dread judge was there to efface it.

He gasped aloud, then flung himself violently forward.

"Lord of Heaven!" he stormed. "Was there ever such a canting,
impudent rascal? But I have done with you. I see thee, villain, I
see thee already with a halter round thy neck."

Having spoken so, gloatingly, evilly, he sank back again, and
composed himself. It was as if a curtain fell. All emotion passed
again from his pale face. Back to invest it again came that gentle
melancholy. Speaking after a moment's pause, his voice was soft,
almost tender, yet every word of it carried sharply through that
hushed court.

"If I know my own heart it is not in my nature to desire the hurt
of anybody, much less to delight in his eternal perdition. It is
out of compassion for you that I have used all these words - because
I would have you have some regard for your immortal soul, and not
ensure its damnation by obdurately persisting in falsehood and
prevarication. But I see that all the pains in the world, and all
compassion and charity are lost upon you, and therefore I will say
no more to you." He turned again to the jury that countenance of
wistful beauty. "Gentlemen, I must tell you for law, of which we
are the judges, and not you, that if any person be in actual
rebellion against the King, and another person - who really and
actually was not in rebellion - does knowingly receive, harbour,
comfort, or succour him, such a person is as much a traitor as he
who indeed bore arms. We are bound by our oaths and consciences to
declare to you what is law; and you are bound by your oaths and your