"One of them is no wiser than we. You are certain as to this, Mistress Patricia?" "Yes, your Excellency." "Humph! one does not know; three are dead, there remain, then, that shaven and branded runaway and the two convicts." "You will learn naught from the runaway, your Excellency!" called out the overseer from where he stood at a respectful distance from the company. "He ’s one of them crazy fanatics that wild horses could n’t draw truth from. No Indian torture stake could make him speak if he did n’t want to,—nor keep him from it if he did." "I know that kind," said the Governor, with a short laugh, "and we will not waste time upon him, but will try if the convict—he who seems to have been their leader—be not more amenable. Bring him in, Woodson." When the overseer had gone, a silence fell upon the company gathered in the master’s room. The Governor paced to and fro, perplexity in his face; the Colonel knit his grizzled brows and studied the floor; Dr. Anthony Nash brought the writing materials displayed upon the table, closer to him, and held a quill ready poised for dipping into the ink horn, while the Surveyor-General with a carefully composed countenance toyed with a pink which he took from the bowl of flowers before him. Sir Charles leaned back in his seat and looked at Patricia who, seated between him and her father, stared before her with hard, bright eyes. Her lips were like a scarlet flower against the absolute pallor of her face; her hair was a crown of pale gold. In the great chair, her white arms resting upon the dark wood, her feet upon a carved footstool, she looked a queen, and the knot of brilliantly dressed gentlemen her attendant council. The door opened and the two overseers appeared with Landless, who advanced and stood, silent and collected, before the ring of hostile faces. "What is your name, sirrah?" said the Governor, throwing himself into his chair and frowning heavily. "Godfrey Landless." "I am told that you are son to one Warham Landless, a so-called colonel in the rebel army and hand in glove with the usurper himself." "I am the son of Colonel Warham Landless of the forces of the Commonwealth, and friend to his Highness the Lord Protector." "Humph! And did you fight in these same forces yourself?" "At Worcester, yes." "Humph! the son of a traitor and rebel—traitor and rebel yourself—and convict to boot! A pretty record! On what day was this rising to occur?" No answer. The Governor repeated the question. "On what day was this precious mine to be sprung? And to what place were you to resort?" Landless remaining silent, the Governor’s face began to flush and the veins in his forehead to swell. "Have you lost your tongue?" he said fiercely. "If so, we will find a way to recover it." "I shall not answer those questions," said Landless firmly.