, having sold every head of his stock, he went away to Port-Bredy, at the other end of the county, living there in solitary lodgingstill his death two years later of a painless decline. It was then foundthat he had bequeathed the whole of his not inconsiderable property to areformatory for boys, subject to the payment of a small annuity to RhodaBrook, if she could be found to claim it.

For some time she could not be found; but eventually she reappeared inher old parish,--absolutely refusing, however, to have anything to dowith the provision made for her. Her monotonous milking at the dairy wasresumed, and followed for many long years, till her form became bent, andher once abundant dark hair white and worn away at the forehead--perhapsby long pressure against the cows. Here, sometimes, those who knew herexperiences would stand and observe her, and wonder what sombre thoughtswere beating inside that impassive, wrinkled brow, to the rhythm of thealternating milk-streams.

('Blackwood's Magazine,' January 1888.)