‘But he said nothing at all,’ Ronald cried in astonishment. ‘I read the article myself. He said nothing that any Englishman mightn’t have said under the same circumstances. Why, I could have written the libel, as they call it, myself, even, and I’m not much of a politician either! They can’t ever be trying him in a country like England for anything so ridiculously little as that!’
‘But they are,’ Edie answered quietly; ‘and dear Ernest’s dreadfully afraid the verdict will go against him.’
‘Nonsense,’ Ronald answered with natural confidence. ‘No English jury would ever convict a man for speaking up like that against an odious and abominable tyranny.’
Very late in the afternoon, Ernest and Berkeley returned to the lodgings. Ernest’s face was white with excitement, and his lips were trembling violently with suppressed emotion. His eyes were red and swollen. Edie hardly needed to ask in a breathless whisper of Arthur Berkeley, ‘What verdict?’
‘Guilty,’ Arthur Berkeley answered with a look of unfeigned horror and indignation. He had learnt by this time quite to take the communistic view of such questions.
‘Guilty,’ Ronald cried, jumping up from his chair in astonishment. ‘Impossible! And what sentence?’
‘Twelve months’ hard labour,’ Berkeley answered, slowly and remorsefully.
‘An atrocious sentence!’ Ronald exclaimed, turning red with excitement. ‘An abominable sentence! A most malignant and vindictive sentence! Who was the judge, Arthur?’
‘Bassenthwaite,’ Berkeley replied half under his breath.
‘And may the Lord have mercy upon his soul!’ said Ronald solemnly,