the
tongue of the saints."

"Ho, then, thou child of darkness. Know'st thou where the mass-mongering
silver and gold of this church be hidden from them of whom it is written
'haste to the spoil.' Come, speak out. A crown if thou dost speak--the
lash if thou wilt not answer, thou dumb dog."

Stead was really not far removed from a dumb dog. All his faculties were
so entirely wrought up to resistance that he had hardly distinguished
the words.

"Come, come, Stead," said Jeph, "thou art too old for thine old sulky
moods. Speak up, and tell if thou know'st aught of the Communion Cup and
dish, or it will be the worse for thee. Yes or no?"

Stead made a move with his shoulder to push away his brother, and still
stood silent.

"There," said Jeph, "it is all Faithful's fault for his rough handling.
His back is set up. It was always so from a boy, and you'll get nought
out of him."

"Foolishness is bound in the heart of a child, but the rod of correction
shall drive it far from him," quoted the Corporal, taking up a
waggoner's whip which stood by the inn door, and the like of which had
no doubt once been a more familiar weapon to him than the sword.

"Speak lad--or--" and as no speech came, the lash descended on Stead's
shoulders, not, however, hurting him much save where it grazed the skin
of his face.

"Now? Not a word? Take off his leathern coat, Faithful, then shall he
feel the reward of sullenness."

That Jeph did not interfere, while Faithful and another soldier tugged
off his leathern coat, buffeting and kicking him roughly as they did so,
brought additional hardness to Stead. He had been flogged in his time
before, and not without reason, and had taken a pride in not giving in,
or crying out for pain; and the ancient habit acquired in a worse cause,
came to his help. He scarcely recollected the cause of his resistance;
all his powers were concentrated in holding out, and when after another
"Now, vile prelatic spawn, is thy heart still hardened? Yes or no?" the
terrible whip came stinging and biting down on his shoulders and
back, only protected by his shirt, he was entirely bound up in the
determination to endure the pain without a groan or cry.

But after blows enough had fallen to mark the shirt with streaks of
blood, Jeph could bear it no longer.

"Hold!" he said. "You will never make him speak that way. Father and
mother never could. Strokes do but harden him."

"The sure token of a fool," said the c