og
you within an inch of your life!" Here pride and shame overcame anger,
and the tears burst out in spite of her; so that by the time she had
concluded she was nearly as weak and helpless as her frightened
companion.

The sneaking scoundrel attempted to get away, not less from the anger of
the outraged girl than from the passers-by, a dozen or two of whom had
already collected; but before he could make any movement in that
direction, a hand--that of Walter Harding, was laid on his collar,
swinging him violently around; and a small Malacca cane--that of Tom
Leslie, was laid about his shoulders and back with such good will that
the human hound literally yelled with pain. "Serve him right!" "Give it
to him!" and other exclamations of the same character, broke from those
who had heard the girl's words and who saw the punishment; and in thirty
seconds he was perhaps as thoroughly-flogged a man as Broadway ever saw.
Then Harding released him with a kick, and he made three howling leaps
to an omnibus passing up, and disappeared inside. The impression on the
minds of the spectators was that he would not much enjoy his ride; and
they no doubt had another impression in which we may fully share, that
though vulgarism is "bred in the bone and will come out in the flesh,"
yet the flogged man would be very careful of the locality in which he
again indulged in the same atrocious habit.

All this time the taller girl, though endeavoring to control her
emotion, was literally sobbing with shame and anger, while yet
half-laughing at the sudden punishment of her persecutor. The other lady
had been too much frightened to utter a second exclamation, and neither
had paid any attention to the personality of their defenders.

But at this stage of the proceedings, Walter Harding lifted his hat (his
hands having been too busy before) and approached the taller lady.

"Miss Harris, if I am not mistaken."

"Harris--that is my name, certainly," said the lady, "and you do not
know how much we thank you for your kindness, but--"

"But you don't remember me, eh?" This was said with a smile that brought
some new expression to his face, and the wild girl instantly cried:

"Yes, I do remember you--you are--you are--" but she had not yet
recovered the name from the mists of forgetfulness, if she remembered
the face.

"Walter Harding, merchant, of this city, Miss Josephine, and very glad
to meet you again, even under such circumstances."

"Mr. Ha