Freda was overwhelmed. For a few moments she sat transfixed, looking down on this newly-found parent with undisguised horror.
“Well, aren’t you going to obey me?” repeated he with rather less ferocity of tone.
“Yes,” whispered Freda hoarsely.
She drew back a step or two from the opening in the floor, and began to grope about with cold, clammy fingers for the rope-ladder. At last she found it and threw it down.
If she had not been so benumbed with amazement and grief at this discovery, she would have been frightened by the savage exclamation with which the man set his foot on the ladder. As it was, she heard nothing, saw nothing until she suddenly felt herself pulled up by the arm. Dragged to her feet against her will, paralysed with alarm, she turned to see the grinning, withered face held close to hers, full of spite and malignity.
“Now,” said he, “I’m going to give you a lesson for your disobedience.”
With a shudder and a low cry, Freda struggled with him, avoiding the meeting with his eyes.
“Don’t,” she whispered hoarsely. “Don’t. I wish to remember my obedience, my duty. I can’t if you treat me like a dog.”
He gave a short, rasping laugh.
“I sha’n’t do that,” he said. “I respect a dog.”