"You tell now? Where is your husband? No? Den you git ten lash more. Always ten lash till you tell."
A storm of incoherent denial, angry threats, sobs, and screams, was the response. One of the soldiers drew her skirts over her head again, and gave another pull at the cords that hauled up her thumbs, while the other stood off and measured out his whip.
Just then the door opened, and Captain Sprowl looked in.
"How are you getting on, boys?"
The question was accompanied by an approving smile, which seemed to say, "I see you are getting on very well."
"We whip her once. We give her ten lash. She not tell."
"Very well. Give her ten more."
The widow struggled and screamed. Had she recognized her son's voice? Muffled as she was, he did not recognize hers. Nor was it surprising that, in the unusual posture in which he found her, he did not know her from Mrs. Stackridge.
He stood in the door and smiled while the soldier laid on.
"Make it a dozen," he quietly remarked. "And smart ones, to wind up with!"