Just then, the door onto the platform high above flew open and the thickset hangman trundled out. The aforesaid fiancée shrieked, then collapsed—yet a third time—against her sister’s shoulder on a wretched sob. For months now, Miss Elinor Colburne had been bravely proclaiming her intention to stand stalwart to the end—though this was not, in point of fact, her end. And never mind the fact that prior to this drawn-out melodrama, the lady had never stood stalwart in the face of anything more catastrophic than a badly knotted hair ribbon