For, if Ipley had jumped jovially up, and met the Hillford alarum with laughter,—­how then?  Why, then I maintain that the magnanimity of Beer would have blazed effulgent on the spot:  there would have been louder laughter and fraternal greetings.  As it was, the fire on the altar of Wisdom was again kindled by Folly, and the steps to the altar were broken heads, after the antique fashion.

In dismay, Ipley started.  The members of the Club stared.  Emilia faltered in horror.

A moment her voice swam stemming the execrable concert, but it was overwhelmed.  Wilfrid pressed forward to her.  They could hear nothing but the din.  The booth raged like an insurgent menagerie.  Outside it sounded of brazen beasts, and beasts that whistled, beasts that boomed.  A whirlwind huddled them, and at last a cry, “We’ve got a visit from Hillford,” told a tale.  At once the stoutest hearts pressed to the opening.  “My harp!” Emilia made her voice reach Wilfrid’s ear.  Unprovided with weapons, Ipley parleyed.  Hillford howled in reply.  The trombone brayed an interminable note, that would have driven to madness quiescent cats by steaming kettles, and quick, like the springing pulse of battle, the drum thumped and thumped.  Blood could not hear it and keep from boiling.  The booth shook violently.  Wilfrid and Gambier threw over half-a-dozen chairs, forms, and tables, to make a barrier for the protection of the women.

“Come,” Wilfrid said to Emilia, “leave the harp, I will get you another.  Come.”

“No, no,” she cried in her nervous fright.

“For God’s sake, come!” he reiterated, she, stamping her foot, as to emphasize “No! no! no!”

“But I will buy you another harp;” he made audible to her through the hubbub.

“This one!” she gasped with her hand on it.  “What will he think if he finds that I forsook it?”

Wilfrid knew her to allude to the unknown person who had given it to her.

“There—­there,” said he.  “I sent it, and I can get you another.  So, come.  Be good, and come.”

“It was you!”

Emilia looked at him.  She seemed to have no senses for the uproar about her.

But now the outer barricade was broken through, and the rout pressed on the second line.  Tom Breeks, the orator, and Jim, transformed from a lurching yokel to a lithe dog of battle, kept the retreat of Ipley, challenging any two of Hillford to settle the dispute.  Captain Gambier attempted an authoritative parley, in the midst of which a Hillford man made a long arm and struck Emilia’s harp, till the strings jarred loose and horrid.  The noise would have been enough to irritate Wilfrid beyond endurance.  When he saw the fellow continuing to strike the harp-frame while Emilia clutched it, in a feeble defence, against her bosom, he caught a thick stick from a neighbouring hand and knocked that Hillford man so clean to earth that Hillford murmured at the blow.  Wilfrid then joined the front array.