humiliation; but the market-cross and the stocks, now that she was
within a few yards of them, exerted a strange fascination over her. Do
what she might, she could not refrain from gazing upon them once more,
and as she did so a cry of horror escaped her. In front of the cross
hung the lifeless figure of a man. About his neck was a halter, the
other end of which was securely fastened to the broken arms of the
cross.

It was Learoyd. The wretched man, tortured by a sense of guilt, and
obsessed with the idea that Mary Whittaker's act of sacrifice was a
cold-blooded device to shame him and aggravate his misery, had hanged
himself, choosing as the scene of his death the spot where, fifteen
years before, he had exposed his stepdaughter for sale. In so doing, his
warped imagination assured him that the coals of fire which seared his
brain would henceforth be poured upon the head of Mary Whittaker.

Such was the end of Samuel Learoyd. If there was stern retribution in
his death so was there also malign mockery. The chalice of pardon and
peace was filled for him, but before he could raise the cup to his lips
a fiendish hand had dashed it to the ground and substituted in its place
a draught of venomous hemlock.