her father. She refused to obey the man who had given
her life. What did Wyatt do? He was a man who knew what a child owes to
its father, and, by God, Malcolm, after trying every other means to bring
the wench to her senses, after he had tried persuasion, after having in
two priests and a bishop to show her how badly she was acting, and after
he had tried to reason with her, he whipped her; yes, he whipped her till
she bled--till she bled, Malcolm, I tell you. Ah, Wyatt knew what is due
from a child to its parents. The whipping failed to bring the perverse
huzzy to obedience, so Wyatt threw her into a dungeon and starved her
till--till--"

"Till she died," I interrupted.

"Yes, till she died," mumbled Sir George, sullenly, "till she died, and it
served her right, by God, served her right."

The old man was growing very drunk, and everything was beginning to
appear distorted to me. Sir George rose to his feet, leaned toward me with
glaring eyes, struck the table a terrible blow with his fist, and said:--

"By the blood of God I swear that if Doll refuses to marry Stanley, and
persists in her refusal, I'll whip her. Wyatt is a man after my own heart.
I'll starve her. I'll kill her. Ay, if I loved her ten thousand times more
than I do, I would kill her or she should obey me."

Then dawned upon me a vision of terrible possibilities. I was sure Sir
George could not force Dorothy to marry against her will; but I feared
lest he might kill her in his effort to "break her." I do not mean that I
feared he would kill her by a direct act, unless he should do so in a
moment of frenzy induced by drink and passion, but I did fear for the
results of the breaking process. The like had often happened. It had
happened in the case of Wyatt's daughter. Dorothy under the intoxicating
influence of her passion might become so possessed by the spirit of a
martyr that she could calmly take a flogging, but my belief was that
should matters proceed to that extreme, should Sir George flog his
daughter, the chords of her highly strung nature would snap under the
tension, and she would die. I loved Dorothy for the sake of her fierce,
passionate, tender heart, and because she loved me; and even in my sober,
reflective moments I had resolved that my life, ay, and Sir George's life
also, should stand between the girl and the lash. If in calmness I could
deliberately form such a resolution, imagine the effect on my
liquor-crazed brain of Sir George'