"Indeed! In that case he would have as high an opinion of our characters as of yours. And yourself--what sort of action might we expect from you?"
"I should go."
The governor's jaw dropped.
"Go? Oh, would you!"
"My character regained, for what have I to stop?"
"Exactly. What have you? There's that point of view, no doubt. Well, Mankell, we will think the matter over."
The prisoner dropped his hands to his sides, looking the governor steadily in the face.
"Sir, I conceive that answer to convey a negative. The proposition thus refused will not be made again. It only remains for me to continue earnestly my endeavours to retrieve my character--until the three months are at an end."
The chaplain was holding the testimonial loosely between his finger and thumb. Stretching out his arm, Mankell pointed at it with his hand. It was immediately in flames. The chaplain releasing it, it was consumed to ashes before it reached the floor. Returning to face the governor gain, the prisoner laid his right hand, palm downwards, on the table: "Spirits of the air, in whose presence I now stand, I ask you if I am not justified in whatever I may do?"
His voice was very musical. His upturned eyes seemed to pierce through the ceiling to what there was beyond. The room grew darker. There was a rumbling in the air. The ground began to shake. The chaplain, who was caressing the hand which had been scorched by the flames, burst out with what was for him a passionate appeal: