more correctly, she had to lie upon the table face downwards and forwards. With a dexterity, an ease of movement, an absence of gesture which spoke of habit, Miss Sinclair raised the petticoats of Miss Clara, whilst the victim's hands were immediately imprisoned in the long lean claws of the long Mrs. Stuart. After Miss Sinclair had adroitly pinned the skirts to the shoulders of the little martyr, the young unbuttoned the drawers, which she lowered to the heels.
The drawers were very curious. They consisted of a very tight garment which revealed to view the exact shape of the parts covered. I had never seen a similar garment. It was in fact, a pair of drawers made of black glazed kid of exactly the same material and shade as the long gloves we were obliged to wear. The hinder parts of Miss Clara were fully exposed, white and rounded. It was, upon my word, a very pretty pair of hemispheres and although hitherto I had never thought of attaching any importance to what little girls sit upon, I could not help being moved by the sight, thoug I had no idea of analysing the reasons of this curious emotion, which stirred me more deeply than I can well say. As to fear, I felt none whatever. The immediate future, however, was to prove for me terrible enough.
Miss Sinclair slowly drew off her long gloves rai I of the high desk. She was doing It- t a s k without forgetting, the smallest detail, and immediately had her reward in a smile from correct Mr. Gostock; a smile, indeed, which was really a horrible grimace, or appeared to me such.
The directress then addressed Clara
'Well, Miss! I hope you feel ashamed to be exhibiting, the nudity of the lower part of your back to the gaze of the whole class? Are you sorry for your naughty folly?
'Pardon me, my lady, I beg you.'
'Are you going again to propel balls of paper soaked with your spittle.'
My lady!… I declare to you… I threw none.
The little boy niade a mistake.
'Do you see?' said the directress to Miss Sinclair. 'She is incorrigible. Punish her well therefore, as much for her lie as for her fault. Don't spare her.'
Clara moaned and wept in a stifled way, as her petticoats covering her head hardly let breathe. A spasmodic quiver ran up her little thighs, trembing already in anticipation.
Miss Sinclair did not appear to be at all in a hurry to begin the work of execution. Yet certain signs of animation in her manner sufficiently revealed her pleasure. Her fine dark eyes sparkled. Her pretty half-opened mouth showed her dainty, even, white teeth. She passed her pointed rosy little tongue over her crimson lips like a gourmand -with his favourite dish before him. She had also lifted her head in saucy pride and I remember that her fair hair seemed like a mass of burnished gold.
She proceeded with a quiet step and with quite the dignity of a queen, to a cupboard against the wall between tow large maps. Miss Sinclair was not troubled by her high heels. One would have thought she wore no boots at all, so easy were her movements. Her step was as noiseless as it was rhythmic.
She opened a drawer of the large cupboard and cast an inquiring glance within. After a pause, she took therefrom a birch which she balanced in her hand. Then with a look of contempt and a shrug of the shoulders, she threw it back again. Her hand searched anew, and this time produced a very terrible implement as it appeared to me. It was a thick long rod, terminating in a steel-like point.
All these deliberate movements and preparations inspired a perfect paroxysm of terror in her who was about to be whipped. That was clear to every eye in the class by the writhings of the nude globes. They jutted out behind as though to meet the birch there was no escaping, and then contracted, as though to avoid it, all the while wriggling as though already stung a thousand cutting blows and moving from side to side as if the cruel pain were already more than they could bear. In short, they spoke with a dumb eloquence which was nothing less than poignant. And, in point of fact, both boys and girls showed their feelings by their bated breath. Without possibility of doubt, there was none more affected than I myself, not even perhaps excepting the poor little girl who waited for the first blow to fall. And while waiting – for I knew that soon my turn would come – I felt my fine courage of a few moments before melting into air, and my own anguish, became more and more intense. I knew that there would not even be any necessity to hold my hands. I was already at the mercy of beautiful Miss Stella Sinclair, whose calmness was, so to speak, a miraculous chain which bound me. I was spellbound. Had a miracle taken place before my eyes, I should have been unaffected by comparison. With that rod brandished in warlike. fashion in her hand, this fair young girl appeared to me an image of terror, an evil divinity. She was in truth a young she-devil in spite of her ravishing beauty. It was my fate to assure myself of the fact, by the eyes to begin with; in my skin afterwards.
She placed herself behind her victim and asked in exquisitely sweet, silvery tones:
'Are you ready.? '
'Yes! Yes!' came the reply in broken accents, as though wrung from a mind in mortal terror.
If Clara was ready, Stella was not, and I perceived that her question was designed simply to warn the child that the moment of punishment was at hand. Machiavelli-like, Stella desired to sharpen anew the heartrending anguish of her victim. The shaking and quivering of the bare stern showed that the object of astute Stella had been attained.
She stepped forward, stepped back again, extended her arm flourishing the rod, then again stepped forward. Evidently she was calculating her distance. But she gave much more time to her calculations than was necessary. That was certainly the opinion of her victim, for she cried out:
'Do for the love of God begin! It ought to be finished by now!'
This ingenuous complaint spoilt Stella's effect. Her careful acting broke down. In harsh tones, she replied:
'It is not for you to give me orders, Miss. The signal for beginning will not be given by, you. I am charged with the task of whipping you and naturally I wish to do my duty conscientiously. What have you to reply to that?'
'Nothing! Nothing!' sobbed the victim. 'But I beg you, I entreat you, don't delay any
more. Get it done as quickly as possible. Oh, how I wish it were already finished!'
'That I can well understand,' replied crafty Stella, in her witch-like tones. 'You shall be well whipped I promise you, so your desire is natural, I feel myself in good form to-day. My energy is unusual. I feel a sensation of nervous force and I thank our dear directress, gracious Lady Flayskin, for having kindly entrusted me with the task of punishing you. I am not about to prove unworthy of her con fidence, as I beg to declare.
'Oh! Oh!' cried Clara.
'This begins to be -intolerable,' said Miss Sinclair. 'Yes or no, are you going to hold your tongue? And will you be so kind as not to agitate your impertinent hindquarters in so indecent a fashion. Keep still, or I will strip off the skin and make the blood run in streams down to your heels.'
'Pardon me! Have pity on me!' moaned the wretched child.
But her prayer finished in a lord shriek. The punishment had begun.
How that diabolical rod whistled and bent when wielded by the supple and vigorous, though childlike arm of the flogger! Never should I have imagined that this bit of a girl had so much strength. My imagination no doubt increased the terror of the spectacle. If only I had been dressed in my knickerbockers, with strong laced boots on my feet, instead of wearing those unsteady high-heeled boots and girl's skirts, I should have known how to face Miss Sinclair. I would have soundly boxed her ears and shown her how a self-respecting boy treats a girl who intentionally annoys him. But rigged out as I was, and sorely tried by the multiple experiences of the past forty-eight hours, it is not surprising that I had little courage left. It is known, too, how the mind reacts upon the body. I felt extremely weak and my body still smarted from the whipping which Betsy had given me the day before. Curious to relate, too, as I looked at Miss Sinclair operating upon the bare flesh of unfortu- nate Clara, my mind called up the vision of the powerful maid-servant. The white arm of the young girl became transformed. It was the thick arm of Betsy that I saw, the thick resolute 53
arm gloved in glazed black kid upon which my clenched hand had used itself in vain. So realistic was the vision that I forgot the presence of Clara. It was me receiving the blows, crying and begging for mercy.
Alas! what was then but a horrid nightmare was about to become a grim reality.
I listened as in a dream to the dreadful whistling of the rod, wielded by the untiring graceful arm of pretty Miss Sinclair. I heard the sobs, cries and entreaties of the victim, and her promises of amended conduct in the future. She confessed to having flipped the ball of paper and she accused her neighbour of having instigated her to commit the heinous deed. Then she said that she did not wish to accuse anyone. She had acted upon her own initiative alone. She shrieked in a heartrending manner, imploring for pardon and pity, declaring that she could not endure any more suffering, that she was going to die; that the whip had never hurt so much before.
