“You treacherous dog!” cried the colonel, in a voice of thunder, as he seized the landlord by the throat, and forced him to his knees; “so nothing would do but you must bid that boy take the pony and ride over to Brownsand so as to betray the fact that an escort of prisoners had halted at your house and were gone on by the Brownsand road.”
“No, sir; I never—I never did.”
“You lie, you old villain: tell the truth before I hand you over to my men, and have you hung for a spy on the nearest tree.”
“I swear, colonel, I never did anything of the kind,” cried the landlord, piteously.
“No, sir, it is not true,” cried a girlish voice; and the landlord’s little daughter appeared in the doorway.
“Then pray who did?” cried Colonel Forrester.
“I did, sir,” said the girl, undauntedly.
“And pray, why?”
“Because I heard that the young officer was Sir Godfrey Markham’s son, and it seemed so horrible that he should be dragged off a prisoner.”
“What do you know of Sir Godfrey Markham?” asked the colonel, sternly.