r. Brudenell, the chaplain, in his surplice, with his prayer book
open in his hand, walking beside Richard, who is moody and disorderly.
He walks doggedly through the gallows framework, and posts himself a
little in front of it. Behind him comes the executioner, a stalwart
soldier in his shirtsleeves. Following him, two soldiers haul a light
military waggon. Finally comes the band, which posts itself at the back
of the square, and finishes the Dead March. Judith, watching Richard
painfully, steals down to the gallows, and stands leaning against its
right post. During the conversation which follows, the two soldiers
place the cart under the gallows, and stand by the shafts, which point
backwards. The executioner takes a set of steps from the cart and
places it ready for the prisoner to mount. Then he climbs the tall
ladder which stands against the gallows, and cuts the string by which
the rope is hitched up; so that the noose drops dangling over the cart,
into which he steps as he descends.

RICHARD (with suppressed impatience, to Brudenell). Look here, sir:
this is no place for a man of your profession. Hadn't you better go
away?

SWINDON. I appeal to you, prisoner, if you have any sense of decency
left, to listen to the ministrations of the chaplain, and pay due heed
to the solemnity of the occasion.

THE CHAPLAIN (gently reproving Richard). Try to control yourself, and
submit to the divine will. (He lifts his book to proceed with the
service.)

RICHARD. Answer for your own will, sir, and those of your accomplices
here (indicating Burgoyne and Swindon): I see little divinity about
them or you. You talk to me of Christianity when you are in the act of
hanging your enemies. Was there ever such blasphemous nonsense! (To
Swindon, more rudely) You've got up the solemnity of the occasion, as
you call it, to impress the people with your own dignity--Handel's
music and a clergyman to make murder look like piety! Do you suppose I
am going to help you? You've asked me to choose the rope because you
don't know your own trade well enough to shoot me properly. Well, hang
away and have done with it.

SWINDON (to the chaplain). Can you do nothing with him, Mr. Brudenell?

CHAPLAIN. I will try, sir. (Beginning to read) Man that is born of
woman hath--

RICHARD (fixing his eyes on him). "Thou shalt not kill."

The book drops in Brudenell's hands.

CHAPLAIN (confessing his embarrassment). What am I to say, Mr. Dudgeon?

RIC