; but, like some
ferocious beast, that plays with its victim before he devours it, he
kept back his strong impulse to proceed to immediate violence, and broke
out into bitter raillery.

"Well, here's a pious dog, at last, let down among us sinners!--a saint,
a gentleman, and no less, to talk to us sinners about our sins! Powerful
holy critter, he must be! Here, you rascal, you make believe to be so
pious,--didn't you never hear, out of yer Bible, 'Servants, obey yer
masters'? An't I yer master? Didn't I pay down twelve hundred dollars,
cash, for all there is inside yer old cussed black shell? An't yer mine,
now, body and soul?" he said, giving Tom a violent kick with his heavy
boot; "tell me!"

In the very depth of physical suffering, bowed by brutal oppression,
this question shot a gleam of joy and triumph through Tom's soul. He
suddenly stretched himself up, and, looking earnestly to heaven, while
the tears and blood that flowed down his face mingled, he exclaimed,

"No! no! no! my soul an't yours, Mas'r! You haven't bought it,--ye
can't buy it! It's been bought and paid for, by one that is able to keep
it;--no matter, no matter, you can't harm me!"

"I can't!" said Legree, with a sneer; "we'll see,--we'll see! Here,
Sambo, Quimbo, give this dog such a breakin' in as he won't get over,
this month!"

The two gigantic negroes that now laid hold of Tom, with fiendish
exultation in their faces, might have formed no unapt personification of
powers of darkness. The poor woman screamed with apprehension, and all
rose, as by a general impulse, while they dragged him unresisting from
the place.

CHAPTER XXXIV

The Quadroon's Story

And behold the tears of such as are oppressed; and on the side of
their oppressors there was power. Wherefore I praised the dead that are
already dead more than the living that are yet alive.--ECCL. 4:1.

It was late at night, and Tom lay groaning and bleeding alone, in an old
forsaken room of the gin-house, among pieces of broken machinery, piles
of damaged cotton, and other rubbish which had there accumulated.

The night was damp and close, and the thick air swarmed with myriads of
mosquitos, which increased the restless torture of his wounds; whilst
a burning thirst--a torture beyond all others--filled up the uttermost
measure of physical anguish.

"O, good Lord! _Do_ look down,--give me the victory!--give me the
victory over all!" prayed poor Tom, in his anguish.

A footste