Amid this tumult, several men armed with tremendous bludgeons, with their faces besmeared with grease and soot, and otherwise disguised, were observed to be urging the populace to attempt a rescue. "Harkye, Sir," rejoined Darrell; "one word before I move. “Do not be frightened, dear,” she said. He called a waiter. A slow anger burned in the man. “‘Go it, missie,’ they said; “kick aht!’ “I swore at that policeman—and disgusted him. She could not speak. ‘I wish you joy of the wench.
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