"You have not understood the question, Susanna. Is the prisoner
your father?"

"I cudna say, my lord."

"Come, come, my girl! you must answer the questions put you by the
court. You have been an inmate of the prisoner's household since
your earliest consciousness. He provided you with food, lodging,
and clothing during your infancy and early youth. You have seen him
on annual visits to your home, and watched him as he performed the
usual parental functions for your younger brothers and sisters. I
therefore repeat, is the prisoner your father, Susanna Crum?"

"I wudna say he's no', my lord."

"This is really beyond credence! What do you conceive to be the
idea involved in the word `father,' Susanna Crum?"

"It depends, my lord."

And this, a few hundred years earlier, would have been the natural
and effective moment for the thumbscrews.

I do not wish to be understood as defending these uncomfortable
appliances. They would never have been needed to elicit information
from me, for I should have spent my nights inventing matter to
confess in the daytime. I feel sure that I should have poured out
such floods of confessions and retractations that if all Scotland
had been one listening ear it could not have heard my tale. I am