So far the thing was acceptable enough. Many of the soldiers dismounted, and called for drink. She had a horrible glimpse of the once nice little old lady being also borne stationward, still faintly battling and very muddy—one lock of grayish hair straggling over her neck, her face scared, white, but triumphant. Why was he there? why did the tempter dare to invade that sacred spot! She could not answer her own questions, but vague fearful suspicions passed through her mind. "Long life to the Markis, and we accept his honourable proposal," responded the mob. " "Holloa! my hearty!" cried Ben, starting to his feet. Lucy blushed from toes to forehead, feeling her pace accelerate. She reloaded.
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