projectiles. The cry of "Blood! blood!" was repeated by numbers pouring
on them from the issues to right and left. It is a terrible cry in a
city. In a city of the South it rouses the wild beast in men to madness.
Jenna smoked triumphantly and blew great clouds, with an eye aloft for
the stools, basins, chairs, and water descending. They were in the
middle of one of the close streets of old Milan. The man felled by
Wilfrid was raised on strong arms, that his bleeding head might be seen
of all, and a dreadful hum went round. A fire of missiles, stones, balls
of wax, lumps of dirt, sticks of broken chairs, began to play. Wilfrid
had a sudden gleam of the face of his Verona assailant. He and Jenna
called "Follow me," in one breath, and drove forward with sword-points,
which they dashed at the foremost; by dint of swift semicirclings of the
edges they got through, but a mighty voice of command thundered; the
rearward portion of the mob swung rapidly to the front, presenting a
scattered second barrier; Jenna tripped on a fallen body, lost his cigar,
and swore that he must find it. A dagger struck his sword-arm. He
staggered and flourished his blade in the air, calling "On!" without
stirring. "This infernal cigar!" he said; and to the mob, "What mongrel
of you took my cigar?" Stones thumped on his breast; the barrier-line
ahead grew denser. "I'll go at them first; you're bleeding," said
Wilfrid. They were refreshed by the sound of German cheering, as in
approach. Jenna uplifted a crow of the regimental hurrah of the charge;
it was answered; on they went and got through the second fence, saw their
comrades, and were running to meet them, when a weighted ball hit Wilfrid
on the back of the head. He fell, as he believed, on a cushion of down,
and saw thousands of saints dancing with lamps along cathedral aisles.

The next time he opened his eyes he fancied he had dropped into the
vaults of the cathedral. His sensation of sinking was so vivid that he
feared lest he should be going still further below. There was a lamp in