Both man and woman now attacked Shiel, who, placing himself
with his back against the railings, defended himself as best he could.
The hour was late, there were no police about, and it seemed only too
probable that the fracas would end in a tragedy. The labourer was a
burly fellow, shorter than Shiel, but far broader and heavier, and any
one could see at a glance that Shiel stood no chance against him.
Lilian Rosenberg, at her wits' end to know what to do, ran into Oakley
Street, and as there was no one in sight, she made for the nearest
lighted house and rang the bell furiously. A man came to the door,
whom, unheeding his expostulations, she caught by the arm and dragged
into the street.
They arrived on the scene of action, just as the ruffian, breaking
through Shiel's guard, struck him a terrific blow on the forehead,
which sent him reeling against the railings. The newcomer (upon whom,
both man and woman, seeing Shiel incapacitated, instantly turned)
would probably have shared the same fate, had not the occupants of
several of the neighbouring houses--amongst whom were some half-dozen
athletic young men--roused by the noise, come out into the street, and
the ruffian and his companion, seeing the odds were against them,
decamped.
Shiel had not fully regained consciousness, when Lilian Rosenberg,
regardless of propriety, led him into her sitting-room, bathed his
forehead, dosed him with brandy, and making up a bed for him on the
sofa, bade him rest there, till the morning.
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