t, were hidden. Prisoners had been taken, but
only an inconsiderable number. Before daylight also, the headman of the
village, and a native surgeon came stealthily from the Judge's bungalow,
and went their ways. They had their order, and they went to spread it
abroad. The order was--_Silence!_ The headman had bowed himself to the
earth when it was given, for he understood all that it meant. Prisoners
would be brought before a brother, not only to-day, but to-morrow, and
for many morrows. So much had the night given them.

At noon His Honor came stiffly into the court-room, leaning upon the arm
of his native servant. The Collector, who was awaiting him there, feared
that he had been injured by the rioters on the previous night; but he
was quickly reassured. The Judge, it seemed, had sprained his knee
shortly after leaving the Malcolm's hospitable roof. It was nothing. A
mere trifle, though indisputably painful.

The Collector seated himself near the bench, and talked in a low voice.
The ladies were all safe. No Europeans had been killed, and few injured.
Capper had been shot by some cowardly dog while parleying with the
rioters, but there were good hopes of him.

The Judge was most truly concerned to hear of the calamity which had
befallen Mr. Capper--immensely thankful to know that things were no
worse with him.

His Honor had heard little or nothing of what had happened during the
riot, being laid by the leg, as it were, in his own room.

The first batch of prisoners was brought in. At first the Judge did not
look at them. Afterward his eyes sought their gaze, and held it, and
they knew him for their brother. They heard his soft voice speaking of
them compassionately, as wayward children whom mercy would win over,
though harshness might confirm them in their foolish resistance to
authority. The Collector seemed to protest, but with gentle courtesy
his objections were put aside. He leaned back in his chair, flushed and
angry, as one after another, the sullen-looking rebels were fined, and
having paid what was demanded, were set at liberty.

When the Judge looked up again, a single prisoner stood before him, a
wounded, hawk-faced native, whose eyes blazed hate and contempt. The
Collector drew his chair closer to the bench, and began to speak in
gruff undertones.

"A ring-leader. Man of some education, I understand--qualified as a
barrister, and has taken to journalism. Must make an example of
him--eh?"

The Jud