Once again she cried his name, and, wheeling round, he rescued her from the clutches of two angry women and on again, fighting his way.
Once too he laughed aloud and stepped across a fallen body.
"Look out, Jill!" he shouted back and felt her stumble, dragging his coat.
So at last they cleared the crowd. As he swung her through the hedge something sharp struck his brow. He felt no pain, but a warm, wet stream that ran down, and he brushed it aside impatiently out of his eyes.
More stones whizzed about them. With one arm through Jill's, he started to run, but she gasped:
"I can't ... You go!"
He laughed, happy.
"Now, then..." stooping down, he picked her up in his arms. Her loosened hair fell about him, her bruised hands clasped his neck.
He felt then he could have started and fought the battle through again. He sheltered her, as best he could, striding along toward the car.
The chauffeur, with a white face, helped her in and sprang to his place.