"Pray excuse me, sir, for my interruption, because you mistake me—it is not a declining of it; you do judge me before you hear me speak. I say I will not, I do not decline, though I cannot acknowledge the jurisdiction of this Court——"
A deep humming from the Court drowned the rest of his speech.
Bradshaw, stern, slightly flushed, and in a voice of terrible import, made reply—
"Sir, this is not altogether new that you have moved unto us—not altogether new to us, though it is the first time in person that you have offered it to the Court. Sir, you say you do not decline the jurisdiction of the Court."
"Not in this that I have said," answered Charles swiftly.
"I understand you well, sir," said the Lord President; "but, nevertheless, that which you have offered seems to be contrary to that saying of yours—for the Court are ready to give a sentence."
The very slightest quiver disturbed the King's face; he sought for his handkerchief, found it, and wiped his lips, looking down the while.
"It is not as you say," continued Bradshaw sternly, "that we will not hear our King—we have been ready to hear you, we have patiently waited your pleasure for three Courts together, to hear what you would say to the People's charges against you, to which you have not vouchsafed to give any answer at all."
As Lord Digby, pressed in the pushing crowd, listened to these words and gazed at the awful scene a sickness came over him; he saw that terrible red of judge and cushion, chair and bench float in a mist before his eyes, and through that scarlet blur the King's figure, stripped now of the inviolate sacredness of Majesty—merely a man, a desperate man in a sea of enemies, making a last stand for his life.
Bradshaw concluded his speech by saying that the Court would withdraw to the Court of Awards to consider of the King's request to be heard in the Painted Chamber, and so they moved out, leaving the red chair and the red benches bare.