They obstructed the doorway in front, and in a close threatening phalanx--like a pack of angry hounds holding a stag at bay, the boldest fearing to spring forward. Despite the knowledge that it was a terrible tragedy, I could not help fancying it a farce: so long and carefully did my assailants keep at arm's length. Still more like a burlesque might it have appeared to a spectator, as I fell upon the broad of my back--kicking up my heels upon the door-stoup! It was neither shot, nor stab, that had caused this sudden change in my attitude; but simply the opening of the door, against which I had been supporting myself. Some one inside had drawn the bolt, and, by doing so, removed the support from behind me! CHAPTER TEN. THE STREET OF THE SPARROWS. As I tottered upon my back, I felt my head and shoulders in contact with the legs of a man. They broke the fall, that might otherwise have stunned me: for the floor was of stone flags. I lost no time in disentangling myself; but, before I could regain my feet, the man bounded over my body, and stood upon the threshold. As he passed between me and the light outside, I could see something shining by his side. It was a sword blade. I could see that the hilt was in his hand. My first impression was that he had sprung into the doorway to intercept my retreat. Of course I classed him among my enemies. How could I expect to find friend, or protector, in such a place? It could make but little difference. I believed that retreat by the front door was out of the question. Double barring it would make things no worse. Just then I bethought me of a chance of escape, not before possible. Was there a back door? Or a stair up to the _azotea_? My reflections were quick as thought itself; but while making them they lost part of their importance. The man was standing with his back towards me and his face to the crowd upon the street. Their cries had followed me in; and no doubt so would some of themselves, had they been left to their predilections. But they were not, as I now perceived. He who had opened his door to admit, perhaps, the most unwelcome guest who had ever entered it, seemed not the less determined upon asserting the sacred rights of hospitality. As he placed himself between the posts, I saw the glint of steel shooting out in front--while he commanded the people to keep back. The command delivered in a loud authoritative voice, backed by a long toledo, whose blade glittered deathlike under the pale glimmer of the lamp, had the effect of awing the outsiders into a momentary silence. There was an interval in which I heard neither shout nor reply. He himself broke the stillness, that succeeded his first salutation. "Leperos!" he cried, in the tone of one who feels himself speaking to inferiors; "What is this disturbance? What are you after?" "An enemy! A Yankee!"