sed."

"Am I at liberty to stand mute?"

"Assuredly not," Justice Millet burst out, pulling his robes about
him.

"Your pardon, brother; it is the law that the prisoner may stand mute
if he choose."

Then turning to Ralph,--

"But why?"

"To save from forfeiture my lands, sheep, goods, and chattels, and
those of my mother and brother, falsely stated to be mine."

Justice Millet gave an eager glance at Justice Hide.

"It is the law," said the latter, apparently replying to an unuttered
question. "The estate of an offender cannot be seized to the King's
use before conviction. My Lord Coke is very clear on that point. It is
the law; we must yield to it."

"God forefend else!" replied Justice Millet in his meekest tone.

"Ralph Ray," continued the judge, "let us be sure that you know what
you do. If you stand mute a terrible punishment awaits you."

Justice Millet interposed,--

"I repeat that the prisoner _must_ plead. In the ancient law of _peine
forte et dure_ an exception is expressly made of all cases of
regicide."

"The indictment does not specify regicide as the prisoner's treason."

Justice Millet hid his discomfiture in an ostentatious perusal of a
copy of the indictment.

"But do not deceive yourself," continued the judge, turning again
towards the prisoner. "Do you know the penalty of standing mute? Do
you know that to save your estates to your family by refusing to
plead, you must suffer a terrible death,--a death without judgment, a
death too shocking perhaps for so much as bare contemplation? Do you
know this?"

The dense throng in the court seemed not to breathe at that awful
moment. Every one waited for the reply. It came slowly and
deliberately,--

"I know it."

The paper dropped from the judge's hand, and fluttered to the floor.
In the court there was a half-uttered murmur of amazement. A man stood
there to surrender his life, with all that was near and dear to it.
Not dogged, trapped, made desperate by fate, but cheerfully and of his
own free will.

Wonder and awe fell on that firmament of faces. Brave fellows there
found the heart swell and the pulse beat quick as they saw that men--
plain, rude men, Englishmen, kinsmen--might still do nobly. Cowards
shrank closer together.

And, in the midst of all, the man who stood to die wore the serenest
look to be seen there. Not an eye but was upturned to his placid face.

The judge's voice broke the silence,--

"And was it with thi