"Remember how sudden was the appearance of that man—how awful were his threats—in the middle of the night—and a knife, I may say, at my very throat——"
"It is a most extraordinary thing, that the very man whom you so much dreaded should have happened to seek our hospitality within a fortnight after you had joined us. Am I wrong if I entertain a suspicion in that respect? You knew that the bag, which every night was deposited beneath my head, contained not only the greater part of the gold which you brought us, but also the year's contributions from the tribes and districts: you knew all this, because we had no secrets from you. Then, perhaps, you were tired of our company; and you imagined that it would be an easy thing to make your peace with that man whom you so much feared, by putting him in possession of a larger treasure than the one you plundered from him,—a treasure, too, which you might hope to share with him."
"As I live, that was not the case!" cried the Rattlesnake, energetically. "You know that I have never stirred out of this house once since I first crossed the threshold: how, then, could I communicate with that man?"
"Where there is a will, there generally is a way, Margaret," answered the king. "Have you any thing further to urge in your defence?"
"I have told the truth," replied the woman; "what more can I say?"
"Then you may retire," said Zingary.
Two gipsy-men led her from the room; and those who remained behind proceeded to deliberate upon the case.
The whole affair was viewed in an aspect most unfavourable to the Rattlesnake; and when Skilligalee volunteered an argument in her defence, he was reminded that he only sate at that board by sufferance, because he was known to be faithfully attached to the Zingarees, but that he was not one of either race.
When the question had been duly discussed by the Secret Tribunal, the king put the point at issue to the vote—Guilty, or Not Guilty.
The decision of the majority was "Guilty."