She could visualize the picture she had presented, particularly the battered papier-mâché kitbag at her feet. Nevertheless, she was still fighting. Before he could draw in the rein, his steed—startled apparently by some object undistinguishable by the rider,—swerved with such suddenness as to unseat him, and precipitate him on the ground. Give me my pistol and my dagger. Meantime, O'Higgins wended his way to the Victoria, mulling over this and that phase, all matters little and big that bore upon the chase. The walls are too high, and the windows too stoutly barricaded in this quarter, to admit such a supposition.
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