“Your Grace sees,” said the bishop to the president, “that one of my clients was not mistaken when he found so much resemblance between Hacket and your private secretary.” “Turiaf Musdœmon,” said the president to the prisoner, “what have you to say in your defence?” Musdœmon looked at his master with an expression which alarmed him. He had recovered his usual impudence, and after a brief pause, answered: “Nothing, sir.” The president resumed in a weak and faltering voice: “Then you acknowledge yourself guilty of the crime with which you are charged? You confess yourself to be the author of a conspiracy alike against the State and against one John Schumacker?” “I do, my lord,” replied Musdœmon. The bishop rose. “Mr. President, that there may be no shadow of doubt in this affair, will your grace ask the prisoner if he had any accomplices?” “Accomplices?” repeated Musdœmon. He hesitated a moment. The president wore a look of awful anxiety. “No, my lord Bishop,” he said at last. The president’s look of relief fell full upon him. “No, I had no accomplices,” repeated Musdœmon, still more emphatically. “I concocted this plot through affection for my master, who knew nothing of it, to destroy his enemy, Schumacker.” The eyes of prisoner and president met once more. “Your Grace,” said the bishop, “must see that as Musdœmon had no accomplices, Baron Ordener Guldenlew must be innocent.” “Then why, worthy Bishop, did he confess his guilt?” “Mr. President, why did that mountaineer persist that he was Hans of Iceland at the risk of his life? God alone knows our secret motives.” Ordener took up the word: “Judges, I can tell you my motive, now that the real criminal has been discovered. I accused myself falsely to save the former chancellor, Schumacker, whose death would have left his daughter without a protector.” The president bit his lip. “We request the court,” said the bishop, “to proclaim the innocence of our client, Ordener Guldenlew.” The president responded with a nod; and at the request of the lord mayor, they finished their examination of the terrible casket, which contained nothing more except Schumacker’s titles of nobility, and a few letters from the Munkholm prisoner to Captain Dispolsen,--bitter, but not criminal letters, which alarmed no one but Chancellor d’Ahlefeld. The court then withdrew; and after a brief deliberation, while the curious crowd, gathered on the parade, waited with stubborn impatience to see the viceroy’s son led forth to die, and the executioner nonchalantly paced the scaffold, the president pronounced in a scarcely audible voice the death sentence of Turiaf Musdœmon, the acquittal of Ordener Guldenlew, and the restoration of all his honors, titles, and privileges. XLIX. What will you sell me your carcass for, my boy I would not give you, in faith, a broken toy. _Saint Michael and Satan (Old Miracle Play)._