in, composed it
decently for its final rest.

It was drawing towards evening, and Surrey was eager to get away from
this terrible region,--both to take the heart-stricken woman, thus
thrown upon his care, to some place of rest and safety, and to reassure
Francesca, who, he knew, would be filled with maddening anxiety and fear
at his long absence.

At length they ventured forth: no one was in the square;--turned at
Fortieth Street,--all clear;--went on with hasty steps to the
Avenue,--not a soul in sight. "Safe,--thank God!" exclaimed Surrey, as
he hurried his companion onward. Half the space to their destination had
been crossed, when a band of rioters, rushing down the street from the
sack and burning of the Orphan Asylum, came upon them. Defence seemed
utterly vain. Every house was shut; its windows closed and barred; its
inmates gathered in some rear room. Escape and hope appeared alike
impossible; but Surrey, flinging his charge behind him, with drawn
sword, face to the on-sweeping hordes, backed down the street. The
combination--a negro woman, a soldier's uniform--intensified the mad
fury of the mob, which was nevertheless held at bay by the heroic front
and gleaming steel of their single adversary. Only for a moment! Then,
not venturing near him, a shower of bricks and stones hurtled through
the air, falling about and upon him.

At this instant a voice called, "This way! this way! For God's sake!
quick! quick!" and he saw a friendly black face and hand thrust from an
area window. Still covering with his body his defenceless charge, he
moved rapidly towards this refuge. Rapid as was the motion, it was not
speedy enough; he reached the railing, caught her with his one powerful
arm, imbued now with a giant's strength, flung her over to the waiting
hands that seized and dragged her in, pausing for an instant, ere he
leaped himself, to beat back a half-dozen of the foremost miscreants,
who would else have captured their prey, just vanishing from sight.
Sublime, yet fatal delay! but an instant, yet in that instant a thousand
forms surrounded him, disarmed him, overcame him, and beat him down.

Meanwhile what of Francesca? The morning passed, and with its passing
came terrible rumors of assault and death. The afternoon began, wore
on,--the rumors deepened to details of awful facts and realities; and
he--he, with his courage, his fatal dress--was absent, was on those
death-crowded streets. She wandered from room to r