I think now that he refused my offer of assistance not because he expected to be released but rather that he feared that evil might befall me were I to connive at his escape. At any rate I did nothing, since he would not let me, and went home again with a heavy heart and dismal forebodings. Trials before the teivos were public, or at least were supposed to be, though they made it so uncomfortable for spectators that few, if any, had the temerity to attend; but under Jarth’s new rule the proceedings of the military courts were secret and Father was tried before such a court. CHAPTER VIII I HORSEWHIP AN OFFICER We passed days of mental anguish—hearing nothing, knowing nothing—and then one evening a single Kash Guard rode up to Father’s house. Juana and I were there with Mother. The fellow dismounted and knocked at the door—a most unusual courtesy from one of these. He entered at my bidding and stood there a moment looking at Mother. He was only a lad—a big, overgrown boy, and there was neither cruelty in his eyes nor the mark of the beast in any of his features. His mother’s blood evidently predominated, and he was unquestionably not all Kalkar. Presently he spoke. “Which is Julian 8th’s woman?” he asked; but he looked at Mother as though he already guessed. “I am,” said Mother. The lad shuffled his feet and caught his breath—it was like a stifled sob. “I am sorry,” he said, “that I bring you such sad news,” and then we guessed that the worst had happened. “The mines?” Mother asked him, and he nodded affirmatively. “Ten years!” he exclaimed, as one might announce a sentence of death, for such it was. “He never had a chance,” he volunteered. “It was a terrible thing. They are beasts!” I could not but show my surprise that a Kash Guard should speak so of his own kind, and he must have seen it in my face. “We are not all beasts,” he hastened to exclaim. I commenced to question him then and I found that he had been a sentry at the door during the trial and had heard it all. There had been but one witness—the man who had informed on Father, and Father had been given no chance to make any defense. I asked him who the informer was. “I am not sure of the name,” he replied; “he was a tall, stoop-shouldered man. I think I heard him called Peter.” But I had known even before I asked. I looked at Mother and saw that she was dry-eyed and that her mouth had suddenly hardened into a firmness of expression such as I had never dreamed it could assume. “Is that all?” she asked.