that his whole future life was in the balance,
and he longed for the decisive moment to come. He had surrendered on the
previous day, and Beroviero had given a large bond for his appearance.

There were witnesses of all that had happened. There was the lieutenant
of the archers, with his six men, some of whom still showed traces of
their misadventure. There was Giovanni, whom the Governor had forced to
appear, much against his will, as the principal accuser by the letter
which had led to Zorzi's arrest, and the letter itself was in the hands
of the Council's secretary. But there was also Pasquale, who had seen
Zorzi go away quietly with the soldiers, and who could speak for his
character; and Angelo Beroviero was there to tell the truth as far as he
knew it.

But Zorzi was not to be confronted with any of these witnesses: neither
with the soldiers who would tell the Council strange stories of devils
with blue noses and fiery tails, nor with Giovanni, whose letter called
him a liar, a thief and an assassin, nor with Beroviero nor Pasquale.
The Council never allowed the accused man and the witnesses for or
against him to be before them at the same time, nor to hold any
communication while the trial lasted. That was a rule of their
procedure, but they were not by any means the mysterious body of malign
monsters which they have too often been represented to be, in an age
when no criminal trials could take place without torture.

Zorzi waited on his bench, listening to the tread of the guards. As many
trials occupied more than one day, his case would come up last of all,
and the witnesses would all be examined before he himself was called to
make his defence. He was nervous and anxious. Even while he was sitting
there, Giovanni might be finding out some new accusation against him or
the officer of archers might be accusing him of witchcraft and of having
a compact with the devil himself. He was innocent, but he had broken the
law, and no doubt many an innocent man had sat on that same bench before
him, who had never again returned to his home. It was not strange that
his lips should be parched, and that his heart should be beating like a
fuller's hammer.

At last the footsteps ceased, the key ground and creaked as it turned,
and the door was opened. Two tall guards stood looking at him, and one
of them motioned to him to come. He could never afterwards remember the
place through which he was made to pass, for the blood w