Page:Maud Howe - Atlanta in the South.djvu/220

 he sat, or rather crouched. The prisoner was a negro of the most degraded type; a criminal, one could not doubt him to be. Crime was stamped upon his low, animal forehead and frightful wolfish features with terrible distinctness. So much the occupants of the saloon-deck noted at a glance; and seeing that, thought no more of the writhing creature swaying on his rough seat with every motion of the boat. But Philip Rondelet, to whom it was given to see all of pain and suffering that crossed his path, observed that the prisoner was suffering keenly. He passed Margaret's half-open door without a glance, went down the companion-way, and addressed one of the men in charge of the prisoner: "That man seems to be in great pain."

"Think likely," was the laconic reply. The captive groaned. Philip saw that his arm was wounded and in need of care.

"I am a surgeon," he continued, "and I mean to dress that wound."

"Hands off my prisoner, young man. I don't stand no interference in my affairs," brutally protested the guardian of the law.

"Excuse me, sir,"—Philip's voice was as courteous and sweet as if he had been addressing Margaret herself,—"but I consider this to be my affair; and it is I who will brook no interference."