The same moment, in at the coach-house door shot Ginevra, as white as Gibbie.She darted to where he lay, and there stood over him, arms rigid and hands clenched hard, shivering as he had shivered, and sending from her body shriek after shriek, as if her very soul were the breath of which her cries were fashioned.It was as if the woman's heart in her felt its roots torn from their home in the bosom of God, and quivering in agony, and confronted by the stare of an eternal impossibility, shrieked against Satan.
"Gang awa, missie," cried Angus, who had respect to this child, though he had not yet learned to respect childhood; "he's a coorse cratur, an' maun hae's whups."But Ginevra was deaf to his evil charming.She stopped her cries, however, to help Gibbie up, and took one of his hands to raise him.
But his arm hung limp and motionless; she let it go; it dropped like a stick, and again she began to shriek.Angus laid his hand on her shoulder.She turned on him, and opening her mouth wide, screamed at him like a wild animal, with all the hatred of mingled love and fear; then threw herself on the boy, and covered his body with her own.Angus, stooping to remove her, saw Gibbie's face, and became uncomfortable.
"He's deid! he's deid! Ye've killt him, Angus! Ye're an ill man!"she cried fiercely."I hate ye.I'll tell on ye.I'll tell my papa.""Hoot! whisht, missie!" said Angus."It was by yer papa's ain orders I gae him the whup, an' he weel deserved it forby.An' gien ye dinna gang awa, an' be a guid yoong leddy, I'll gie 'im mair yet.""I'll tell God," shrieked Ginevra with fresh energy of defensive love and wrath.
Again he sought to remove her, but she clung so, with both legs and arms, to the insensible Gibbie, that he could but lift both together, and had to leave her alone.
"Gien ye daur to touch 'im again, Angus, I'll bite ye--bite ye--BITEYE," she screamed, in a passage wildly crescendo.
The laird and Fergus had walked away together, perhaps neither of them quite comfortable at the orders given, but the one too self-sufficient to recall them, and the other too submissive to interfere.They heard the cries, nevertheless, and had they known them for Ginevra's, would have rushed to the spot; but fierce emotion had so utterly changed her voice--and indeed she had never in her life cried out before--that they took them for Gibbie's and supposed the whip had had the desired effect and loosed his tongue.
As to the rest of the household, which would by this time have been all gathered in the coach-house, the laird had taken his stand where he could intercept them: he would not have the execution of the decrees of justice interfered with.
But Ginevra's shrieks brought Gibbie to himself.Faintly he opened his eyes, and stared, stupid with growing pain, at the tear-blurred face beside him.In the confusion of his thoughts he fancied the pain he felt was Ginevra's, not his, and sought to comfort her, stroking her cheek with feeble hand, and putting up his mouth to kiss her.But Angus, utterly scandalized at the proceeding, and restored to energy by seeing that the boy was alive, caught her up suddenly and carried her off--struggling, writhing, and scratching like a cat.Indeed she bit his arm, and that 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.
