"Which is a silly way of saying 'yes.' How long since, Mr. Boyd?"
No reply. Other interests than his own were blended in a response to this. Unforced, Gilbert would not yield an inch here.
"How long since, I say, Mr. Boyd? So reluctant? Very good. Bring that lad here!"
Gilbert could not suppress a tremor and a stifled protest as he heard this sudden order and saw Andrew pushed forward. But a hand struck the Master of Windlestrae sharply across his mouth, he was seized on either side, made to stand turned about, with his back to his son and this English inquisitor, and so held fast.
"You heard what I last asked your father, boy? Now I'll try you—and mind you speak the truth. Has this Armitage been in Windlestrae Manor within one week?"
White and defiant, Andrew looked Danforth in the face; and, remembering Gilbert's behavior, was also mute. He glanced, too, at a sapphire ring upon his finger.
Cunning Danforth! He well guessed how speediest to reach his end. He made a sign. Boyd heard a certain confusion, but was held as if in a vice. In a twinkling Andrew's clothes were, not so much pulled, as torn from his back. Three burly dragoons forced the lad into a partially stooping position. A fourth raised a leathern whip with four or five lashes.
"Speak, insolent young dog!" cried Danforth; "answer my question!"
"I will not!" retorted Andrew, suddenly struggling.
"Give it to him, Foote!" shouted the Colonel.