to hear--he could not bear
that fellow!--and slowly wrote on a bit of paper: "Owen Lewis." Welsh!
Well, he looked it--not at all an English face. Attempted suicide--not
at all an English crime! Suicide implied surrender, a putting-up of
hands to Fate--to say nothing of the religious aspect of the matter. And
suicide in khaki seemed to Mr. Bosengate particularly abhorrent;
like turning tail in face of the enemy; almost meriting the fate of
a deserter. He looked at the prisoner, trying not to give way to this
prejudice. And the prisoner seemed to look at him, though this, perhaps,
was fancy.

The Counsel for the prosecution, a little, alert, grey, decided man,
above military age, began detailing the circumstances of the crime.
Mr. Bosengate, though not particularly sensitive to atmosphere, could
perceive a sort of current running through the Court. It was as if
jury and public were thinking rhythmically in obedience to the same
unexpressed prejudice of which he himself was conscious. Even the
Caesar-like pale face up there, presiding, seemed in its ironic serenity
responding to that current.

"Gentlemen of the jury, before I call my evidence, I direct your
attention to the bandage the accused is still wearing. He gave himself
this wound with his Army razor, adding, if I may say so, insult to
the injury he was inflicting on his country. He pleads not guilty; and
before the magistrates he said that absence from his wife was preying on
his mind"--the advocate's close lips widened--"Well, gentlemen, if
such an excuse is to weigh with us in these days, I'm sure I don't know
what's to happen to the Empire."

'No, by George!' thought Mr. Bosengate.

The evidence of the first witness, a room-mate who had caught the
prisoner's hand, and of the sergeant, who had at once been summoned, was
conclusive and he began to cherish a hope that they would get through
without withdrawing, and he would be home before five. But then a hitch
occurred. The regimental doctor failed to respond when his name was
called; and the judge having for the first time that day showed himself
capable of human emotion, intimated that he would adjourn until the
morrow.

Mr. Bosengate received the announcement with equanimity. He would be
home even earlier! And gathering up the sheets of paper he had scribbled
on, he put them in his pocket and got up. The would-be suicide was being
taken out of the court--a shambling drab figure with shoulders hunched.
W