He also
threatens to cut us off and smother us if we don't shut up. I wonder
whether they've got her in the padded cell.
We settle down again, but presently my fellow captive nudges me and
says: "Listen!" From another cell comes the voice of a woman
singing--the girl who is in for "inciting to resist, your worship,"
in fact. "Listen!" he says, "that woman could sing once." Her
voice is low and sweet and plaintive, as of a woman who had been a
singer but had lost her voice. And what do you think it is?
The crowd in accents hushed reply--
"Jesus of Nazareth passeth by."
Mrs Johnson's cell is suddenly silent. Then, not mimickingly,
mockingly, or scornfully, but as if the girl is a champion of Jesus
of Nazareth, and is hurt at the ignorance of the multitude, and pities
_Him_:
Now who is this Jesus of Nazareth, say?
The policeman, coming along the passage, closes the wicket in her door,
but softly this time, and not before we catch the plaintive words
again.
The crowd in accents hushed reply
"Jesus of Nazareth passeth by."
My fellow felon throws the blanket off him impatiently, sits up with a
jerk, and gropes for his pipe.
"God!" he says. "But this is red hot! Have you got another
match?"
I wonder what the Nazarene would have to say about it.
Sleep for a while. I wonder whether they'll give us time, or we'll be
able to sleep some of our sins off in the end, as we sleep our drink
off here? Then "The Paddock" and day light; but there's little time
for the Paddock here, for we must soon be back in court.
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