Resistance was useless. I followed without a word. I was led up
the stone stair and back into that gorgeous chamber in which I
had left the secret tribunal. I was ushered in, but to my
surprise it was not on me that their attention was fixed. One of
their own number, a tall, dark young man, was standing before
them and was pleading with them in low, earnest tones. His voice
quivered with anxiety and his hands darted in and out or writhed
together in an agony of entreaty. "You cannot do it! You cannot
do it!" he cried.
"I implore the tribunal to reconsider this decision."
"Stand aside, brother," said the old man who presided.
"The case is decided and another is up for judgment."
"For Heaven's sake be merciful!" cried the young man.
"We have already been merciful," the other answered.
"Death would have been a small penalty for such an offence. Be
silent and let judgment take its course."
I saw the young man throw himself in an agony of grief into his
chair. I had no time, however, to speculate as to what it was
which was troubling him, for his eleven colleagues had already
fixed their stern eyes upon me.
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