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The hours went on as he walked to and fro, and the clocks struck

the numbers he would never hear again. Nine gone for ever, ten

gone for ever, eleven gone for ever, twelve coming on to pass

away. After a hard contest with that eccentric action of thought

which had last perplexed him, he had got the better of it. He

walked up and down, softly repeating their names to himself. The

worst of the strife was over. He could walk up and down, free

from distracting fancies, praying for himself and for them.

Twelve gone for ever.

He had been apprised that the final hour was Three, and he knew

he would be summoned some time earlier, inasmuch as the tumbrils

jolted heavily and slowly through the streets. Therefore, he

resolved to keep Two before his mind, as the hour, and so to

strengthen himself in the interval that he might be able, after

that time, to strengthen others.