“Colonel de Haldimar!” he proudly replied, while his chains clanked with the energy and force with which he drew up his person into an attitude of striking dignity; “for once I sink the private soldier, and address you in the character of the gentleman and your equal.  I have a soul, Sir, notwithstanding my fallen fortunes, as keenly alive to honour as your own; and not even to save my wretched life, would I be guilty of the baseness you now attribute to me.  You have asked,” he pursued, in a more solemn tone, “what proof I have to show this individual to be the same who attempted the life of Captain de Haldimar.  To Captain de Haldimar himself, should Providence have spared his days, I shall leave the melancholy task of bearing witness to all I here advance, when I shall be no more.  Nay, Sir,” and his look partook at once of mingled scorn and despondency, “well do I know the fate that awaits me; for in these proceedings—­in that third charge—­I plainly read my death-warrant.  But what, save my poor and wretched wife, have I to regret?  Colonel de Haldimar,” he continued, with a vehemence meant to check the growing weakness which the thought of his unfortunate companion called up to his heart, “I saved the life of your son, even by your own admission, no matter whose the arm that threatened his existence; and in every other action in which I have been engaged, honourable mention has ever been made of my conduct.  Now, Sir, I ask what has been my reward?  So far from attending to the repeated recommendations of my captain for promotion, even in a subordinate rank, have you once deemed it necessary to acknowledge my services by even a recognition of them in any way whatever?”

“Mr. President, Captain Blessington,” interrupted the governor, haughtily, “are we met here to listen to such language from a private soldier?  You will do well, Sir, to exercise your prerogative, and stay such impertinent matter, which can have no reference whatever to the defence of the prisoner.”

“Prisoner,” resumed the president, who, as well as the other members of the court, had listened with the most profound and absorbing interest to the singular disclosure of him whom they still only knew as Frank Halloway, “this language cannot be permitted; you must confine yourself to your defence.”

“Pardon me, gentlemen,” returned Halloway, in his usual firm but respectful tone of voice; “pardon me, if, standing on the brink of the grave as I do, I have so far forgotten the rules of military discipline as to sink for a moment the soldier in the gentleman; but to be taxed with an unworthy fabrication, and to be treated with contumely when avowing the secret of my condition, was more than human pride and human feeling could tolerate.”

“Confine yourself, prisoner, to your defence,” again remarked Captain Blessington, perceiving the restlessness with which the governor listened to these bold and additional observations of Halloway.