struggle, and which had only been kept under by an effort during these
times of trouble: the leader of the choir dragged the old man away and
took part with the bishop. Others followed his example, while several,
on the contrary, sided with old Horapollo who clung tightly to Paula,
preferring to die himself rather than allow her to escape his hatred and
vengeance.

At this moment the clang of bells was heard from the town with a terrific
and unaccountable uproar, and a young man was seen forcing his way
through the throng, a naked sword in his hand, and in spite of his torn
garments, his wild hair, and his blackened face, he was at once
recognized as Orion. Every one made way for him, for he rushed on like a
madman; as he reached the pontoon and took in at a glance what was going
forward there, he sprang past the mummers with mighty leaps to the
platform, pushing aside sundry groups of fighting champions; and before
the principal actors were aware of his presence, he had snatched Paula
from the old man's clutch, and called her by her name. She sank on his
breast half-fainting with terror, surprise and unspeakable rapture, and
he clasped her to him with his left arm, while the flashing sword in his
right hand and his flaming looks warned all bystanders that it would be
as wise to attack a lioness defending her young as to defy this desperate
man, who was prepared to face death with the woman he loved.

His push had sent Horapollo tottering to some distance; and when the old
man had pulled himself together, to throw himself once more on his
victim, he found himself the centre of a fight. A wild troop had
followed Orion and beset the struggling mob, whom they presently drove
over the edge of the pontoon into the river, and with them Horapollo.
Most of these saved themselves by swimming, but the old man sank, and
nothing more was seen of him but his clenched fist, which rose in menace