"My lord," said he, "by your leave, I would say a word for yonder prisoner."
"What's that!" roared Jeffreys, glaring at him fiercely. "Have my senses left me? Ye would speak for yonder heap of infamy! Who are ye, fellow?"
"I am Samuel Dassell, my lord, deputy searcher of the port of Lyme."
"Ah, and what would ye say?" asked Jeffreys, with a heavy frown.
"Why, this, my lord," said Dassell with great haste, "that I have known the prisoner, Michael Fane, and his father many years, and have ever found them true and loyal gentlemen. I never heard a whisper against either of them, and if----"
"Stop!" roared the judge, bringing a fist down on the desk. "What fresh infamy is this, that you should dare to speak in favour of yon villain? Think ye it not a burning shame that you, who serve the King and eat his very bread, should raise your voice in favour of his enemies? Ah! Samuel Dassell, you are surely in the wrong place; ye should be either in the dock or else in prison. Yea, verily, methinks I see you dancing at a rope-end even now. Deputy searcher, quotha! Go ye and search for the loyalty ye lack! Away with ye! I say, before my zeal doth tempt me to lay hands upon you. Go!"
And with a long sad look at me, poor Dassell left the court-house.
Then Jeffreys swept the hall with one swift, flashing glance, and, turning to the jury, said:
"Gentlemen, ye have surely heard enough, aye, and far more than that, concerning yonder giant of iniquity. Have ye, then, your verdict ready?"
"We have, your lordship," said the foreman, rising with eager readiness.