his month to speak he was interrupted; and when he closed it they
roared, "He has admitted his guilt." He had one chance of life, and
one chance only. He must recant his heretical Wycliffite opinions,
especially those set forth in his treatise on the "Church." What
need, said the Council, could there be of any further trial? The
man was a heretic. His own books convicted him, and justice must be
done.

And now, on the last day of the trial, John Hus stood before the
great Council. The scene was appalling. For some weeks this
gallant son of the morning had been tormented by neuralgia. The
marks of suffering were on his brow. His face was pale; his cheeks
were sunken; his limbs were weak and trembling. But his eye flashed
with a holy fire, and his words rang clear and true. Around him
gleamed the purple and gold and the scarlet robes. Before him sat
King Sigismund on the throne. The two men looked each other in the
face. As the articles were rapidly read out against him, John Hus
endeavoured to speak in his own defence. He was told to hold his
tongue. Let him answer the charges all at once at the close.

"How can I do that," said Hus, "when I cannot even bear them all in
mind?"

He made another attempt.

"Hold your tongue," said Cardinal Zabarella; "we have already given
you a sufficient hearing."

With clasped hands, and in ringing tones, Hus begged in vain for a
hearing. Again he was told to hold his peace, and silently he