Then another suggestion was made: that I should be brought out of my house just before the dawn on pretence that it was time to ride; that then I should be given the opportunity of escape and instantly shot down. Or it might be pretended that I had tried to escape, with a like result. Who, they urged, was to know in that half-light whether I had or had not actually attempted to run for my life, or to threaten their lives, circumstances under which the law said it was justifiable to shoot a prisoner already formally condemned to death? To this black counsel they all agreed, being so terribly afraid of a poor English lad whose existence, although most of them did not know this, was to be taken from him upon false evidence. But then arose another question: By whose hand should the thing be done? Not one of them, it would seem, was anxious to fulfil this bloody office; indeed, they one and all refused to do so. A proposal was put forward that some of their native servants should be forced to serve as executioners; but when this had been vetoed by the general sense of the court, their counsels came to a deadlock. Then, after a whispered conference, the commandant spoke some dreadful words. “Hernando Pereira and Henri Marais,” he said, “it is on your evidence that this young man has been condemned. We believe that evidence, but if by one jot or one tittle it is false, then not justice, but a foul murder will have been committed and his innocent blood will be upon your heads for ever. Hernando Pereira and Henri Marais, the court appoints you to be the guards who will bring the prisoner out of his house to-morrow morning just when the sky begins to lighten. It is from _you_ that he will try to escape, and _you_ will prevent his escape by his death. Then you must join us where we shall be waiting for you and report the execution.” When Henri Marais heard this he exclaimed: “I swear by God that I cannot do it. Is it right or natural that a man should be forced to kill his own son-in-law?” “You could bear evidence against your own son-in-law, Henri Marais,” answered the stern-faced commandant. “Why then cannot you kill with your rifle one whom you have already helped to kill with your tongue?” “I will not, I cannot!” said Marais, tearing at his beard. But the commandant only answered coldly: “You have the orders of the court, and if you choose to disobey them we shall begin to believe that you have sworn falsely. Then you and your nephew will also appear before the great council when the Englishman is tried again. Still, it matters nothing to us whether you or Hernando Pereira shall fire the shot. See you to it, as the Jews said to Judas who had betrayed the innocent Lord.” Then he paused and went on, addressing Pereira: