“For God’s sake!” I cried, trying to snatch her hand away.
“Stop,” she replied, in her terrible deep voice. At the same moment she caught my rescuing hand and held it in a vise.
“Smell. This is what it is like to be branded.”
A spell seemed to take hold of me. I had no power to move, but stood still watching her finger scorch in the tall flame. Once I saw it tremble, but she bit her lip and grew steady again. The flesh began to shrivel and then—my God! I caught that horrible stench of burning flesh.
“Stop,” I shrieked.
“Oh Ruth, Ruth, how I pity you in your pain,” cried my mistress, who held on, enduring that bitter agony to make me succumb to her will.
Then the sickening smell came again stronger than ever.
“Ruth, Ruth, Ruth! The bloodhound! Stop. I’ll go, I’ll go. Oh my God, my God, my God!”
I threw up my hands with a cry of horror and shut my eyes upon the terrible suggestion of that cruel sight. Lady Marmaduke bent close to me and spoke in my ear.
“Methinks I can hear her scream in agony. God, how she must have suffered!”