dway and I had no thought the ball would go in that
direction. Let us see at once. Is she unconscious? Dr. Shippen is here.
I passed him not ten seconds ago. I will find him."

Nevitt took Primrose in his arms, limp and white as a lily. There was a
little circle about them, but the others went on with their gayety. A
fall was no such uncommon thing.

Dr. Shippen had been out for a little exercise, and withal had some
curiosity to see the mad carnival that had broken out in the staid city.

"Ah, it is Madam Wetherill's little girl!" looking sharply at Nevitt.

"I thought I had seen the child somewhere," said the young man who had
caused the accident. "Can we not take her home at once?"

"I am her brother," was Nevitt's stiff reply. "You have done enough
mischief with your awkwardness. I hope your silly victory repays you.
Let me pass, with no further parley on your part."

"What do you think, Dr. Shippen?"

"It is a faint, of course. Whether she is more severely injured I cannot
tell. Let us take her home, for she will be chilled through, and I have
an errand in Second Street."

The doctor sat down on a stump to unbuckle his skates. Nevitt had taken
his off a few moments before, but Primrose had begged that they might
skate all the way down.

"Can I do nothing to assist?" asked the other.

"Go on with your prize-winning," said the captain haughtily. "You may
run over someone else if you have good luck."

"You British think you own the town and can order us about like slaves!"
was the fiery reply.

"Tut! tut! Wharton! Don't get into a fight. You are hotheaded."

"I will not be insulted by any interloper, even if he wears a red coat."
Wharton's face was flushed with anger, and his eyes sparkled with
passion.

"Where will a note reach you?" Captain Nevitt was in a flame of anger as
well.

"Come along at once! Allin Wharton, go over yonder and cool your temper
talking to the pretty women. And if you are the child's brother, get
along as fast as you can with her, and let us see what it amounts to. A
fall like that is enough to knock the breath out of anyone."

Wharton did not attempt to follow them. They hurried on, Nevitt's anger
giving him strength. He pressed his face against the cold, white one.

"Who was that boor?" he cried passionately. "If my sister is injured I
shall half murder him!"

"If you are her brother then you are Philemon Henry's son, and he was a
man of peace. I have had a great desire