“It is he! The traitor! The heretic! I recognize him!” “Peace, peace!” said the man in black. “I demand to be taken before the Juez Don Patricio for a deposition,” shrieked the _Lugareño_. A crowd was beginning to collect. The official and the officer exchanged consulting glances. At a word from the latter, the soldiers closed upon me. I felt utterly overcome, as if the earth had crumbled under my feet, and the heavens had been rent in twain. I walked between my captors across the street amongst hooting knots of people, and up the steps of the portico, as if in a frightful dream. In the gloomy, chilly hall they made me wait. A soldier stood on each side of me, and there, absolutely before my eyes on a little table, reposed Mrs. Williams’ shawl and Sebright’s cap. This was the very hall of the Palace of Justice of which Sebright had spoken. It was more than ever like an absurd dream, now. But I had the leisure to collect my wits. I could not claim the Consul’s protection simply because I should have to give him a truthful account of myself, and that would mean giving up Seraphina. The Consul could not protect her. But the _Lion_ would sail on the morrow. Sebright would understand it if Williams did not. I trusted Sebright’s sagacity. Yes, she would sail tomorrow evening. A day and a half. If I could only keep the knowledge of Seraphina from O’Brien till then--she was safe, and I should be safe, too, for my lips would be unsealed. I could claim the protection of my Consul and proclaim the villainy of the _Juez_. “Go in there now, Señor, to be confronted with your accuser,” said the official in black, appearing before me. He pointed at a small door to the left. My heart was beating steadily. I felt a sort of intrepid resignation. PART FIFTH -- THE LOT OF MAN CHAPTER ONE “Why have I been brought here, your worships?” I asked, with a great deal of firmness. There were two figures in black, the one beside, the other behind a large black table. I was placed in front of them, between two soldiers, in the centre of a large, gaunt room, with bare, dirty walls, and the arms of Spain above the judge’s seat. “You are before the _Juez de la Primiera Instancia_,” said the man in black beside the table. He wore a large and shadowy tricorn. “Be silent, and respect the procedure.” It was, without doubt, excellent advice. He whispered some words in the ear of the Judge of the First Instance. It was plain enough to me that the judge was a quite inferior official, who merely decided whether there were any case against the accused; he had, even to his clerk, an air of timidity, of doubt. I said, “But I insist on knowing....” The clerk said, “In good time....” And then, in the same tone of disinterested official routine, he spoke to the _Lugareño_, who, from beside the door, rolled very frightened eyes from the judges and the clerk to myself and the soldiers--“Advance.”