ingly. Her companion shuddered and clung to the arm she had grasped.
"A street fight." Lida continued, her mind retracing the events. "I wonder what it was all about?—I surely thought we'd be killed—and we would have had it not been for him—Oh!" she cried, standing still at the new thought that intruded.
"Oh! we didn't get his name.—How rude!—and he was hurt too." Then turning to Miss Comstock. "Did you see how his head was bleeding. Poor man. He must be frightfully hurt."
She suddenly pictured again the flying stone as it crashed against their rescuer's head. Her heart filled with stifling pain. She too began to weep as she recalled their struggle to reach safety and the risk this unknown man had run to save them, hysterical reaction forcing the tears and sobs.
"I shall love him all my life—love him and no other man." She vowed amid her tears.
Miss Comstock, who was now regaining her composure proved consoling as she offered: "He certainly was brave to risk his life for us in that mob.—Did you see his face?—Such deep brown eyes—such a smile—and such courage!—I wonder who he is! His face seemed familiar."
"Poor man! We were a pair of selfish sillies not to think of getting his name so we could thank him. Thanks would be such small pay, though, for what he did for us. It's perhaps better that we don't thank him."
"I wonder if he was badly hurt?" Miss Comstock asked sorrowfully.
