He stood aside at the entrance to let
them pass, and beyond the message of hope flashed by his eyes, he
held no communication with them.
He entered the stockade in their wake, and as they broke their ranks
to seek their various respective huts, he beheld Colonel Bishop in
talk with Kent, the overseer. The pair were standing by the stocks,
planted in the middle of that green space for the punishment of
offending slaves.
As he advanced, Bishop turned to regard him, scowling. "Where have
you been this while?" he bawled, and although a minatory note was
normal to the Colonel's voice, yet Blood felt his heart tightening
apprehensively.
"I've been at my work in the town," he answered. "Mrs. Patch has a
fever and Mr. Dekker has sprained his ankle."
"I sent for you to Dekker's, and you were not there. You are given
to idling, my fine fellow. We shall have to quicken you one of
these days unless you cease from abusing the liberty you enjoy.
D'ye forget that ye're a rebel convict?"
"I am not given the chance," said Blood, who never could learn to
curb his tongue.
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