man
lit the candles on the judge's desk, and the court looked different.
There were deep shadows everywhere; and the illuminated face of Lord
Stowell looked grimmer, less kind, more ancient, more impossible
to bring a ray of sympathy to. Down below, the barristers of the
prosecution leaned back with their arms all folded, and the air of men
resting in an interval of cutting down a large tree. The barristers who
were, merely listeners looked at me from time to time. I heard one say,
"That man ought to have his hand bound up." I was telling the story of
my life, that was all I could do.

"As for Ramon, how could I know he was in the pay of the pirates, even
if he were? I swear I did not know. Everyone on the island had dealings
with him, the admiral himself. That is not calumny. On my honour, the
admiral did have dealings. Some of you have had dealings with forgers,
but that does not make you forgers."

I warmed to it; I found words. I was telling the story for that young
girl. Suddenly I saw the white face of my father peep at me between the
head of an old man with an enormous nose, and a stout lady in a brown
cloak that had a number of little watchmen's capes. He smiled suddenly,
and nodded again and again, opened his eyes, shut them; furtively waved
a hand. It distracted me, threw me off my balance, my coolness was gone.
It was as if something had snapped. After that I remembered very little;
I think I may have quoted "The Prisoner of Chillon," because he put it
into my head.

I seemed to be back again in Cuba. Down below me the barristers were
talking. The King's Advocate pulled out a puce-coloured bandanna,
and waved it abroad preparatorily to blowing his nose. A cloud of the
perfume of a West Indian bean went up from it, sweet and warm. I had
smelt it last at Rio, the sensation was so strong that I could not tell
where I was.

The candles made a yellow glow on the judge's desk; but it seemed to be
the blaze of light in the cell where Nichols and the Cuban had fenced. I
thought I was back in Cuba again. The people in the court disappeared
in the deepening shadows. At times I could not speak. Then I would begin
again.

If there were to be any possibility of saving my life, I had to tell
what I had been through--and to tell it vividly--I had to narrate the
story of my life; and my whole life came into my mind. It was Seraphina
who was the essence of my life; who spoke with the voice of all Cuba,
of all Spain, o