“No!” she cried.
I looked at Diccon. “I told madam that you were called away on business,” he said sullenly. “I told her that you were sorry you could not go with her to the woods.”
“You told her nothing more?”
“No.”
“May I ask why?”
He threw back his head. “I did not believe the Paspaheghs would trouble her,” he answered, with hardihood, “and you had n't seen fit, sir, to tell me of the other danger. Madam wanted to go, and I thought it a pity that she should lose her pleasure for nothing.”
I had been hunting the day before, and my whip yet lay upon the table. “I have known you for a hardy rogue,” I said, with my hand upon it; “now I know you for a faithless one as well. If I gave you credit for all the vices of the soldier, I gave you credit also for his virtues. I was the more deceived. The disobedient servant I might pardon, but the soldier who is faithless to his trust”—
I raised the whip and brought it down again and again across his shoulders. He stood without a word, his face dark red and his hands clenched at his sides. For a minute or more there was no sound in the room save the sound of the blows; then my wife suddenly cried out: “It is enough! You have beaten him enough! Let him go, sir!”
I threw down the whip. “Begone, sirrah!” I ordered. “And keep out of my sight to-morrow!”
With his face still dark red and with a pulse beating fiercely in his cheek, he moved slowly toward the door, turned when he had reached it and saluted, then went out and closed it after him.