gerie. Outside it sounded
of brazen beasts, and beasts that whistled, beasts that boomed. A
whirlwind huddled them, and at last a cry, "We've got a visit from
Hillford," told a tale. At once the stoutest hearts pressed to
the opening. "My harp!" Emilia made her voice reach Wilfrid's ear.
Unprovided with weapons, Ipley parleyed. Hillford howled in reply. The
trombone brayed an interminable note, that would have driven to madness
quiescent cats by steaming kettles, and quick, like the springing pulse
of battle, the drum thumped and thumped. Blood could not hear it and
keep from boiling. The booth shook violently. Wilfrid and Gambier threw
over half-a-dozen chairs, forms, and tables, to make a barrier for the
protection of the women.

"Come," Wilfrid said to Emilia, "leave the harp, I will get you another.
Come."

"No, no," she cried in her nervous fright.

"For God's sake, come!" he reiterated, she, stamping her foot, as to
emphasize "No! no! no!"

"But I will buy you another harp;" he made audible to her through the
hubbub.

"This one!" she gasped with her hand on it. "What will he think if he
finds that I forsook it?"

Wilfrid knew her to allude to the unknown person who had given it to
her.

"There--there," said he. "I sent it, and I can get you another. So,
come. Be good, and come."

"It was you!"

Emilia looked at him. She seemed to have no senses for the uproar about
her.

But now the outer barricade was broken through, and the rout pressed
on the second line. Tom Breeks, the orator, and Jim, transformed from
a lurching yokel to a lithe dog of battle, kept the retreat of Ipley,
challenging any two of Hillford to settle the dispute. Captain Gambier
attempted an authoritative parley, in the midst of which a Hillford man
made a long arm and struck Emilia's harp, till the strings jarred loose
and horrid. The noise would have been enough to irritate Wilfrid beyond
endurance. When he saw the fellow continuing to strike the harp-frame
while Emilia clutched it, in a feeble defence, against her bosom, he
caught a thick stick from a neighbouring hand and knocked that Hillford
man so clean to earth that Hillford murmured at the blow. Wilfrid then
joined the front array.

"Half-a-dozen hits like that a-piece, sir," nodded Tom Breeks.

"There goes another!" Jim shouted.

"Not quite, my lad," interposed Ned Thewk, though Peter Bartholomew was
reeling in confirmation.

His blow at Jim missed, but came sharply