I listened at first with the anxiety of a man whose fortunes hung on the issue; then, as the vague, rambling character of the document diminished this interest, I heard with more indifference; and, lastly, completely wearied by the monotony of the voice, and the tiresome iterations of the style, I could not prevent my thoughts from wandering far from the affair in hand.
What fearful crimes were alleged against me,—what dire offences I was charged with,—I was not to hear, since, lost in the pleasant land of day-dreams, I fancied myself strolling in the shade of a forest, with Donna Maria beside me, while I poured out a most impassioned narrative of my love and fidelity. Nor was it till the reading was concluded, and a loud “Hem!” from the General resounded through the chamber, that I remembered where I was.
“Prisoner!” said he, in a stern, authoritative tone, “you have now heard the nature of the charge against you, and the reasons of your arrest; you will answer certain questions, the replies to which, if not in accordance with truth, constitute the crime of 'Traicion,' the penalty being death. What is your name?”
“Con Cregan.”
“Native of what country?”
“Ireland.”
“What rank and position do you hold in society?”
“A variable one,—as luck favors me.”
“What trade or profession do you follow?”
“Whatever seems most convenient at the moment.”