“I do not choose to answer the question.”
“Very well, sir.”
Dawtie turned to leave the room.
“Stop! stop!” cried Crawford; “I have not done with you yet, my girl. You have not told me what you meant when you said the cup did not belong to the laird.”
“I do not choose to answer the question,” said Dawtie.
“Then you shall answer it to a magistrate.”
“I will, sir,” she replied, and stood.
Crawford left the room.
He rode home in a rage. Dawtie went about her work with a bright spot on each cheek, indignant at the man's rudeness, but praying God to take her heart in His hand, and cool the fever of it.
The words rose in her mind: