side. Rage and shame had made her forget modesty, and she did not know that she was displaying to the enraptured eyes of the men a large triangular fleece of golden chestnut hair, which covered the whole of the lower part of her belly, and beneath which could be seen the pink lips of her dainty coynte.
Pretty as the spectacle was, the men quickly turned her on her belly again, and down came the cane a third time. There was another attempt at a scream; through the handkerchief could be heard her voice in a hoarse whisper, saying: “Oh, you wretches! Oh, you curs! Oh, you beasts!” with even worse language which would certainly have astonished her husband if he had heard it.
The fourth, fifth, and sixth cuts descended on her smarting bottom; and Mrs. Sinclair arched her loins at one moment and the next tried to press them into the seat.
The man flogged slowly and methodically, allowing time for each cut to have its full sting.
Seven! eight! nine! and the bottom, but a few minutes before so dazzling white, was now a dull brick red all over, crossed with livid seams.
The pain was intolerable and made the poor woman scream out.
“Oh, don't!” she cried. “Oh! Ha! Ah! have mercy. Oh! Oh! not so — hard — Oh! Oh! it will kill me.- Oh! please don't — I'm too soft — Oh! Oh! I shall die!”
None of the men took the slightest notice, and the schoolmaster delivered the last three strokes as coolly as though he had been beating his coat.
When he had finished, Mrs. Sinclair lay huddled up on the seat half swooning with pain. The men had released her, but the sting of the cuts still remained, and she continued to squirm and wriggle, at times raising her body so much that the abode of love between her legs could be plainly seen. Gradually the pain diminished and she was able to pull down her petticoats over her tortured bottom, and then she burst into a flood of tears.
The big man turned to Brandon.
“I was sorry to have to tie you up in this way, but there was no help for it,” he said. “If you consider yourself aggrieved I will give you any satisfaction you like, but you had better hold your tongue. If you poked this woman with her consent she has been punished enough for her misdeeds and you would only ruin her reputation; whereas if you did rape her it might be unpleasant for you to have to do five years' hard labour. As it is we shall none of us say anything about tonight's work, and you had better follow our example.
With that they released Brandon, who in his rage and indignation would have attacked the men regardless of the odds against him, but at the sight of the shrinking and weeping figure in the corner, he remembered that a free fight would bring about a scandal, and that would cause the loss of her reputation, and he sunk back into his corner, moody and wrathful.
A few minutes later the train arrived at Edinburgh, and the men got out.
“What! changing carriages again, gentlemen?” cried the guard.
“Yes,” said the big man, “we couldn't stand those love birds, and I hate to spoil sport, so we have determined to leave them alone — and here is a sovereign for you if you will do the same. Let them enjoy themselves as — as much as they can.”
The vicinity of Glasgow is unmistakable. The flames of pauseless industries are here and there marked on the distance. Vast factories stand close to the track, and retching chimneys emit roseate flames. At last one may see upon a wall the strong reflection from furnaces, and against it the impish and inky figures of working men. A long, prison-like row of tenements, not at all resembling London, but in one way resembling New York, appeared to the left, and then sank out of sight like a phantom. At last the driver stopped the brave effort of his engine. The four hundred miles were come to the edge. The average speed of forty-nine and one-third miles each hour had been made, and it remained only to glide with the hauteur of a great express through the yard and into the station at Glasgow.
A wide and splendid collection of signal-lamps flowed toward the engine. With delicacy and care the train clanked over some switches, passed the signals, and then there shone a great blaze of arc-lamps, defining the wide sweep of the station roof. Smoothly, proudly, with all that vast dignity which had surrounded its exit from London, the express moved along its platform. It was the entrance into a gorgeous drawing-room of a man that was sure of everything. As the train definitely halted, a long, harsh gasp burst from the engine and a jet of white steam feathered overhead. A loud panting could be heard.
The porters and the people crowded forward. In their minds there may have floated dim images of the traditional music-halls, the bobbies, the 'buses, the 'Arrys and 'Arriets, the swells of London.
When they arrived at Glasgow, Mrs. Sinclair allowed Brandon to lead her to a cab, for she could scarcely totter. He attempted to make profuse apologies to her for having been the cause of all her misfortunes, but she made a sign to him with her hand to be silent.
ACACIA VILLA, KELVINSIDE
Brandon would have much liked to know the address of the pretty little woman to whom he had behaved so badly, but the gentlemanly instincts in his character re-asserted themselves, and he drew back when he saw Mrs. Sinclair about to tell the driver the address, and taking off his hat made a low bow, and then stood and watched the cab out of sight.
The vehicle went off at a smart trot, and turning to the west, down one of the broad, straight streets which run parallel to the river, rounded the hill and stopped at a pretty little villa overlooking the Kelvin.
Mrs. Sinclair had been obliged to sit as much as possible on one side, for each jolt of the cab was torture to her wealed and smarting bottom. She seemed so ill when she got out of the cab that the smart housemaid who had opened the front door and run down the garden to receive her mistress, looked quite frightened.
“I am rather tired, Jane; I will go straight to my room,” said Mr. Sinclair, “and you can send me a cup of tea in half an hour.
She tottered across the hall, and with some difficulty ascended the stairs, and entered a pretty, little bedroom painted white and gold. She carefully locked the door, and then undressed with feverish haste. In a moment or two her dress and her snowy petticoats had fallen to the ground, and she stepped out of them. Then she undid her corsets, and released a pair of rather small but well-shaped breasts, the pink nipples of which peeped temptingly over the lace-trimmed hem of the chemise.
A few seconds later and she had removed her drawers, and then she slowly undid a button on each shoulder and the chemise glided off her white shoulders, and as it slipped down disclosed all the charms of her beautifully shaped form, her small and rounded waist, the fair white belly dimpled in its centre with a delightfully impudent looking navel, and below that the broad triangular forest of golden hair which but a few hours before had aroused the painter's lust, and below that the firm white columns of a pair of thighs, which, closed together as they were, concealed a sweeter charm than all, and tapered down to the black stockings on her shapely legs that set off the whiteness of her superb body, and made her look more undressed than though she had been really naked. If Brandon could but have seen her at that moment, he would have been strongly tempted to repeat his offence.
She stepped in front of a cheval-glass, and turning her head over her shoulder, looked sorrowfully at her scarred and wealed bottom, the scarlet hue of which contrasted so vividly with the rest of the delicate white body. Uttering a deep sigh, she walked to the dressing-table, and opening a pot of vaseline, gently applied it with her fingers to her smarting buttocks.
This relieved the smarting, and when she had dabbed on some violet-powder as well, she felt much less pain.
She took off her shoes and stood in all the naked beauty of her glorious womanhood, and pleased to be free from the painful pressure of her clothes, she walked about the room for a few minutes, and then stopped opposite to a framed photograph — the portrait of a good-looking but rather delicate young man.
“All, my poor Ted,” she said as she looked at it. “If you had not gone to India and left your poor little wife at home, this would never have happened. And I do miss you so,” she added, as she looked down at herself, and gently rolled one of the golden curls round her finger. “I believe that cruel beating only made you more excited,” she went on, addressing her bower of bliss, “and that you would be glad if that big artist were to come in again
