Slowly and distinctly came the accused man’s reply:
“I have nothing to say.”
A thrill ran through the listening and watching crowd. Charged with a cruel murder, and—nothing to say! A half-articulate groan burst from the squire’s lips.
“Faradeane!” he made a movement toward him. “You—you have nothing to say! No answer! Impossible!”
Faradeane’s grave, sad eyes met his anxious ones steadily.
“What the constable says is true,” he said, slowly. “I have nothing to add to it—nothing to explain.”
Insensibly—but how significantly!—the constable drew closer to him.
“That’s what he said over and over again, squire. I couldn’t persuade him into anything else. It’s my duty to ask for a warrant——”
“No! no! Impossible!” said the squire, hoarsely.
“A warrant on the charge of willful murder,” said the constable, firmly, but respectfully.