her instant an extraordinary group reeled into the
doorway--Ogla-Moga, with his robes torn and spattered, his paint
smeared out of its original lines and colors, and his face furrowed
with scratches inflicted by the hands of Bridget--Ogla-Moga drunk,
utterly drunk, and brandishing in the air a glittering carving-knife;
and Bridget--alas! drunk too--with her hair in the firm grasp of the
Indian, who was pulling her along.

There was a universal shriek of horror. Three of the ladies bolted
through the only door which the Indian did not occupy, and which
opened into a small bedroom. They frantically pulled it shut, just as
three other ladies seized the knob on the outside and tried to pull it
open. As luck would have it, Miss Ayr and her mother and Mrs. Blenkin
were on the inside, and the two Misses Pound were on the outside--a
fact which did not seem to diminish the natural anxiety of the ladies
on either side of the door for their personal safety. At all events,
the tug of war went on. Mr. Blagg showed extreme terror, and being
plainly reduced by the same to a state of utter intellectual confusion
and imbecility, made an insane attempt to scale the heights of a large
what-not in the corner of the room, which, of course, promptly came
over with him, hurling him to the floor with great violence, and
falling directly upon him, while it covered his body and the larger
part of the floor with the fragments of unprecedented teapots and
alleged salad-bowls. Mrs. Gottom and her niece barricaded themselves
in the corner with a sofa, and armed themselves with huge photograph
albums to be hurled at the enemy; while Professor Phyle, who was a
prominent member of the Peace Society, quietly stepped into the window
recess, and drew the curtains in defence of his person and his
principles.

In the midst of the turmoil and dismay, Miss Tristan was heard to
exclaim, "Oh, aunty, it is Signor Barbazzo!" and her aunt was heard to
reply, with singular feeling, "Hold your tongue, child, and never
speak to me again as long as you live!" There was a marked rustle of
the curtains in front of Professor Phyle at this episode. Meantime Mr.
Michst, with a blind idea of doing something, without knowing in the
least what it ought to be, had confronted the Indian, who still stood
there muttering and shaking his knife. Just then he gave a terrible
tug at Bridget's hair, that imparted a projectile motion to her as he
swung her away from him. Her lowered