CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.
HENRY OF MONMOUTH, THE PRINCE WHOM A JUDGE SENT TO PRISON.
A strange crowd thronged the Court of King's Bench one memorable day four and a half centuries ago.

Nobles and commoners alike jostled their way into the sombre hall, every one intent on securing a good place, some talking loudly, others arguing angrily, all highly excited and impatient.

It was evident that the trial about to take place was one of unusual interest and extraordinary importance, for the gloomy court was not used to be so crowded, and seldom attracted so mixed and so eager a throng as that which now filled it.
Suddenly a lull fell on the scene, heads were uncovered, the jostling and wrangling ceased, and order prevailed.
The judge, Lord Justice Gascoigne, entered and took his seat.

He was a grave, quiet man, but there was something in his look so dignified and so firm, that it awed into respectful silence all within that place as if by a spell.

Then he said--"Bring hither the prisoner." All eyes turned now to the door by which the officer of the court went out to obey the order.
Presently it swung back, and there entered, between two jailors, a man of dissipated appearance and reckless demeanour, whose flushed cheeks and extravagant attire told only too plainly their own sad tale of intemperance and debauchery.
He regarded with an indifferent look judge, jury, and the crowd which his trial had drawn together, and took his place at the bar rather with the air of a man harassed and ill-used than of one guilty and overawed.
The trial began.