It was a wild, jubilant, yelling mass, so dense as to be irresistible, even those of us on horseback being pressed forward, helpless chips on the stream.
I endeavored to press back, but my restive animal, startled by the dig of the spur, the yells, the waving of arms, refused to face the tumult, and whirled madly about.

For a moment I all but lost control, yet, even as he plunged rearing into the air, I saw before me the appealing face of a woman.

How she chanced to be there alone, in the path of that mob, I know not; where her escort had disappeared, and how she had become separated from her party, has never been made clear.

But this I saw, even as I struggled with the hard-mouthed brute under me--a slender, girlish figure attired as a lady of the Blended Rose, a white, frightened face, arms outstretched, and dark blue eyes beseeching help.

Already the front of the mob was upon her, unable to swerve aside because of the thousands pushing behind.