ion was pronounced, Mr. Duffeld marched swiftly away;
the tall Governor strode after him, and the prisoners filed in silence
through the doorway back to their cells. What a commentary it was on
"Our Father!" It was a ghastly mockery, a blasphemous farce, a satire on
Christianity infinitely more sardonic and mordant than anything I ever
wrote or published. Soon after returning to my cell I was glad of the
substantial dinner and drowsy ale to deaden the bitter edge of my scorn.

After tea I settled down to the final preparations for my defence. My
gas was left on for an extra hour to afford me the time I required. It
was half-past nine when I retired to my hammock. Everything was then
finished except the interview I had requested with my co-defendants.
This the Governor was powerless to grant. He had applied to the visiting
magistrates, who protested the same inability. A "petition" had then
been forwarded to the Home Secretary, but no answer had been received.
While I was pondering this difficulty, my cell door was suddenly opened,
and the Governor entered. Apologising for disturbing me unceremoniously
at that unseasonable hour, he informed me that a messenger from the Home
Office had brought the necessary permission for our interview. It took
place the next morning. We had just thirty minutes to arrange our plan
for the approaching battle, the consultation being held in the courtyard
before breakfast. The time was of course absurdly inadequate. We had
a just claim to better treatment, Mr. Ramsey, Mr. Kemp and I; we were
charged with the same offence; we pleaded to a common indictment; we
stood together in the same dock; we were involved in the same fate; and
witnesses would be called against us all three indifferently. Surely,
then, as the jury had disagreed once, and we had to defend ourselves
afresh, we were entitled to proper conference with our papers before us.
This _al fresco_ chat was the last of Judge North's "opportunities." At
ten o'clock we were once more in the Old Bailey dock, fronting the judge
and jury, surrounded by an eager crowd, and beginning a second fight for
liberty and perhaps for life.

CHAPTER IX. THE SECOND TRIAL.

Before I had been in the Old Bailey dock two minutes on the morning of
my second trial, I found that our case was hopeless. The names of no
less than four jurymen were handed to me by friends in court, every one
of whom had been heard to declare that he meant to bring in a