Mr. Delancey paused a moment, with a glance of something like admiration lighting up his cold eyes; perhaps he saw something of his own indomitable spirit in the girl's firm demeanor, and, perhaps, the thought that nature gave her a right to the possession of that spirit never entered his mind. With his anger every moment growing more intense, the merchant again laid his hand upon her arm. "No more parleying, girl--bring me the letters." "Never, sir." "Dare you speak thus to me? I _will_ have them." "Not while it is in my power to prevent you, sir." "Fool! Minny, slave, out of my way!" Minny moved not a muscle. "Do as I command you, or, by Heaven, I'll make you. Was ever such disobedience shown a master?" Minny stood firm, but silent, her back against the door. Mr. Delancey laid his hand upon the bell-rope, and pulled it violently. "Voltaire," said he, to the servant who answered it, "bring me the heavy whip, with the braided lash." It was not often that Mr. Delancey punished a slave, but when he did he was very severe. In this case, pride, anger, and a feeling something like revenge, for what he deemed Minny's obstinacy, spurred him on. The refusal of the letters had made him determined to possess them, and nothing could now have turned him from his course. Reader, he was a father; and his daughter was his idol! The servant brought the whip, laid it on the table, glanced pityingly at Minny, and went out with a shudder. Mr. Delancey seized Minny by the arm, and pushed her on before him, until he reached an upper balcony, near the sleeping apartments of the domestics. "Now, girl, down with you." "No, sir; if you lash me, let me stand and bear it like a human being, not like a dog, with my face to the dust." "Down with you, or I will knock you down! You shall take it, as would any other slave." Minny threw back her curls, and knelt before her master. "On your face, girl, _down_!" He raised his foot, and pushed her forward on her face. She lay there, with her heavy curls falling round her like a mantle, entirely concealing the tearless, livid face. Delancey raised his arm, and the heavy lash descended, whirring through the air, telling how fierce the hand that dealt the blow. The tender flesh could almost be seen to quiver through the thin, light dress; but Minny moved not, uttered no moan, nor raised her head. "How now, girl, does your spirit hold out? Will you give up the letters?" "Never!" Again the lash came down, and this time, across one fair, polished shoulder, gleaming out from among the curls, in her low-necked dress, was marked a braided cut, from which the blood oozed in small round drops, staining also the waist of the dress, where the lash had fallen. "How now?" There came no answer: Minny lay still and quiet. Again the enraged master raised the whip, and this time the strokes were a trifle lighter, but more frequent, with no power for questioning.