But in vain. His head high, his face firmly composed, Vaughan looked stonily before him. Nor was it possible to say whether he was really unmoved, was stolidly indifferent, or merely masked agitation. Sir Robert on his side never looked at him, nor betrayed any sense of his presence. But he knew. He knew! And with the first bitter presage of defeat—for he was not a man to be intimidated by noise—he repeated his vow: “Not a pound, nor a penny! Never! Never!” This public renunciation, this wanton defiance—he would never forgive it! Henceforth, it must be war to the knife between them. No thousands, no compensation, no compromise! As the young man was sowing, so he should reap. He who, in its darkest hour not only insulted but abandoned his family, what punishment was too severe for him? Vaughan could make a good guess at the proud autocrat’s feelings: and he averted his eyes with care. The proceedings here opened, and he listened laughingly; until midway in the reading of some document which no one heeded—the crowd jeering and flouting merrily—he caught a new note in the turmoil. The next moment he was conscious of a swirling movement among those below him, there was a rush of the throng to his right, and he looked quickly to see what it meant. A man—one of a group of three or four who appeared to be trying to push their way through the crowd—was being hustled and flung to and fro amid jeers and taunts. He was striving to gain the hustings, but was still some way from it; and his chance of reaching it with his clothes on his back seemed small. Vaughan saw so much; then the man lost his temper, and struck a blow. It was returned—and then, not till then, Vaughan saw that the man was Isaac White. He cried “Shame!”—and had passed one leg over the barriers to go to the rescue, when he saw that another was before him. Sir Robert’s tall, spare figure was down among the crowd—which opened instinctively before his sharp command. His eyes, his masterful air still had power; the press opened instinctively before his sharp command. He had reached White, had extricated him, and turned to make good his retreat, when it seemed to strike the more brutal element in the crowd—mostly strangers to him—that here was the prime enemy of the cause, on foot amongst them, at their mercy! A rush was made at his back. He turned undaunted, White and two more at his side; the rabble recoiled. But when he wheeled again, a second rush was made, and they were upon him, and hustled him before he could turn. A man with a long stick struck off his hat, another—a lout with a cockade of amber and blue, the Whig colours—tried to trip him up. He stumbled, at the same moment a third man knocked White down. “Yah! Down with him!” roared the crowd, “Down with the Borough-monger!”