A long journey, manacled like a felon, and guarded by dragoons with loaded carbines; a rigorous imprisonment, already five months protracted; repeated examinations before a military tribunal; cross-questionings, threats, and insults, to extort his supposed secrets;—all these had formed a sharp transition from the halcyon days of Vassall Morton's prosperity.
"Declare what you know, or you shall be dealt with summarily."
"I know nothing, and therefore can declare nothing."
"You have held that tone long enough. Do you imagine that we are to be deceived by your inventions? Tell what you know, or in twenty minutes you will be led to the rampart and shot."
"I am in your power, and you can do what you will."
The commissioner spoke in German to the corporal of the guard, who took Morton into custody, and was leading him from the room.
"Stop," cried the official, from his seat.
Morton turned.
"You are destroying yourself, young man."
"It is false. You are murdering me."