"No," he growled.

The spokesman shifted in his seat and the people grew restless.

"Listen again," said the Bishop, and his long white beard shook and
his solemn voice rose to a shrill cry as he twisted back to the book
and read:--

"But if one of you be so mad that he breaks this truce thus made, and
slays after pledges have been made and his blade has reddened, he
shall be an outlaw, accursed and driven away, so far as men drive
wolves farthest away. He shall be banished of God and all good
Christian men, as far as Christian men seek churches, as mothers
bring forth sons, son calls mother, flames blaze up, mankind kindle
fire, earth is green, sun shines, and snow covers the ground; he
shall flee from kirk and Christian men, God's house and mankind, and
from every home save hell."

Then there was a pause and a great hush, and the Bishop lifted his
eyes from the book, and said--

"Will you swear to it?"

Again all eyes turned towards Jason, and again his face, which had
been impassive, took the look of a bated dog.

"No, no, no!" he cried in a loud voice, and then the great silence
was broken by deep murmurs.

"It is useless," said the spokesman. "Warnings and peace oaths,
though still valid, are the machinery of another age. This prisoner
is not ignorant of the gravity of the crime he contemplates, nor yet
of the penalty attaching to it."

There was an audible murmur of assent from the people.

"That's true," said one. "It's the truest word spoken to-night," said
another. "The old man is all for mercy," said a third. "It isn't
safe," said a fourth. And there was other whispering, and much
nodding of heads and shuffling of feet.

Encouraged by these comments the little spokesman added--

"In any other country at this age of the world a man who tacitly
admitted a design to take life would be promptly clapped into
prison."

"Ay, ay," the people muttered, but the Bishop drew himself up and
said, "In any other country a criminal who showed no fear of the
death that hung over him would be straightway consigned to a
madhouse."

"We have no madhouse in this island, my lord," said the little
spokesman, "save the Sulpher Mines, and there he must go."

"Wait," said the Bishop, and once again he turned to the prisoner.
"If this Court should agree to ship you out of Iceland will you
promise never more to return to it?"

For the third time all eyes were turned on Jason, but he did not seem
to hear the Bish