Percival and Pommery forced their way through the crowd.
“Make way, please; we are friends of this lady,” cried Percival. “Let her have air. Carry her into the shade.”
Miss Lindsay was borne to the pathway and placed upon one of the benches, while some cold water was dashed in her face.
“How splendidly she behaved!” cried one of the bystanders.
“Such nerve!”
“Such English pluck!”
“Pshaw!” exclaimed the gentleman who had been the means of rescuing her, “I know twenty Irish girls who would have brought that brute to his senses without any of this sort of fuss.”
At this juncture Fred Lindsay galloped up.
“Is she much hurt?” he anxiously demanded.
“She’s not hurt at all; she’s frightened.” And half a dozen persons volunteered a statement of the occurrence, all speaking together.