CHAPLAIN. I will try, sir. (Beginning to read) Man that is born of woman hath--

RICHARD (fixing his eyes on him). "Thou shalt not kill."

The book drops in Brudenell's hands.

CHAPLAIN (confessing his embarrassment). What am I to say, Mr. Dudgeon?

RICHARD. Let me alone, man, can't you?

BURGOYNE (with extreme urbanity). I think, Mr. Brudenell, that as the usual professional observations seem to strike Mr. Dudgeon as incongruous under the circumstances, you had better omit them until--er--until Mr. Dudgeon can no longer be inconvenienced by them. (Brudenell, with a shrug, shuts his book and retires behind the gallows.) YOU seem in a hurry, Mr. Dudgeon.

RICHARD (with the horror of death upon him). Do you think this is a pleasant sort of thing to be kept waiting for? You've made up your mind to commit murder: well, do it and have done with it.

BURGOYNE. Mr. Dudgeon: we are only doing this--

RICHARD. Because you're paid to do it.

SWINDON. You insolent-- (He swallows his rage.)

BURGOYNE (with much charm of manner). Ah, I am really sorry that you should think that, Mr. Dudgeon. If you knew what my commission cost me, and what my pay is, you would think better of me. I should be glad to part from you on friendly terms.

RICHARD. Hark ye, General Burgoyne. If you think that I like being hanged, you're mistaken. I don't like it; and I don't mean to pretend that I do. And if you think I'm obliged to you for hanging me in a gentlemanly way, you're wrong there too. I take the whole business in devilish bad part; and the only satisfaction I have in it is that you'll feel a good deal meaner than I'll look when it's over. (He turns away, and is striding to the cart when Judith advances and interposes with her arms stretched out to him. Richard, feeling that a very little will upset his self-possession, shrinks from her, crying) What are you doing here? This is no place for you. (She makes a gesture as if to touch him. He recoils impatiently.) No: go away, go away; you'll unnerve me. Take her away, will you?

JUDITH. Won't you bid me good-bye?

RICHARD (allowing her to take his hand). Oh good-bye, good-bye.

Now go--go--quickly. (She clings to his hand--will not be put off with so cold a last farewell--at last, as he tries to disengage himself, throws herself on his breast in agony.)

SWINDON (angrily to the sergeant, who, alarmed at Judith's movement, has come from the back of the square to pull her back, and stopped irresolutely on finding that he is too late). How is this? Why is she inside the lines?

SERGEANT (guiltily). I dunno, sir. She's that artful can't keep her away.

BURGOYNE. You were bribed.

SERGEANT (protesting). No, Sir--

SWINDON (severely). Fall back. (He obeys.)

RICHARD (imploringly to those around him, and finally to Burgoyne, as the least stolid of them). Take her away. Do you think I want a woman near me now?

BURGOYNE (going to Judith and taking her hand). Here, madam: you had better keep inside the lines; but stand here behind us; and don't look.

Richard, with a great sobbing sigh of relief as she releases him and turns to Burgoyne, flies for refuge to the cart and mounts into it. The executioner takes off his coat and pinions him.

JUDITH (resisting Burgoyne quietly and drawing her hand away). No: I must stay. I won't look. (She goes to the right of the gallows. She tries to look at Richard, but turns away with a frightful shudder, and falls on her knees in prayer.

Brudenell comes towards her from the back of the square.)

BURGOYNE (nodding approvingly as she kneels). Ah, quite so. Do not disturb her, Mr. Brudenell: that will do very nicely.

(Brudenell nods also, and withdraws a little, watching her sympathetically. Burgoyne resumes his former position, and takes out a handsome gold chronometer.) Now then, are those preparations made? We must not detain Mr. Dudgeon.

By this time Richard's hands are bound behind him; and the noose is round his neck. The two soldiers take the shaft of the wagon, ready to pull it away. The executioner, standing in the cart behind Richard, makes a sign to the sergeant.

SERGEANT (to Burgoyne). Ready, sir.

BURGOYNE. Have you anything more to say, Mr. Dudgeon? It wants two minutes of twelve still.

RICHARD (in the strong voice of a man who has conquered the bitterness of death). Your watch is two minutes slow by the town clock, which I can see from here, General. (The town clock strikes the first stroke of twelve. Involuntarily the people flinch at the sound, and a subdued groan breaks from them.) Amen! my life for the world's future!

ANDERSON (shouting as he rushes into the market place). Amen; and stop the execution. (He bursts through the line of soldiers opposite Burgoyne, and rushes, panting, to the gallows.) I am Anthony Anderson, the man you want.

The crowd, intensely excited, listens with all its ears. Judith, half rising, stares at him; then lifts her hands like one whose dearest prayer has been granted.

SWINDON. Indeed. Then you are just in time to take your place on the gallows. Arrest him.

At a sign from the sergeant, two soldiers come forward to seize Anderson.

ANDERSON (thrusting a paper under Swindon's nose). There's my safe-conduct, sir.

SWINDON (taken aback). Safe-conduct! Are you--!

ANDERSON (emphatically). I am. (The two soldiers take him by the elbows.) Tell these men to take their hands off me.

SWINDON (to the men). Let him go.

SERGEANT. Fall back.