“Mr.—­Mr.—?”

“Eden.”

“Mr. Eden, be seated, if you please.  You appear to be ill, sir?”

“I am recovering from a mortal sickness.”

“The jaundice, eh?”

“Something of that nature.”

“A horrible complaint.”

Mr. Eden bowed.

“I have had some experience of it.  Are you aware of its effect on the mind?”

“I feel its effect on the temper and the nerves.”

“Deeper than that, sir—­it colors the judgment.  Makes us look at everything on the dark side.”

Mr. Eden sighed:  “I see what you are driving at; but you confound effect with cause.”

Mr. Lacy shrugged his shoulders, opened his portfolio, and examined a paper or two.

“Mr. Hawes, you served her majesty in another way before you came here?”

“Five and twenty years, sir, man and boy.”

“And I think with credit?”

“My will has been good to do my duty, whatever my abilities may be.”

“I believe you distinguished yourself at sea in a storm in the West Indies?”

Mr. Williams put in warmly, “He went out to a vessel in distress in a hurricane at Jamaica.”

“It was off the Mauritius,” observed Mr. Eden with a gleam of satisfaction.

“Well,” said Mr. Lacy, “he saved other lives at the risk of his own, no matter where.  Pray, Mr. Eden, does your reading and experience lead you to believe that a brave man is ever a cruel one?”

“Yes.”

“There is a proverb that the cruel are always cowards.”

“Cant! seven out of twelve are cowards and five brave.”

“I don’t agree with you.  The presumption is all on Mr. Hawes’s side.”

“And only the facts on mine.”

Mr. Lacy smiled superciliously.  “To the facts let us go, then.  You received a note from the Home Office this morning.  In compliance with that note have you prepared your case?”

“Yes.”

“Will you begin by giving me an idea what the nature of your evidence will be?”

“A page or two of print—­twenty of manuscript—­three or four living witnesses, and—­one dead body.”

“Hum! he seems in earnest, gentlemen.  How long do you require to state your case?  Can it be done to-day?” Mr. Lacy looked at his watch half peevishly.

“Half an hour,” was the reply.

“Only half an hour?”

“Ay, but half an hour neat.”

“What do you mean by neat?”

“The minutes not to be counted that are wasted in idle interruptions or in arguments drawn from vague probabilities where direct evidence lies under our senses.  For instance, that because I have been twenty-five years a servant of Christ with good repute, therefore it is not to be credited I could bring a false accusation; or that because Mr. Hawes was brave twenty years ago in one set of circumstances, therefore he cannot be cruel now in another set of circumstances.”