'Tell! Not she, though her thumb was crushed to a jelly. And when they see'd it weren't no manner of use, they let her go. But that Lord Grey of Wigmore was a disciple of Old Nick himself, and what does he do but catch hold of Dame Eleanor's daughter, which weren't more' an a little maid like Miss Peggy there, and put the screw on her thumb, thinkin' it would loosen her mother's tongue to hear her shriek. There's things that women can bear up to a certain pass, but touch their young uns, and they'll let you know. At the first cry as was raised by that child Dame Eleanor went clean off her head, and, breakin' away from them as held her, she seized up a dagger and stabbed herself through the breast, with a awful shout of laughter, shuttin' her lips for ever from them as would wrest the secret from her.'