“Where did you find her?”
“On the street in Detroit, and I guess we will keep her this time.”
“It’s a wonder she did not get away.”
“Oh, I told her you was sick and going to die, so she came along.”
“You’re a good boy, Crisp, and you’ll get the money and she’ll get the lashes; yes, yes, she’ll get the lashes, the sinful jade, and you can give ’em to her, and lay ’em on good; tie her tight till to-morrow and then settle with her.”
Crisp did as his mother directed, and Zula knowing his strength made no resistance. Then he went to his straw bed and slept soundly, until morning. The sun 56 was well up when he went to Zula, and untying her hands led her out to a tree, where he bound her, saying:
“Now, you will find who is lady, or who is gypsy.”
He wound the lash that he had brought, around his brawny hand, and one by one the blows fell fast upon the quivering flesh. No word escaped her lips; but a slight groan followed every stroke of the whip. The little soft hands were locked tightly together and the face grew paler and paler, as the strokes left their marks deep and red.
“I’ll take the pride out of you, my young queen; you dare not run away again,” said Crisp, growing more and more angry, and giving vent to his demoniac ire in heavier strokes. As the lash sunk into the flesh a deeper paleness crept over Zula’s face, a heavy groan escaped her, and “Oh, Crisp,” was spoken in a tone full of agony.
Old Meg, who stood watching the proceedings, now advanced, and said: