indignation; "why
didn't you go, the moment you came out of the court?"

"I couldn't think at first," he answered in the same tongue; "I
couldn't think at all: I was numbed."

"Your friends should have thought of it," I insisted, not knowing then
that they had done their best.

At this moment the warder, who had turned away towards the door, came
back.

"You are not allowed, sir, to talk in a foreign language," he said
quietly. "You will understand we have to obey the rules. Besides, the
prisoner must not speak of this prison as a place of torture. I ought
to report that; I'm sorry."

The misery of it all brought tears to my eyes: his gaolers even felt
sorry for him. I thanked the warder and turned again to Oscar.

"Don't let yourself fear at all," I exclaimed. "You will have your
chance again and must take it; only don't lose heart and don't be
witty next time in court. The jury hate it. They regard it as
intellectual superiority and impudence. Treat all things seriously and
with grave dignity. Defend yourself as David would have defended his
love for Jonathan. Make them all listen to you. I would undertake to
get free with half your talent even if I were guilty; a resolution not
to be beaten is always half the battle.... Make your trial memorable
from your entrance into the court to the decision of the jury. Use
every opportunity and give your real character a chance to fight for
you."

I spoke with tears in my eyes and rage in my heart.

"I will do my best, Frank," he said despondingly, "I will do my best.
If I were out of this place, I might think of something, but it is
dreadful to be here. One has to go to bed by daylight and the nights
are interminable."

"Haven't you a watch?" I cried.

"They don't allow you to have a watch in prison," he replied.

"But why not?" I asked in amazement. I did not know that every rule
in an English prison is cunningly devised to annoy and degrade the
unfortunate prisoner.

Oscar lifted his hands hopelessly:

"One may not smoke; not even a cigarette; and so I cannot sleep. All
the past comes back; the golden hours; the June days in London with
the sunshine dappling the grass and the silken rustling of the wind in
the trees. Do you remember Wordsworth speaks 'of the wind in the
trees'? How I wish I could hear it now, breathe it once again. I might
get strength then to fight."

"Is the food good?" I asked.

"It's all right; I get it from outside. The food doesn't