“Yes, Terry, speak it out freely; you can have no cause for concealment,” said Sybella, encouragingly.
“I'll not tell it!” said he, after a pause of some seconds, during which he seemed to have been agitating within himself all the reasons on either side—“I'll not tell it.”
“Come, sir,” said Sir Marmaduke angrily, “I must and will know this; your hesitation has a cause, and it shall be known.”
The boy started at the tones so unusual to his ears, and stared at the speaker in mute astonishment.
“I am not displeased with you, Terry—at least I shall not be, if you speak freely and openly to me. Now, then, answer my question—What brought you about the Lodge at so late an hour?”
“I'll not tell,” said the youth resolutely.
“For shame, Terry,” said Sybella, in a low, soothing voice, as she drew near him; “how can you speak thus to my father. You would not have me displeased with you?”
The boy's face grew pale as death, and his lips quivered with agitation, while his eyes, glazed with heavy tears, were turned downwards; still he never spoke a word.
“Well, what think you of him, now?” said Sir Marmaduke in a whisper to his daughter.
“That he is innocent—perfectly innocent,” replied she, triumphantly. “The poor fellow has his own reasons—shallow enough, doubtless—for his silence; but they have no spot or stain of guilt about them, Let me try if I cannot unfathom this business—I'll go down to the boat-house.”