At the trial, Hugo’s appearance—handsome, well dressed, sly, composed, and polished—gave rise to a groan from the spectators in the great hall. He went up to Roger and offered his hand, saying smoothly,—
“I am sorry, brother, to see you in this case.”
Roger, disdaining his hand, replied,—
“Call me not brother. Had you been loyal to your King, as all true Egremonts are, I would have forgotten that you are the child of my father’s leman. But you chose the other part, so go your way from me, Hugo Stein.” This imprudent speech was heard by many persons. Hugo winced under it, but when he came to be examined, he showed no animus against Roger, and seemed to testify unwillingly. Yet, on his evidence alone, Roger could have been hanged twice over. When he was questioned in regard to Roger Egremont’s designs in his pursuit of the Prince of Orange, he hesitated and seemed distressed. Roger, however, replied for him, addressing the judges in the following cool and daring words,—
“My lords, of your goodness permit me to say, ’tis useless to probe this man, Hugo Stein, sometime known as Hugo Egremont. My motive in pursuing His Highness was to capture him and send him out of the kingdom; and though I did not expressly seek His Highness’s life, yet had he been killed I should have felt no more regret than if I had killed a robber, coming by night to seize my goods.”
The Chief Justice at that moment was taken with a sharp coughing spell, as if he had not heard the prisoner’s rash words, and leaning forward flashed Roger a look of distinct warning. But it was of no avail—the mischief had been done. It was commonly thought that Roger had given away his life in those words, and something like a sob went around in the great assemblage. Nevertheless, when sentence came to be pronounced, he was only sentenced to the forfeiture of his estate, and imprisonment in Newgate during his Majesty’s pleasure.
It was night—a soft May night, following the day of his conviction—when Roger entered Newgate prison. Hitherto he had borne up manfully, and jested and laughed with his gaolers. But at the moment of passing under the dark and dreadful archway a panic seized his soul. Fear was new to him, and he was more frightened at being afraid than at anything else whatever. As he, with Lukens, the turnkey, to whom he had been handed over, passed along one of the great corridors, they heard a great shout of laughter and crying out, and clatter of drinking, and presently they came to an open door, and within were more than fifty persons, carousing, drinking, and playing with greasy cards and rude dice.
Now, Roger Egremont was no Puritan, nor was he given to low company, but, scared by the spectre of Fear which stalked through his mind, he would have welcomed a company of gallows-birds at that moment. Therefore, with a wink to Lukens, and slipping a couple of shillings in his hand,—for Roger still had some money,—he walked into the dim, foul, and noisy room, and making a low bow said,—
“Gentlemen, may I be allowed to be of your company?”
Huzzas arose, and a great black fellow, with a patch over his eye, replied,—