In the direction of the jail the crowd was separating.  Men crushed back on each side, forming a narrow aisle, even the whispering of the women ceased.  A moment later three men appeared in the opening between the spectators.  One of these, who walked between the other two, was stripped to the waist.  About each of his naked wrists was tied a leather thong and these thongs were held by the man’s guards.  The prisoner’s face was livid; his hands were red with blood that dripped from his lacerated wrists; his eyes glared malignantly and his heaving chest showed that he had not been brought from the log prison without a struggle.

“Ah, it’s Wittle first!” breathed the councilor.  “It’s he who said his wife should not wear short skirts.”

At the edge of the circle the prisoner hesitated and the muscles in his arms and chest grew rigid.  Those of the crowd nearest to him drew back.  Then a sudden change swept over the man’s features and he walked quickly to the stake and kneeled before it.  The thongs about his wrists were tied to the straps of the cross-piece and the whipper took his position.  As the first lash fell, a cry burst from the lips of the victim.  When the whip descended again he was silent.  A curious sensation of sickness crept over Nathaniel as he saw the red gashes thicken on the white flesh.  Five times—­six times—­seven times the whip rose and fell and he could see the blood starting.  In horror he turned his eyes away.  Behind him a man grinned at the whiteness of his face and the involuntary trembling of his lips.  Again and again he heard the lash fall upon the naked back.  From near him there came the sobbing moan of a woman.  A subdued movement, a sound as of murmuring wordless voices swept through the throng.  A steady glitter filled the eyes of the man who had laughed at him—­and he turned again to the stake.  The man’s back was dripping blood.  Great red seams lay upon his shoulders and a single lash had cut his bowed neck.  Another stroke, more fierce than the others, and MacDougall turned away from the figure at the post, breathing hard.  The guards unfastened the victim’s wrist-thongs and the man staggered to his feet.  As he swayed down through the path that opened for him his crimson back shone in the sun.

“Great God!” gasped Nathaniel.

He turned to Obadiah and was startled by the appearance of the old man.  The councilor’s face was ghastly.  His mouth twitched and his body trembled.  Nathaniel took his arm sympathetically.

“Hadn’t we better go, Dad?” he whispered.

“No—­no—­no—­not yet, Nat.  It’s—­it’s—­Neil now and I must see how the boy—­stands it!”