Ráby folded his arms proudly, so that they should not force it on him. "Mr. lieutenant, witness that he will not take it and draw up a warrant of attainder for contumacity." The lieutenant proceeded to carry out these instructions. "And while you are about it, certify that I threw the document out of the room," said Ráby, suiting the action to the word. This was an unheard-of audacity. The three men withdrew uttering violent threats. After a time, in came the castellan with a very long face. "Now I would not give a cracked nut for your chances," he cried. "They are going to pronounce judgment immediately. The executioner has been told to hold himself in readiness for to-morrow. We have martial law on our side, and the Emperor himself cannot gainsay it." These words caused Ráby to think over what he had done. It was, of course, only too likely that their legal right could be strained before the Emperor had any chance of interfering; in this case, he would have lost his head before the latter could prevent it. The thought tormented him the whole night through. The strong soul in vain reminded the weak body which held it that dying was not to be feared, but philosophy availed nothing before the thought of imminent death. The next morning found the prisoner restless and wakeful. It was hardly day ere he heard a number of footsteps approaching his dungeon. The iron door was thrown open, and a whole crowd burst into his cell, the magistrate and the lieutenant among them, whilst following them, came a man he took to be the public executioner of Pesth. A sudden faintness overcame him; all seemed to swim before his eyes, and he heard nothing of what they said. The man who looked like the executioner began to undress and roll up his shirt-sleeves. Ráby imagined they were going to execute him in prison. The forbidding-looking wretch then called for assistance, and bid them bring him his tools. Ráby heaved a deep sigh and folded his arms across his breast, whereat the whole company burst out laughing. The tools which the man had asked for were a hammer, a trowel, and a tub of mortar. He was, in fact, no executioner, but an ordinary mason, who was going to block up the window in Ráby's cell which overlooked the street, and bore an air-hole in the ceiling. They were going to shut out the prisoner from the outside world altogether. Henceforth his cell would receive no light but what fell from the tiny opening over the door which gave into the court, and was darkened with a narrow iron grating. Moreover, from this day forward, Ráby was subjected to daily cross-examination, and every means was tried to entangle him and make him contradict himself. The twenty indictments first formulated against him rapidly lengthened to treble that number. And so it went on for a month, nor did they ever succeed in incriminating him. But it was a painful process for the accused.