"I hope, Matilda Peterkin, you would not be so disloyal to the South, and to the very honorable institution under which your father accumulated his wealth, as to even admire a low-flung northern Abolitionist;" and Miss Jane reddened with all a Southron's ire. Miss Bradly was about to speak, but to what purpose the world to this day remains ignorant, for oath after oath, and blasphemy by the volley, so horrible that I will spare myself and the reader the repetition, proceeded from the room of Mr. Peterkin. The ladies sprang to their feet, and, in terror, rushed from the apartment. CHAPTER XII. MR. PETERKIN'S RAGE--ITS ESCAPE--CHAT AT THE BREAKFAST TABLE--CHANGE OF VIEWS--POWER OF THE FLESH POTS. It was as I had expected; the news of Lindy's flight had been communicated by Nace to Mr. Peterkin, and his rage knew no limits. It was dangerous to go near him. Raving like a madman, he tore the covering of the bed to shreds, brandished his cowhide in every direction, took down his gun, and swore he would "shoot every d----d nigger on the place." His daughters had no influence over him. Out of bed he would get, declaring that "all this devilment" would not have been perpetrated if he had not been detained there by the order of that d----d doctor, who had no reason for keeping him there but a desire to get his money. Fearing that his hyena rage might vent some of its gall on them, the ladies made no further opposition to his intention. Standing just without the door, I heard Miss Jane ask him if he would not first take some breakfast. "No; cuss your breakfast. I want none of it; I want to be among them ar' niggers, and give 'em a taste of this cowhide, that they have been sufferin' fur." In affright I fled to the kitchen, and told Aunt Polly that the storm had at length broken in all its fury. Each one of the negroes eyed the others in silent dismay. Pale with rage and debility, hot fury flashing from his eye, and white froth gathering upon his lips, Mr. Peterkin dashed into the kitchen. "In the name of h--ll and its fires, niggers, what does this mean? Tell me whar that d----d gal is, or I'll cut every mother's child of you to death." Not one spoke. Lash after lash he dealt in every direction. "Speak, h--ll hounds, or I'll throttle you!" he cried, as he caught Jake and Dan by the throat, with each hand, and half strangled them. With their eyes rolling, and their tongues hanging from their mouths, they had not power to answer. As soon as he loosened his grasp, and their voices were sufficiently their own to speak, they attempted a denial; but a blow from each of Mr. Peterkin's fists levelled them to the floor. In this dreadful state, and with a hope of getting a moment's respite, Jake (poor fellow, I forgive him for it) pointed to me, saying: "She knows all 'bout it."