, but was influenced by
his wife. It was Saturday evening, and while I was bending over the bed,
watching the baby that I had just hushed into slumber, Mr. Bingham came
to the door and asked me to go with him to his study. Wondering what he
meant by his strange request, I followed him, and when we had entered
the study he closed the door, and in his blunt way remarked: "Lizzie, I
am going to flog you." I was thunderstruck, and tried to think if I had
been remiss in anything. I could not recollect of doing anything to
deserve punishment, and with surprise exclaimed: "Whip me, Mr. Bingham!
what for?"

"No matter," he replied, "I am going to whip you, so take down your
dress this instant."

Recollect, I was eighteen years of age, was a woman fully developed, and
yet this man coolly bade me take down my dress. I drew myself up
proudly, firmly, and said: "No, Mr. Bingham, I shall not take down my
dress before you. Moreover, you shall not whip me unless you prove the
stronger. Nobody has a right to whip me but my own master, and nobody
shall do so if I can prevent it."

My words seemed to exasperate him. He seized a rope, caught me roughly,
and tried to tie me. I resisted with all my strength, but he was the
stronger of the two, and after a hard struggle succeeded in binding my
hands and tearing my dress from my back. Then he picked up a rawhide,
and began to ply it freely over my shoulders. With steady hand and
practised eye he would raise the instrument of torture, nerve himself
for a blow, and with fearful force the rawhide descended upon the
quivering flesh. It cut the skin, raised great welts, and the warm blood
trickled down my back. Oh God! I can feel the torture now--the terrible,
excruciating agony of those moments. I did not scream; I was too proud
to let my tormentor know what I was suffering. I closed my lips firmly,
that not even a groan might escape from them, and I stood like a statue
while the keen lash cut deep into my flesh. As soon as I was released,
stunned with pain, bruised and bleeding, I went home and rushed into the
presence of the pastor and his wife, wildly exclaiming: "Master Robert,
why did you let Mr. Bingham flog me? What have I done that I should be
so punished?"

"Go away," he gruffly answered, "do not bother me."

I would not be put off thus. "What _have_ I done? I _will_ know why I
have been flogged."

I saw his cheeks flush with anger, but I did not move. He rose to his
feet, and on