"Can you rest there?" he asked. But
without waiting for her answer, he went
slowly clown the steps right into the middle
of the crowd. "Now kill me, if it is your
brutal will. There is no woman to shield me
here. You may beat me to death—you
will never move me from what I have
determined—upon not you!" He stood amongst
them, with his arms folded, in precisely the
same attitude as he had been in on the
steps.

But the retrograde movement towards the
gate had begun—as unreasoningly, perhaps
as blindly, as the simultaneous anger. Or
perhaps the idea of the approach of the
soldiers, and the sight of that pale, upturned
face, with closed eyes, still and sad as
marble, though the tears welled out of the
long entanglement of eyelashes, and dropped
down; and, heavier, slower plash than even
tears, came the drip of blood from her
wound. Even the most desperate—Boucher
himself drew back, faltered away, scowled,
and finally went off, muttering curses on the
master, who stood in his unchanging attitude,
looking after their retreat with defiant eyes.
The moment that retreat had changed into
a flight (as it was sure from its very
character to do), he darted up the steps to
Margaret.

She tried to rise without his help.

"It is nothing," she said, with a sickly
smile. "The skin is grazed, and I was
stunned at the moment. Oh, I am so
thankful they are gone!" And she cried
without restraint.

He could not sympathise with her. His
anger had not abated; it was rather rising
the more as his sense of immediate danger
was passing away. The distant clank of the
soldiers was heard; just five minutes too
late to make this vanished mob feel the
power of authority and order. He hoped
they would see the troops, and be quelled by
the thought of their narrow escape. While
these thoughts crossed his mind, Margaret
clung to the doorpost to steady herself: but
a film came over her eyes—he was only just
in time to catch her. "Mother—mother!"
cried he. " Come down—they are gone, and
Miss Hale is hurt! " He bore her into the
dining-room, and laid her on the sofa there;
laid her down softly, and looking on her pure
white face, the sense of what she was to him
came upon him so keenly that he spoke it out
in his pain:

"Oh, my Margaret—my Margaret! no
one can tell what you are to me! Dead—
cold as you lie there, you are the only woman
I ever loved! Oh, Margaret—Margaret!"

Inarticulately as he spoke, kneeling by
her, and rather moaning than saying the
words, he started up, ashamed of himself, as
his mother came in. She saw nothing but
her son a little paler, a little sterner than
usual.

"Miss Hale is hurt, mother. A stone has
grazed her temple. She has lost a good deal
of blood, I am afraid."

"She looks very seriously hurt,—I could
almost fancy her dead," said Mrs. Thornton, a
good deal alarmed.

"It is only a fainting-fit. She has spoken
to me since." But all the blood in his body
seemed to rush inwards to his heart as he
spoke, and he absolutely trembled.

"Go and call Jane,—she can find me the
things I want; and do you go to your Irish
people, who are crying and shouting as it
they were mad with fright."

He went. He went away as if weights
were tied to every limb that bore him from
her. He called Jane; he called his sister.
She should have all womanly care, all gentle
tendance. But every pulse beat in him as he
remembered how she had come down and
placed herself in foremost danger,—could it
be to save him? At the time he had pushed
her aside, and spoken gruffly; he had seen
nothing but the unnecessary danger she had
placed herself in. He went to his Irish
people, with every nerve in his body thrilling
at the thought of her, and found it difficult
to understand enough of what they were saying
to soothe and comfort away their fears.
There, they declared, they would not stop;
they claimed to be sent back.

And so he had to think, and talk, and
reason.

Mrs. Thornton bathed Margaret's temples
with eau de Cologne. As the spirit touched
the wound, which till then neither Mrs.
Thornton nor Jane had perceived, Margaret
opened her eyes; but it was evident she did
not know where she was, nor who they were.
The dark circles deepened, the lips quivered
and contracted, and she became insensible
once more.

"She has had a terrible blow," said Mrs.
Thornton. "Is there any one who will go for
a doctor?"

"Not me, ma'am, if you please," said Jane,
shrinking back. " Them rabble may be all
about; I don't think this cut is so deep,
ma'am, as it looks."

"I will not run the chance. She was hurt
in our house. If you are a coward, Jane, I
am not. I will go."

"Pray, ma'am, let me send one of the
police. There's ever so many come up, and
soldiers too,"

"And yet you're afraid to go! I will not
have their time taken up with our errands.
They'll have enough to do to catch some of
the mob. You will not be afraid to stop
in this house," she asked contemptuously,
"and go on bathing Miss Hale's forehead,
shall you? I shall not be ten minutes away."

"Could not Hannah go, ma'am?"

"Why Hannah? Why any one but you?
No, Jane, if you don't go, I do."

Mrs. Thornton went first to the room in
which she had left Fanny stretched on the
bed. She started up as her mother entered.