Though avoiding its full force, the unhappy father was so painfully struck that he staggered back to the opposite rail of the bridge and, clapping both hands to the bruise on the shin, groaned while he strove in vain to overcome the paralyzing agony.

From that moment he was compelled to remain as a stranger in action to the outrage.
Still struggling, though with little hope, the girl saw the defeat of her natural champion with sympathetic anguish.

Though he had not spied the student, she had regarded him with no faint opinion of his manliness for--repelling the kind of proud self-reliance of her race to have no recourse to strangers during persecution--she lifted her voice with a confidence which startled her rude adorer.
"Help! help from this ruffian-gentleman!" "Silence, you fool," rejoined Sendlingen.

"I tell you, the coast is clear--for I have arranged all that.

It is simple strategy to secure one's flanks--" "Help!" repeated the songstress, redoubling her efforts--not to escape, which was out of the question, but to shield her mouth from contact with the red moustaches, hovering over it like the wings of a bloodstained bird of rapine.
As this repetition of the appeal, steps clattered on the bridge, and the officer lifted his head.