"Well, my lord, you know the world--so do the gentlemen of the jury--"

"And of the Jewry!" screamed his lordship, amid laughter from the merry wigs.

As Frankl stepped down, a name was called at which Hogarth went cold as a ghost: "Rebekah Frankl".

And in she stepped splendent, to stand like a Nubian woman, with that retreat of the hips, her ears torn with their load of gold, her throat and breast ablaze, she bringing into that English court the gaudy heat of the Orient, Baal and Astarte, orgies of Hindoo women in temples of Parvati, the pallid pa.s.sion of Bacchantes. Though not tall, she was lofty, and her ebon eyes had that very royalty of the stare of the bent form in the dock, whose heart throbbed quick like paddle-wheels that thrash the sea, she his wild divinity, wild wife of his wild youth....

At her shocking beauty the Court stood hushed.

She suggested the East: but in her speech was the energy of the West--sharp--a ba.s.s almost like her father's.

"You recognize the prisoner?"

"Yes". She smiled.

"You were present on the day of the 11th November when the prisoner entered your father's house, and attempted to strike him?"

"Did strike him".

"He did?"

"Yes".

"Did he seem in a pa.s.sion?"

"Seemed severe".

"Severe! But was he not highly excited?"

"He did not seem so. Frowned and flogged".

"By whom was he ejected?"

"Went of his own accord".

"But--try to remember. What made him go?"

"He suddenly saw _me_, and fled".

Laughter droned through the court, in which she navely joined, while Hogarth's eyes and hers met one instant, blazed outrageously, and dropped....

That was all. Counsel bowed.

The day grew toward evening, and still the stuffy Court sat.

But Margaret Hogarth did not come; a defending counsel finished examination, counsel on the other side again addressed the Court, and again defending counsel. The judge then held the scales, the jury trooped away, the crowd buzzed.

The light in the room seemed to brood to a denser yellow, and anon to grow dim; the stuffed court festered; voices spoke, but low. The King of Terrors was here.

When the jury came, the judge was called, Hogarth stood up, and the clerk of arraigns put a question to the foreman.

The foreman said: "We find the prisoner guilty: but beg to recommend him to the mercy of the Crown".

"On what grounds?" asked his lordship.

"On the grounds of past good conduct and strong provocation".

The judge then placed on his head a square of velvet and pa.s.sed the sentence of the Court.

During the reign of stillness that followed, while the court clock's ticking was still loud, something which was thrown struck Hogarth on the arm, a red rose, black at heart, that had lain on the breast of Rebekah, who, when Hogarth looked round at her, was calmly drawing her ma.s.s of cloak about her throat.

XIII

OUT OF THE WORLD

A week later a governor and a chaplain together entered Hogarth's cell with news of his reprieve.

Eight months later he was being trundled in "Black Maria" to Paddington Station amid a Babel of escaped tongues, when, sitting in his pigeonhole, he heard the unknown voice before him cry: "Well, Jim, we're away to the mountain's brow!"

Jim, nothing but a voice, was heard: "Worse luck! I knows Colmoor, and I knows the Scrubs, and I knows Portland; and of the five I say--give me Jedwood. Who's the guy in front o' you?"

"Hi, you in front there, who _are_ yer?" cried the first, pounding.

He was answered by a deep voice, which said:

"I AM WHO I AM".

"All right, keep yer 'air on, if you've any left! It's the Lawd Chief Justice, mate! 'E says 'e's 'oo 'e are!"

"'Old on! _I_ knows who it is: it's that new-comer, 33. They say he was once a priest--"

But now speech was swallowed up in hubbub, as the van ran battering down a rough street near the station.

Then again Hogarth was whirled into night and s.p.a.ce, and, toward morning, after the b.u.mping climb of a van, was bidden to alight on moorland, where he spied, far off, set on a hill, a mighty palace of Romance, all grim, aloof, which was Colmoor.

The next morning while the outdoor gangs were being searched on parade before the exit, Hogarth saw a face which he knew; and "You, Bates", he said, "I thought you were in Eternity!"

But no: there stood Bates, all capped and arrowed, cropped and neat, not wearing the filthy old scarf of liberty any more.

The neighbor of Hogarth now was a stout man, with black hair, and grey eyes.

He it was who had been--a priest: and in "Black Maria" had given that answer: "I am who I am".