Stanbury, dropping later into Indian file as the
crowd increased, in which order I was the last. I wore a rich India
shawl, that had been my mother's, caught by a cameo clasp across the
bosom. Suddenly I felt the pin wrenched away and the shawl torn from my
shoulders. In another moment there was a cry--a scuffle--a fall--and a
prostrate form was borne away between two policemen, while a gentleman,
with his cravat hanging loose and his hair in wild confusion, came
toward me eagerly, extending the shawl and clasp.
"These are yours, I believe, young lady," he remarked, breathlessly,
throwing the shawl about my shoulders as he spoke, and laying the broken
clasp in my hand. "I am happy to restore them to you."
The whole transaction had been so sudden and so public, that there had
been neither time nor room for trepidation on my part. My own party,
pressing steadily on, had not yet missed me, so that, even in that
moment of excitement, I surveyed my champion with an eye capable of
future recognition.
"Thank you," I said. "I hope you are not hurt in my service?"
"No, no; not at all--that is, very slightly, indeed. Pass on, I will
attend you safely to your seat," and, obeying the wave of his hand, I
followed the direction of Mrs. Stanbury's white plume as observingly as
did the followers of Henry of Navarre, without turning again until I
reached the box she had entered.
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