"Well, Kate," said the executioner, as he took his seat at the breakfast-table, "I've drilled Gibbet into the art of pinioning at last."
The girl made no answer; but she cast a rapid glance at the hump-back, and two tears trickled down her cheeks.
"Come, Gibbet," added Smithers; "we've no time to lose. Don't be afraid of your bread-and-butter: you'll get nothing to eat till you come home again to dinner."
"Is John going with you this morning, uncle?" inquired Katherine timidly.
"Why, you know he is. You only ask the question to get up a discussion once more about it, as you did last night."
This was more or less true: the generous-hearted girl hoped yet to be able to avert her uncle from his intention in respect to the hump-back.
"But I won't hear any more about it," continued the executioner, as he ate his breakfast. "And, then, why do you call him John?"
"Did you not give him that name at his baptism?" said Kate.
"And if I did, I've also the right to change it," returned the executioner; "and I choose him to be called _Gibbet_. It's more professional."
"I think the grocer in High Street wants an errand boy, uncle," observed Katherine, with her eyes fixed upon her cup—she dared not raise them to Smithers' face as she spoke: "perhaps he would take John—I mean my cousin—and that would be better than making him follow a calling which he does not fancy."
"Mind your own business, Miss Imperence!" ejaculated the executioner; "and let me mind mine. Now, then—who knocks at the front door?"
In a few moments he returned, holding in his hand a paper, which he gave to his father.
"Ah! I thought so," said Smithers, as he glanced his eye over the paper: "my friend Dognatch is always in time. Here's the _last dying speech, confession, and a true account of the execution_ of the man that I'm to tuck up presently—all cut and dry, you see. Well—it's very kind of Dognatch always to send me a copy: but I suppose he thinks it's a compliment due to my sitiwation."
With these words Smithers tossed off his tea, rose, and exclaimed, "Now, Gibbet, my boy, we must be off."
"Father, I don't feel equal to it," murmured the hump-back, who seemed fixed to his chair.
"Come—without another word!" cried the executioner, in so terrible a tone that Gibbet started from his seat as if suddenly moved by electricity.