“I will take Mr. Lafitte by one arm,” said Muriel, “and you Mr. Brown, will take the other. Mr. Harrington will follow behind.”
Harrington looked grave. “You run great danger, Muriel?” he murmured. “I think you’d better stay here.”
“No,” whispered Muriel, “with a woman on his arm, his risk will be lessened. We must omit nothing that will protect him. Don’t fear for me. I’m not afraid.”
“Miss Eastman,” said Brown, approaching with a bow, “you’re the bravest lady I’ve ever seen by long odds. You can’t be beat, Miss Eastman.”
“Thank you, Mr. Brown,” she said with a curtsey, almost gay. “Now, sir,” she added gravely, turning to the shuddering Lafitte, “collect yourself, keep your head down, and don’t look around you.”
She picked his hat up from the floor, and put it on him. He tried to bow with something of his usual courtesy, but was too much agitated to do so. Taking him firmly by the left arm, she led him into the centre of the square, which closed around them with locked arms. The awful moment was approaching.
“Now, gentlemen,” said Brown, firmly, “mind you stick together. Don’t march till I give the word.”
He went to the door and unbolting it, threw it open.
“Gentlemen,” he roared, in a tremendous voice, “this affair is settled. We’re going to escort this man away from the neighborhood. Fall back, all of you, and clear the way.”
He advanced upon them with waving arms.