They could see a field packed with people about an erection of wooden planks, and as the engine ceased to throb McTaggart caught another sound--once heard, never forgotten--the snarling note of an angry crowd. "Up to mischief," said the chauffeur. But McTaggart was out, cutting along as hard as his long legs would go, a sick fear in his heart. Where was Jill in this turmoil? He sprang through a torn gap in the hedge and pushed his way determinedly through the loose fringe of the crowd that surged round the high platform. All around him people were shouting; the mob moved in little rushes, swaying forward, beaten back from the moving centre of disturbance. Then above the angry hum a shriek rose, shrill with fear. McTaggart saw, for a moment, a figure raised above the heads. A young girl with a bleeding face, hair streaming on the breeze, one shoulder bare and white where the tattered dress had fallen away. "Down her!" "Duck her!" "To the river..." Wild cries in uncouth Welsh. McTaggart swore out aloud. He was fighting his way, using his fists, forcing a path mercilessly. Again he caught a glimpse of the girl. Thank God! it was _not_ Jill. As he paused to get his breath, an old hag with an evil face sprang up toward the victim and clutched at a streaming lock of hair. With a coarse laugh she tore at it, the claw-like fingers with their trophy waved aloft, as again a scream rent the air and the crowd cheered. McTaggart's blood went cold at the sight. It was horrible enough for men to lay their rough hands on a girl, but a fellow-woman, a mother, perhaps? He felt physically sick. For a moment, wedged in and powerless, his brain flashed up another picture, that of the French Revolution and the foul women of the Halles, pressing round the guillotine to dip their hands in the blood of the victims. Was this what Woman's Rights involved?--this civil war among themselves? And then above the angry hum a clear and brave young voice rang out: "Votes for Women!" McTaggart groaned, pride and agony in his heart. "Jill!"--he shouted with all his strength--"Jill! where are you?" He felt the serried ranks slacken as the crowd swung back to this new offender. "Votes for Women!" Again it rang. "Votes for..." the voice choked on the word. McTaggart went fighting mad. He was in the thick of it, charging through, giving and taking blow for blow. Men and women scattered before him. "Jill! ... Jill!" It was a war cry. High above them on the platform a puppet of Government waved his arms like an excited marionette, in a shrill voice, urging more "moderation"! Just as McTaggart reached Jill's side a burly miner caught the girl by the frail collar of her blouse. The thin stuff ripped down to her waist. "Out you go, you ---- ----!" But the last foul word went down his throat under McTaggart's clenched fist, and the man fell back, stunned and bleeding. "Now--Jill--get behind--quick! Hold onto my coat."