For a moment Peter Halket stood motionless; then he walked up to the tree.
The black man hung against the white stem, so closely bound to it that they
seemed one. His hands were tied to his sides, and his head drooped on his
breast. His eyes were closed; and his limbs, which had once been those of
a powerful man, had fallen away, making the joints stand out. The wool on
his head was wild and thick with neglect, and stood out roughly in long
strands; and his skin was rough with want and exposure.

The riems had cut a little into his ankles; and a small flow of blood had
made the ground below his feet dark.

Peter Halket looked up at him; the man seemed dead. He touched him softly
on the arm, then shook it slightly.

The man opened his eyes slowly, without raising his head; and looked at
Peter from under his weary eyebrows. Except that they moved they might
have been the eyes of a dead thing.

Peter put up his fingers to his own lips--"Hus-h! hus-h!" he said.

The man hung torpid, still looking at Peter.

Quickly Peter Halket knelt down and took the knife from his belt. In an
instant the riems that bound the feet were cut through; in another he had
cut the riems from the waist and neck: the riems dropped to the ground
from the arms, and the man stood free. Like a dazed dumb creature, he
stood, with his head still down, eyeing Peter.

Instantly Peter slipped the red bundle from his arm into the man's passive