"What I might do? What do you think I would do?"
"I cannot tell. I mistrust you."
"Do you think me capable of lashing at you with my crop?"
"I think you capable of anything."
"Flattering that!" he shouted, angrily.
"You would have lashed at Jamie."
"And why not? He might have killed me."
"He might have killed you, but you should not have touched him—not have thought of touching him."
"Indeed! Why not?"
"Why not?" She raised herself upright and looked straight into his eyes, in which fire flickered, flared, then decayed, then flared again.
"You are no Dane, or you would not have asked 'Why not I?' twice. Nay, you would not have asked it once."
"Not a Dane?" His beard and mustache were quivering, and he snorted with anger.
"A Dane, I have read in history, is too noble and brave to threaten women and to strike children."
He uttered an oath and ground his teeth.
"No; a Dane would never have thought of asking why not?—why not lash a poor little silly boy?"
"You insult me! You dare to do it?"
Her blood was surging in her heart. As she looked into this man's dark and evil face she thought of all the distress he had caused her father, and a wave of loathing swept over her, nerved her to defy him to the uttermost, and to proclaim all the counts she had against him.
"I dare do it," she said, " because you made my own dear papa's life full of bitterness and pain——"
"I! I never touched him, hardly spoke to him. I don't care to have to do with parsons."
"You made his life one of sorrow through your godless, lawless ways, leading his poor flock astray, and bidding them mock at his warnings and despise his teachings. Almost with his last breath he spoke of you, and the wretchedness of heart you had caused him. And then you dared—yes—you dared—you dared to burst into our house where he lay dead, with shameful insolence to disturb its peace. And now—" she gasped, "and now, ah! you lie when you say you are a Dane, and talk of cutting and lashing the dead father's little boy on his father's
