THE SERGEANT.
Sorry to disturb you, mum! duty! Anthony Anderson: I arrest you in King George’s name as a rebel.
JUDITH.
(pointing at Richard). But that is not— (He looks up quickly at her, with a face of iron. She stops her mouth hastily with the hand she has raised to indicate him, and stands staring affrightedly.)
THE SERGEANT.
Come, Parson; put your coat on and come along.
RICHARD.
Yes: I’ll come. (He rises and takes a step towards his own coat; then recollects himself, and, with his back to the sergeant, moves his gaze slowly round the room without turning his head until he sees Anderson’s black coat hanging up on the press. He goes composedly to it; takes it down; and puts it on. The idea of himself as a parson tickles him: he looks down at the black sleeve on his arm, and then smiles slyly at Judith, whose white face shows him that what she is painfully struggling to grasp is not the humor of the situation but its horror. He turns to the sergeant, who is approaching him with a pair of handcuffs hidden behind him, and says lightly) Did you ever arrest a man of my cloth before, Sergeant?
THE SERGEANT.
(instinctively respectful, half to the black coat, half to Richard’s good breeding). Well, no sir. At least, only an army chaplain. (Showing the handcuffs.) I’m sorry, sir; but duty—
RICHARD.
Just so, Sergeant. Well, I’m not ashamed of them: thank you kindly for the apology. (He holds out his hands.)
THE SERGEANT.
(not availing himself of the offer). One gentleman to another, sir. Wouldn’t you like to say a word to your missis, sir, before you go?
RICHARD.
(smiling). Oh, we shall meet again before—eh? (Meaning “before you hang me.”)
THE SERGEANT.
(loudly, with ostentatious cheerfulness). Oh, of course, of course. No call for the lady to distress herself. Still— (in a lower voice, intended for Richard alone) your last chance, sir.
They look at one another significantly for a moment. Than Richard exhales a deep breath and turns towards Judith.