Receiving no intelligible answer, he stumbled in the powerful man's direction, perhaps contemplating the performance of some deed of desperate valor. Meanwhile the object of his hostility had relinquished his hold of the horse, and appeared kneeling on the ground, supporting the form of a woman, dressed in a tasteful white dress, with dark, disordered hair lying around her colorless face.
CHAPTER XXX.
LOST.
Mr. Reynolds immediately paused, and regarded this group for some moments with an air of singular sagacity and archness.
"I say, young fellow," ejaculated he, at length, with an evident effort to attain distinctness of utterance, "that sort of thing won't do, you know."
Bressant looked up and recognized the rustic bacchanalian for the first time. He had always had a peculiar antipathy to this young gentleman; but at this moment it was intensified into a loathing. How could he ask assistance from such a degraded creature as this?
The recognition had been mutual, and Mr. Reynolds, tacking unsteadily around, brought himself to bear in such a position as to catch a fair view of Sophie's face, with the spot of blood on her chin. The first glance so terrified him, that he utterly, forsook his footing, and came abruptly to the ground, never once taking his eyes from the face, all the way. But the shock of his fall, and the awful solemnity of what he saw, sobered him considerably. He turned to Bressant, and eyed him with anxious earnestness.
"Why, you're the fellow she's engaged to, ain't you? What on earth's been the row? She ain't dead, is she? How did she get here? In her wedding-rig, too, by golly!"
Bressant's frame vibrated with a savage impulse; but Mr. Reynolds, not being of a sensitive temperament, was not at all disconcerted.