But now the outer barricade was broken through, and the rout pressed on
the second line. Tom Breeks, the orator, and Jim, transformed from a
lurching yokel to a lithe dog of battle, kept the retreat of Ipley,
challenging any two of Hillford to settle the dispute. Captain Gambier
attempted an authoritative parley, in the midst of which a Hillford man
made a long arm and struck Emilia's harp, till the strings jarred loose
and horrid. The noise would have been enough to irritate Wilfrid beyond
endurance. When he saw the fellow continuing to strike the harp-frame
while Emilia clutched it, in a feeble defence, against her bosom, he
caught a thick stick from a neighbouring hand and knocked that Hillford
man so clean to earth that Hillford murmured at the blow. Wilfrid then
joined the front array.

"Half-a-dozen hits like that a-piece, sir," nodded Tom Breeks.

"There goes another!" Jim shouted.

"Not quite, my lad," interposed Ned Thewk, though Peter Bartholomew was
reeling in confirmation.

His blow at Jim missed, but came sharply in the swing on Wilfrid's cheek-
bone.

Maddened at the immediate vision of that feature swollen, purple, even as
a plum with an assiduous fly on it, certifying to ripeness:--Says the
philosopher, "We are never up to the mark of any position, if we are in a
position beneath our own mark;" and it is true that no hero in conflict
should think of his face, but Wilfrid was all the while protesting
wrathfully against the folly of his having set foot in such a place:--