those below him; or, in his own expressive language, "to take it out of
'em, like smoke." He was keeping his hand in by the perpetration of
small tyrannies on all whom he was not afraid to meddle with; but
hitherto, from a lingering suspicion, perhaps, that it was not quite
safe, he had never annoyed Livingstone.

It was on a Saturday night, the hebdomadal Saturnalia, when the week's
work was over, and no one had any thing to do; the heart of Joseph was
jocund with pork chops and mulled beer, and, his evil genius tempting
him, he proposed to three of his intimates "to go and give the Count a
turn." Nearly every one had a nickname, and this had been given to Guy,
partly, I think, from his haughty demeanor, partly from a prevalent idea
that this German dignity was dormant somewhere in his family. When the
_quartette_ entered, Guy knew perfectly what they came for, but he sat
quite still and silent, while two of them held him down by the arms in
his chair.

"I think you'd look very well with a cross on, Count," Baines said, "so
keep steady while we decorate you."

As he spoke he was mixing up a paste with tallow and candle-snuff, and,
when it was ready, came near to daub the cross on Livingstone's
forehead.

The two who held him had been quite deceived by his unexpected
tranquillity, and had somewhat relaxed their gripe as they leaned
forward to witness the operation; but the fourth, standing idle, saw all
at once the pupils of his eyes contract, and his lips set so ominously,
that the words were in his mouth, "Hold him fast!" when Guy, exerting
the full force of his arms, shook himself clear, and grasping a