n you. I remember it all as well as though it were
yesterday when we first agreed to come away from New Zealand. When
will you have to be deposited?"

"In 1989," I said carefully. "My Fixed Period is 1990."

"Exactly; and mine is nine years earlier. It always was nine years
earlier."

It was all manifestly untrue. He knew it to be untrue. For the sake
of one poor year he was imploring my assent to a base falsehood, and
was endeavouring to add strength to his prayer by a bribe. How could
I talk to a man who would so far descend from the dignity of manhood?
The law was there to support me, and the definition of the law was
in this instance supported by ample evidence. I need only go before
the executive of which I myself was the chief, desire that the
established documents should be searched, and demand the body of
Gabriel Crasweller to be deposited in accordance with the law
as enacted. But there was no one else to whom I could leave the
performance of this invidious task, as a matter of course. There
were aldermen in Gladstonopolis and magistrates in the country
whose duty it would no doubt be to see that the law was carried out.
Arrangements to this effect had been studiously made by myself. Such
arrangements would no doubt be carried out when the working of the
Fixed Period had become a thing established. But I had long foreseen
that the first deposition should be effected with some _eclat_ of
voluntary glory. It would be very detrimental to the cause to see my
special friend Crasweller hauled away to the college by constables
through the streets of Gladstonopolis, protesting that he was forced
to his doom twelve months before the appointed time. Crasweller was
a popular man in Britannula, and the people around would not be so
conversant with the fact as was I, nor would they have the same
reasons to be anxious that the law should be accurately followed.
And yet how much depended upon the accuracy of following the law! A
willing obedience was especially desired in the first instance, and a
willing obedience I had expected from my friend Crasweller.

"Crasweller," I said, addressing him with great solemnity; "it is not
so."

"It is--it is; I say it is."

"It is not so. The books that have been printed and sworn to, which
have had your own assent with that of others, are all against you."

"It was a mistake. I have got a letter from my old aunt in Hampshire,
written to my mother when I was born, which proves th