ad been directed towards Paul, was
now diverted to the judge. It seemed for the moment as though Paul
were no longer the centre of interest, nor indeed did he occupy the
chief place in the great drama of life which was played before him. It
was no longer Hamlet who held the stage, but the King.

There was little wonder at this. He fell into his chair as if he were
unable to support himself, and everyone saw at a glance that something
of terrible import must have happened to him. His eyes were bloodshot;
his face, usually so healthful looking and florid, was pale and
haggard; his cheeks were baggy; and he was bowed down as if by some
great calamity. Everyone felt this, although no one spoke. All eyes
were riveted upon him; everyone took note of his slightest movement.

For a few seconds he sat with bowed head, apparently looking at the
papers before him, but really seeing nothing. He seemed to be
pondering what to do, what to say. More than one noticed that his
hands trembled. The clerk of the assizes mentioned something to him,
but the judge took no notice; the man might not have spoken at all.

At length he seemed to gather himself up as if by a great effort.
Twice he essayed to speak, and twice he failed. It might appear as
though the power of language were gone.

If the silence had been intense when he had entered the court, it was
more than ever so now. People seemed afraid to breathe. The jurymen
looked towards him in wonder, and barristers who were _habitues_ of
courts of law, and who had grown callous even with regard to the most
interesting cases, watched him with an eagerness that they had never
known before, while the spectators seemed to be afraid to breathe.

And yet nothing had been said. From the casual observer's point of
view the case was to recommence in the ordinary way, save that the
judge was a few minutes late. But everyone knew something was about to
happen. The very air they breathed was tense with emotion.

"Gentlemen," said the judge presently--and it did not seem like his
voice at all, it was so hoarse and unnatural--"Gentlemen, I wish to
make a statement which is of the utmost importance. I wish to say that
I can no longer sit in judgment on this case, and that therefore, to
all intents and purposes, the court is dismissed."

No one moved or made a sound, save that the reporters at their desks
were busily writing. Their pencils, as they swept over their
note-books, made