It was only when the dawn's first uncertain light stole into the cell that a dreamless sleep gave him complete forgetfulness.
From this he was presently roused by hearing the sound of voices in the yard, and then the sharp ringing blows of a hammer.

He quitted his bed and slipped to the window; two carpenters had already begun building the frame work that was to carry the temporary fence which would inclose the place of execution.

It was _his_ fence; it would surround his gallows that his death should not become a public spectacle.
As they went about their task, the two carpenters stole covert glances up in the direction of his window, but North stood well back in the gloom of his cell and was unseen.

Horror could add nothing to the prison pallor, which had driven every particle of color from his cheeks.

Out of these commonplace details was to come the final tragedy.