“Then listen to me!” said Legg, when at length the torrent from Tartarus was stayed. “What is before you is first a trial for bigamy, with fourteen years of penal serviture, with hard labor, bread and water, ball and chain, dark cell and frequent flogging thrown in!” Gentleman Geff answered this by a glare of hatred and defiance and another inundation from the River of Styx. Legg waited until that flood was exhausted and then added: “Nor is that all! For when your first term of penal servitude shall be served out, another indictment will await you for conspiracy, perjury, forgery and fraud, by which you sought to gain possession of the Haymore estate, and another fourteen years, at least, of imprisonment, hard labor, stripes, chains and the rest!” Again Gentleman Geff opened his lips in a way that made his mouth seem the opening of the pit of fire and brimstone for the blasting curses that issued from it. And again Legg waited in sarcastic silence until the smoke and flame had sunk down, and then he added: “If you should live through your second term you will have served twenty-eight years and you will be near sixty years of age—a very hoary-headed sinner, indeed! And yet, at the end of that time, the United States will want you on a charge of highway robbery and attempted murder, and will get you under the international extradition treaty. And you will pass the remainder of your guilty life in an American prison, where not only are the strong and rebellious criminals compelled to labor, but the aged, the infirm, and the invalids are scourged and driven to hard work, until they drop dead (if all tales be true). ‘Do you like the picture?’” A blast of fury, profanity and indecency, more diabolical than all that bad preceded it, stormed from the mouth of the madman, and raved like a whirlwind around the ears of the listener. When this had died of its own frenzy, Legg spoke again and for the last time.