The sheriff was silent, and waited.

The prisoner remained motionless.
The sheriff resumed.

"Man, silence is a refuge where there is more risk than safety. The obstinate man is damnable and vicious. He who is silent before justice is a felon to the crown. Do not persist in this unfilial disobedience. Think of her majesty. Do not oppose our gracious queen. When I speak to you, answer her; be a loyal subject." The patient rattled in the throat.

The sheriff continued,

"Then, after seventy-two hours of torture, here we are at the fourth day. Man, it is the decisive day. It is on the fourth day that the law has fixed the confrontation."

"Quarta die, frontem ad frontem adduce," growled the sergeant.

"The wisdom of the law," continued the sheriff, "has chosen this last hour to hold what our ancestors called a 'judgment by mortal cold,' seeing it is the moment when men are believed on their yes or their no."

The sergeant on the right confirmed it,

"Judicium pro frodmortell, quod homines credendi sint per suum ya et per suum no. Charter of King Adelstan, first volume, page a hundred and sixty-three."

There was a moment's pause; then the sheriff inclined his stern face towards the prisoner.

"Man, who art there on the ground

He paused.

"Man," he cried, "do you hear me?"

The man did not move.

"In the name of the law," said the sheriff, "open your eyes."

The man's lids remained closed.

The sheriff turned to the doctor, standing on his left side.

"Doctor, give your diagnostic."

"Probe, da diagnosticum," said the sergeant.

The doctor stooped down with magisterial stiffness, approached the man, leant over him, put his ear close to the mouth of the sufferer, felt the pulse at the wrist, the armpit, and the thigh, and stood up again.

"Well?" said the sheriff.

"He can hear still," said the doctor. "Can he see?" inquired the sheriff. The doctor answered, "He can see."

On a sign from the sheriff, the justice of the quorum and the

wapentake advanced. The wapentake placed himself near the head of the patient.

The justice of the quorum stood behind Gwynplaine.

The doctor retreated a step behind the pillars.

Then the sheriff, raising the bunch of roses as a priest about to sprinkle holy water, called on the prisoner in a loud voice, and became awful.

"O, wretched man, speak! The law supplicates before she exterminates you. You, who feign to be mute, think how mute is the tomb. You, who appear deaf, think that damnation is more deaf. Think of the death which is worse than your present state. Repent; you are about to be left in this cell. Listen! you who are my likeness; for I am a man! Listen, my brother, because I am a Christian. Listen, my son, because I am an old man. Look at me; for I am the master of your sufferings, and I am about to become horrible. The horrors of the law make the majesty of the judge. Think, that I myself tremble before myself. My own power alarms me. Do not drive me to extremities. I am filled by the holy malice of chastisement. Feel, then, wretched man, the salutary and honest fear of justice, and obey me.

"The hour of confrontation is come, and you should answer. Do not harden yourself in resistance. Do not that which will be irrevocable. Think that your end belongs to me. Dying man, listen! At least, let it not be your determination to expire here during hours, days, and weeks, exhausted by frightful agonies of hunger and foulness-under the weight of these stones-alone in this cell, deserted, forgotten, annihilated,-left for food for the rats and the weasels; gnawed by creatures of darkness whilst the world comes and goes, buys and sells; whilst carriages roll in the streets above your head. At least, do not continue to draw painful breath without remission in the depths of this despair-grinding your teeth, weeping, blaspheming, without a doctor to appease the anguish of your wounds, without a priest to offer a divine draught of water to your soul. Oh! if only that you may not feel the frightful froth of the sepulchre ooze from your lips, I adjure and conjure you to hear me. I call you to your own aid. Have pity on yourself. Do what is demanded. Give way to justice. Open your eyes, and see if you recognise this man!"

The prisoner neither turned his head nor lifted his eyelids.

The sheriff cast a glance first at the justice of the quorum and then at the wapentake.

The justice of the quorum, taking from Gwynplaine his hat and

his mantle, placed his hands on his shoulders and put him face to face in the light by the side of the chained man. The face of Gwynplaine stood out from all this shadow in strange relief, clearly illuminated.

At the same time, the wapentake bent down, took the man's temples in his two hands, turned his inert head towards Gwynplaine, and with his two thumbs and his first fingers lifted the closed eyelids. The prisoner saw Gwynplaine. Then, raising his head voluntarily, and opening his eyes wide, he looked at him.

He quivered as much as a man can quiver with a mountain on his breast, and then cried out,

"'Tis he! Yes; 'tis he!"

And, terrible to say, he burst into a laugh.

""Tis he!" he repeated.

Then he let his head fall back on the earth, and closed his eyes again.

"Write! secretary," said the justice.

Gwynplaine, though terrified, had, up to that moment, preserved a calm exterior. The cry of the prisoner-"'Tis he!" overset him completely. This "Secretary, write!" froze him. He seemed to understand that a scoundrel had dragged him to his fate without his, Gwynplaine, being able to guess why, and that the unintelligible confession of this man closed round him like the clasp of an iron collar. He put himself in the place of this prisoner, attached to the same pillory of the two twin posts. Gwynplaine lost all sense of feeling in his feet in his terror, and he protested. He began to stammer incoherent words with the deep distress of an innocent man, and quivering, terrified, lost, he uttered at random the first outcries which rose to his mind, and all those words of agony which seem like idle projectiles.

He

"It is not true. It was not me. I do not know this man. cannot know me, as I do not know him. I have my theatrical part to play this evening. What do you want with me? I demand my liberty. Nor is this all. Why am I brought to this cavern? Are there no longer laws? You may as well say at once that there are no laws. My Lord Judge, I repeat that it is not I. I am innocent of all that can be said. I know it well-myself. I wish to go away. This is not justice. There is nothing between this man and me. Anyone can tell that. My life is not hidden up. They came and took me away like a thief. Why did they come like that? That man there, how can I know who he is? I am a *ravelling mountebank, who plays farces at fairs and markets. I

We are

am the Grinning Man. Plenty of people come to see me. staying in Tarrinzeau Field. Observe, that I have gained an honest livelihood for fifteen years. I am five-and-twenty. I lodge at the Tadcaster Inn. I am called Gwynplaine. Grant me the favour to let me out. You should not take advantage of the low estate of the unfortunate. Have compassion on a man who has done no harm; who is without protection, and without defence. You have before you a poor mountebank.”

"I have before me," said the sheriff, "Fermain Lord Clancharlie, Baron Clancharlie and Hunkerville, Marquis of Corleone in Sicily, and a Peer of England."

And rising, and pointing out his chair to Gwynplaine, the sheriff added,

"My lord, will your lordship deign to seat yourself?"

PART II-BOOK THE FIFTH.

The Sea and Fate are moved by the same Breath. ·

CHAPTER I.

THE DURABILITY OF FRAGILE THINGS.

DESTINY Sometimes proffers us a glass of madness to drink. A hand comes out of the mist, and suddenly offers the dark cup in which is contained the latent intoxication.

Gwynplaine did not understand.

He looked behind him to see who had been addressed.

A sound, if too sharp, fails to be perceptible to the ear; an emotion too acute conveys no meaning to the mind. There is a limit to comprehension as well as to hearing.

The wapentake and the justice of the quorum approached Gwynplaine, and took him by the arms. He felt himself placed in the chair the sheriff had just vacated. He let it be done, without

explaining to himself how it could be.

When Gwynplaine was seated, the justice of the quorum and the wapentake retired a few steps, and stood upright and motionless behind the seat.

Then the sheriff placed his bunch of roses on the stone table, put on some spectacles which the secretary gave him, drew from the

bundles of papers which covered the table, a sheet of parchment, yellow, green, torn and jagged in places, which seemed to have been folded in very small folds, and of which one side was covered with writing; standing up under the light of the lamp, he held the sheet to his eyes, and in his most solemn tone read as follows:

"In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost.

"This present day, the twenty-ninth of January, one thousand six hundred and ninetieth year of Our Lord.

"Has been wickedly deserted on the desert coast of Portland, with the intention of allowing him to perish of famine, of cold, and of solitude, a child aged ten years.

"This child was sold at the age of two years, by order of his most gracious majesty, King James the Second.

"This child is Fermain Lord Clancharlie, the only legitimate son of Linnæus Lord Clancharlie, Baron Clancharlie and Hunkerville, Marquis of Corleone in Sicily, Peer of England, defunct, and of Ann Bradshaw, his wife, both deceased. This child is the inheritor of the estates and titles of his father. For this reason he was sold, mutilated, disfigured, and put out of the way by the will of his most gracious majesty.

"This child was brought up, and trained to be a mountebank at markets and fairs.

"He was sold at the age of two years, after the death of the peer, his father, and ten pounds sterling were given to the king as his purchase-money, as well as for divers concessions, tolerations, and immunities.

"Lord Fermain Clancharlie, at the age of two years was bought by me, the undersigned, who write these lines, and mutilated and disfigured by a German from Flanders, called Hardquanonne, who alone is acquainted with the secrets and mode of treatment of Doctor Conquest.

"The child was destined by us to be a laughing mask (masıa ridens).

"With this intention Hardquanonne performed on him the operation, Bucca fissa usque ad aures, which stamps a perpetual laugh on the face.

"This child, by means known only to Hardquanonne, was put to sleep and made insensible during its performance, knowing nothing of the operation which he underwent.

"He is ignorant that he is Lord Clancharlie.

"He answers to the name of Gwynplaine.