"No, sooner wouldn't do, because then he'd flog you worse; he'd be sure to know you'd helped me get away."
"Yes, my first plan is best; while they're at the station seeing me off you must run away to Tawborough or take the coach, because we've enough money for that now. Here's the half-sovereign, my present, you know; the half-crown mightn't be enough and I've nothing in between—"
The door, opening softly, cut him short. Uncle Simeon, very pale and slimy and cat-like—himself at his worst—was followed by Albert, also at his worst, with an ugly black eye and an uglier leer.
"No, father," he whined, "not one; both. Flog 'em both, father, both of 'em."
Albert's disappointed whine seemed to mean that his father might not dare to touch Robbie. I was glad for Robbie's sake; what my own fate would be I hardly dared to think. I shrank from him into the seat of the window sill. He took a long coil of cord out of his pocket, and came towards—not me—but Robbie. What, would you dare? Was Robbie, after all, the victim, and I, if only for the moment, the one to escape? I must do myself the justice of noting that for once in my life at any rate I was sorry to bear the easier part: I would gladly have chosen to take the beating for Robbie, would bravely have played the Royal Prince's whipping-girl. He bound Robbie with the cord hand and foot to the bedpost, his own bedpost of course; for it all took place in his bedroom, where Uncle Simeon had surprised us. Uncle Simeon went out of the room for a moment, leaving Albert to watch us.
There was two minutes absolute silence. The three children looked at each other. We waited.
He came back, in his right hand the long heralded whip; a kind of cat-o'-nine-tails for domestic use, with five tails only instead of nine; these were made of cord, with three knots each at intervals, and were fastened to a piece of thick rope, which Uncle Simeon wielded. An evil-looking thing.
Robbie did not wince. He would not while I was by. But I lost all control of myself, and, for the first time, burst out openly against Uncle Simeon. I flew up to him, and with fierce feebleness clutched his wrist.
"Don't you dare touch him," I cried, in a treble shriek. "I dare you to whip him. You cruel, horrible man."
"Cruel horrible man," he sneered. "Bah! A fine one you are to call one that; you, your father's daughter every inch of you. Cruel horrible man, forsooth!—Go and call him that, your own dear, kind, loving father who drove your dear mother into an early grave and mocked her when she was lying there; a heartless whoremongering beast who spent all the time he spared from stews and brothels in hounding her to death with his cruelties; unfit to untie the shoe of a humble Christian like oneself, frail and sinful though one doubtless is. You're like him, body and soul. Come, loose hold!"