“Done!”

“Done!” and Mr. Lacy smiled good-humoredly, but, it must be owned, incredulously.  “Is that proof at hand?” he added.

“It is.  But one thing at a time—­the leathern gallows is the iniquity we are unearthing at present.  Ah! here are Mr. Hawes and his subordinates.”

“Subordinates?”

“You will see why I call them so.”

Mr. Williams.  “I trust you will not accept the evidence of a refractory prisoner against an honest, well-tried officer, whose conduct for two years past we have watched and approved.”

Mr. Lacy replied with dignity:  “Your good opinion of Mr. Hawes shall weigh in his favor at every part of the evidence, but you must not dictate to me the means by which I am to arrive at the truth.”

Mr. Williams bit his lip and was red and silent.

“But, your reverence,” cried Robinson, “don’t let me be called a refractory prisoner when you know I am not.”

“Then what were you in the black-hole for?”

“For obeying orders.”

“Nonsense! hum!  Explain.”

“His reverence said to me, ’You are a good writer; write your own life down.  See how you like it when you look at it with reason’s eye instead of passion’s, all spread out before you in its true colors.  Tell the real facts—­no false coin, nor don’t put any sentiments down you don’t feel to please me—­I shall only despise you,’ said his reverence.  Well, sir, I am not a fool, and so of course I could see how wise his reverence was, and how much good might come to my poor sinful soul by doing his bidding; and I said a little prayer he had taught me against a self-deceiving heart—­his reverence is always letting fly at self-deception—­and then I sat down and I said, ’Now I won’t tell a single lie or make myself a pin better or worse than I really am.  Well, gentlemen, I hadn’t written two pages when Mr. Fry found me out and told the governor, and the governor had me shoved into the black-hole where you found me.”

“This is Mr. Fry, I think?”

“My name is Fry”

“Was this prisoner sent to the black-hole merely for writing his life by the chaplain’s orders?”

“You must ask the governor, sir.  My business is to report offenses and to execute orders; I don’t give ’em.”

“Mr. Hawes, was he sent to the black-hole for doing what the chaplain had set him to do by way of a moral lesson?”

“He was sent for scribbling a pack of lies without my leave.”

“What! when he had the permission of your superior officer.”

“Of my superior officer?”