"Pity!" cried the wretched woman, throwing herself at Kishlaki's feet. "Pity, sir! oh sir, don't kill my husband!"
Kishlaki would have raised her, but she resisted.
"No! no!" sobbed she; "let us kneel! let my child kneel! Come Pishta, come, kiss this gentleman's hands! it is he who has to judge of your father's life! Entreat him! pray to him, Pishta!"
"I pray, sir, do not kill my father!" sobbed the little boy.
"Did I ever—what impertinence!" cried Mr. Skinner. "This worshipful court does not kill anybody!"
"No, God forbid!" said the poor woman; "do not mind the child's asking you not to kill his father. He does not know what he says. He is the son of a poor peasant; he has no education. I know I too talk wildly, but——"
"My good woman," said Kishlaki, "my duties as a judge are painful, but imperative and——"
"Oh, I do not ask the court to absolve him from all punishment. No! I do not mean to say that. Punish him severely, cruelly, no matter how, only don't kill him!—Oh! pardon me for saying the word. Oh, pardon me! Send Viola to gaol for many years, for ever, if it must be so; but do spare his life! Perhaps he has told you that he cares not for death—he is fond of talking in this way—but don't believe what he said! When he said it, he had not seen his children; but now he has kissed little Pishta, I am sure he will not say so; and the baby too smiled at him as he stood in his chains. Oh! if you could but see the baby, and if you could hear it calling its father with its small sweet voice, you'd never believe Viola when he says he wishes to die!"
"D—n your squeaking!" growled Mr. Skinner, "and d—n the blockhead that let her come in! Be off, I say! Your husband's a dead man; if he's afraid of death, why so much the better!"
"Did I say he was afraid of death?" sighed poor Susi. "I told you a lie! Viola longs for death! Death is no punishment for him! If you want to punish him, you must lock him up! He's often told me he would rather die than live in a prison!"