severely, but the man
never even told his wife. Little Missie was a queen, and little
Gibbie was a vermin, but he was ashamed to let the mother of his
children know that the former had bitten him for the sake of the
latter.

The moment she thus disappeared, Gibbie began to apprehend that she
was suffering for him, not he for her. His whole body bore
testimony to frightful abuse. This was some horrible place
inhabited by men such as those that killed Sambo! He must fly. But
would they hurt the little girl? He thought not--she was at home.
He started to spring to his feet, but fell back almost powerless;
then tried more cautiously and got up wearily, for the pain and the
terrible shock seemed to have taken the strength out of every limb.
Once on his feet, he could scarcely stoop to pick up his remnant of
trowsers without again falling, and the effort made him groan with
distress. He was in the act of trying in vain to stand on one foot,
so as to get the other into the garment, when he fancied he heard
the step of his executioner, returning doubtless to resume his
torture. He dropped the rag, and darted out of the door, forgetting
aches and stiffness and agony. All naked as he was, he fled like
the wind, unseen, or at least unrecognized, of any eye. Fergus did
catch a glimpse of something white that flashed across a vista
through the neighbouring wood, but he took it for a white peacock,
of which there were two or three about the place. The three men
were disgusted with the little wretch when they found that he had
actually fled into the open day without his clothes. Poor Gibbie!
it was such a small difference! It needed as little change to make
a savage as an angel of him. All depended on the eyes that saw him.

He ran he knew not whither, feeling nothing but the desire first to
get into some covert, and then to run farther. His first rush was
for the shubbery, his next across the little park to the wood
beyond. He did not feel the wind of his running on his bare skin.
He did not feel the hunger that had made him so unable to bear the
lash. On and on he ran, fancying ever he heard the cruel Angus
behind him. If a dry twig snapped, he thought it was the crack of
the whip; and a small wind that rose suddenly in the top of a pine,
seemed the hiss with which it was about to descend upon him. He ran
and ran, but still there seemed nothing between him and his
persecutors. He felt no safety. At length he