And all the time the fellow ground his teeth together and said nothing.
It was poor Mekipiros. It was his mauled and bruised shape, his half-bestial face that they were torturing and tormenting. There is no sight more terrible than that of a tortured beast that cannot speak.
One of those who had brought him thither was the headsman's apprentice.
This fellow whispered some words in the ear of the rector, and then placed himself behind the back of the fettered monster. His face assumed an expression of cold pitilessness, he bit his lips as if he wanted blood, and screwed up his eyes.
"Harken now, my dear son!" said the rector in a gentle voice; "don't fancy we want to do you any harm, for of course how can you help what is written in this letter; but if you want to escape scot free, answer truly and without compulsion to the questions that I am about to put to you."
The headsman's 'prentice with twitching features gazed fixedly at the interrogated wretch.
"Who gave you this letter?" asked the rector.
Mekipiros sat there tied with cords so as to be almost bent double with his head between his knees, and did not seem to be aware that he was spoken to.
"Do you hear?" whispered the headsman's apprentice hoarsely, at the same time giving him a vicious pinch.
The monster set up a howl, which lasted only for an instant, then he was silent again, and his face did not change.