“It’s a lie!” he heard himself screaming, as he struggled to loose himself from the grip of the attendant policemen.
“The facts speak for themselves,” the accusing voice continued. “You deserted her because you had inherited your uncle’s money, and were lured back to England by the love of gold. In your own ancestral village you used your position to bully your tenants; you assaulted one of your honest farmers, you insulted the saintly vicar, and the local medical officer; you incurred the mistrust of the simple villagers. Your only friend was a filthy poacher and thief. You pursued the most comely maiden in the neighbourhood, and did not desist until you had encompassed her downfall. But, having married her, you treated her like a bully, and at length you deserted her, too, as you had deserted your former mistress.”
“Lies! Lies!” he shouted. “I will not listen!”
“Returning to your disreputable life in low haunts, you were involved in a cut-throat affray in Italy; and, escaping from this, you pretended to have been murdered, and allowed your assailant to stand his trial on that charge. Thus you thought to escape from the bonds of wedlock, and with a lie upon your lips you returned to the arms of your mistress, proposing to her a bigamous marriage. But, fearing detection, and needing money, you sneaked home; lured into the woods the sorrowing woman who, deeming herself a widow, mourned your memory; and there did her to death.”
“I am innocent!” he gasped, looking about him in desperation at the hard faces which surrounded him and hemmed him in. “Of her death at any rate I am innocent.”
“You fled, then, back to your lover,” the voice went on, “and ruthlessly involved her in your coming débâcle. When the officers of the law had hunted you down you threatened them with death; but presently, running from them like a coward, and being too craven to take your own life, you were ignominiously captured, and brought trembling to this place of justice. Enemy of society, lazy and useless member of the community, wretched victim of your own lusts, have you anything to say why sentence of death should not be passed upon you?”
Wildly he struggled to free himself, and so awoke, bathed in perspiration and shaking in every limb. “O God!” he cried, beating his fists upon the bed, “take away from me this vision of myself as others see me. Because I have turned in contempt from the Great Sham, because I have dared to be independent, must I pay the penalty with my life, and go accursed to my grave? Must Monimé, must Ian suffer for my mistakes, and bear the burden of my sins?”
For an hour and more he paced his cell in torment; but at last the door was opened and a clergyman entered, announcing himself as the prison chaplain, and politely asking whether he might be of service.
“Yes,” said Jim without hesitation, looking at him with bloodshot eyes, “go away and pray for me.”
But his visitor was too accustomed to the bitterness of the prisoner’s heart to accept this rebuff, and held his ground. “I am one of those who believe in your innocence,” he said, “and that being so, I should like to say that I am proud to meet you.”