As the Solicitor-General rises to speak, the king touches him with his cane on the shoulder and cries “Silence!” The head of the king’s cane falls off! It is a ghastly portent, and the king himself shows a momentary sign of emotion. Then the Solicitor-General reads out a long indictment, and concludes by demanding that justice be done upon the king as a tyrant, traitor, and murderer. At these words Charles laughs in the face of the court. Usually he hesitates in his speech, but to-day he is very fluent. He refuses to plead before such a court. He tells his judges that they are an illegal meeting appointed by a mere remnant of the House of Commons. Again and again he declares that they have no authority to sit in judgment on him. Then Bradshaw cries, “Take away the prisoner. The court adjourns to Monday next.” The escort marches up, and the king rises to depart with them. As he does so his eye falls on the sword placed on the table. “I do not fear that,” he says, pointing to it with his cane. Then he is led forth, and the populace greet him with mingled cries of “Justice! justice!” and “God save the king!” “God save your Majesty!” On Monday the court sits again, and the king makes the same protest. On Tuesday the same scene is enacted, and meanwhile popular sympathy for the royal prisoner is growing rapidly. The shouts of “Justice!” and “Execution!” are now only raised by the soldiers. The crowd cries “God save the king!” whenever it can do so with impunity. As the hours pass by the same cry is heard amongst the troops. A soldier of the guard who has dared to say to the king, “Sire, God bless you!” is struck by his officer. “Methinks,” says Charles, “the punishment exceeds the offence.” On Wednesday and Thursday the court meets to hear evidence, and then retires to consider its verdict. On the 27th, at noon, it assembles again, and all men notice that Bradshaw wears a red robe in place of the customary black. As the roll of judges is called over there is no response to the name of Fairfax. Suddenly the silence is broken by the voice of his wife in the gallery, “He has too much wit to be here.” The king enters, and loud shouts of “Justice!” “Execution!” are raised by the soldiers, but the crowd is silent. The president harangues the prisoner; but when he speaks of the crimes charged against him in the name of the people of England, he is cut short by the voice which has answered to the name of Fairfax, “Where are they or their consents? Oliver Cromwell is a traitor!”