3. CHAPTER III.
HOW BLOSSOM FAINTED, AND WHAT FOLLOWED.
The crowd does not at once disperse. It busies itself
looking at the chariots, at the fat gentleman on the palace
portico, at the musicians who blow away with puffed cheeks.
The strident music has a less pleasing effect upon the
horses of the troop, who, ranged on each side of the great
gate, defend the passage against all but the chariots of the
“gentry.”
The animals move uneasily, threatening every moment to
trample on the crowd, and their riders are evidently as ill
at ease.
This sentiment seems experienced, more than all, by their
commander.
He is a young man of twenty-four or five, wearing a rich
uniform, and a heavy saber. He curbs with a vigorous hand
his restive charger; his dark eyebrows are knit into a heavy
frown.
More than once his animal has just escaped trampling on
some member of the crowd whose attention is attracted by
the efforts he plainly makes to subdue the horse; but the
officer seems ill disposed to furnish an object for popular
comment. His patience all at once gives way—anger overcomes
him—and striking the animal violently on the head
with his gauntleted hand, he mutters something very much
like an imprecation.
The horse backs, then starts forward under the spur
driven violently into his side. At the same instant a cry
beneath the very feet of the charger is heard, and the
young man sees that a child has fallen under the trampling
hoofs.
A score of hands are stretched out—as many exclamations
heard—but the young officer forestalls assistance. He
throws himself from the saddle, and raising the figure of the
child in his arms, asks anxiously if she is hurt.
“No sir—I believe—not,” she falters. “I was a little
frightened—I can stand—I think, sir.”
And Blossom—for it is our little friend of the old field
school, separated from Paul by the crowd—Blossom glided
from the encircling arm, and placed her feet upon the
ground.
Had not the young man supported her again, she would
have fallen. The frown deepened on his face, and something
like a growl issued from his lips.
“Go!” he said, turning to the troop with an imperious
gesture, “Go! you are disbanded!”
The troopers gladly obeyed. They quickly returned to
their barracks through the crowd, which made way for them,
one of them leading the young officer's horse.
As they disappeared he felt the slender form weigh heavily
upon his arm. A sudden pallor diffused itself over Blossom's
countenance; the long lashes drooped upon the cheek,
and the weak head fell like a wounded bird's upon the young
man's breast. The child's knees bent beneath her, and she
fainted in his arms.
A glance told him all, and raising the light figure wholly
from the ground, he bore the child quickly beneath the lindens
into the palace of the Governor.
A door was half open at the end of the hall, and perceiving
a vessel of water upon a sideboard, he hastened thither
and bathed the child's forehead in the cool liquid.
A slight tremor now ran through her frame, the color returned
to her cheeks, and with a deep sigh Blossom opened
her eyes.
“Ah!” exclaimed the officer, drawing a long breath of relief,
“there's your color back again, my little girl! That's
well! You are not hurt, I hope. 'Tis but a poor pageant
that ends with injury to a child; and I'd much rather resign
my commission than have it on my conscience!”
A species of haughty growl, accompanied by the rustle of
silk on the opposite side of the apartment, attracted his attention
as he spoke, and, turning round, the young officer
saw that he was in presence of Lord Dunmore and his
household, who had apparently been so much surprised by
his entrance as not to have been able either to speak or
move.
