self to ruin
his own kith and kin; I caught him in the act of sprinkling a white
powder in a well, and the water of that well is still bubbling and
boiling from the virulence of the poison, and yet, as you see, he has
the face to deny it all."

"It was you who put the powder in my pocket."

"Very good, I suppose you'll say next that I put this purse of gold in
your pocket also? You are surprised, eh? You had better say you got it
from me, we shall all believe you, of course. Naturally I have sacks and
sacks of gold under my bed. The executioner pays his 'prentices with
gold, of course, of course."

"You accursed villain!" cried an old peasant, "let him have the rope!
String him up and let him swing!"

"No, my friends, we must not kill him, we have need of him, he must live
because he knows so much."

"Then let him out with it."

"Oh, he will talk presently," said the headsman's 'prentice, and folding
his arms he stood right in front of the defenceless wretch. "My lad,"
said he, "you know, don't you, that I have been the headsman's assistant
these six years? You know, don't you, that I am accustomed to torture
and kill man and beast in cold blood? You know the sort of smile with
which I am wont to reply to the agonised despair of my victim, and the
memory of it ought to make your brain freeze in your skull. Very well!
Let me tell you that I am prepared to practice upon you all the
refinements of my infernal handiwork if you do not say all I want you
to?"

"I know nothing."

"Nothing?"

"I have forgotten all you taught me."

"You lying serpent! Do you mean to say, then, that I taught you
anything? You can see, all of you, that this ripe gallows-tree blossom
is determined at any cost to saddle me with his sins. I'll refreshen
your memory for you," murmured the headsman's assistant, grinding his
teeth. "Carry him over yonder under that plank. You must put out the
lamp, for perchance anyone who caught sight of his face might feel sorry
for him. Lay him on that block. Where is the rope? A bucket of water
here in case he faints..."

From that moment the cantor saw nothing for the darkness, but all the
more horrible, therefore, were the pictures which his imagination
painted for him as it laid hold of the fragments of words and sounds
which reached him at intervals from the outhouse.

The cold-blooded murmuring of the headsman's assistant.

The inquisitorial procedure of the rector.

The frantic cursing of t