“If you put your nose in here, we’ll pitch you over the rail!” the other declared. White almost had a fit. Fortunately White-Hat Williams himself appeared at this moment: and White appealed to him. “Mr. Williams,” he said, “is this your safe conduct?” “I gave none,” with a grin. “Pybus did.” “Ay, for your party! But if you choose to straggle in one by one, we can’t be answerable for every single voter,” with a wink. “Nor for any of you getting back again! No, no, White. “_Beneath the ways of Ministers, and it’s the truth I tell, You’ve bought us very cheap, good White, and you’ve sold us very well!_ But that’s over! That’s at an end to-day! But—what’s this?” This, was Sir Robert stepping forward to propose his candidates: or rather, it was the roar, mocking and defiant, which greeted his attempt to do so. It was a roar that made speech impossible. No doubt, among the crowd which filled the space through which he had driven so often with his four horses, the great man, the patron, the master of all, there were some who still respected, and more who feared him; and many who would not have insulted him. For if he had used his power stiffly, he had not used it ill. But there were also in the crowd men whose hearts were hot against the exclusiveness which had long effaced them; who believed that freedom or slavery hung on the issue of this day; who saw the prize of a long and bitter effort at stake, and were set on using every intimidation, ay, and every violence, if victory could not be had without them. And, were the others many or few, these swept them away, infected them with recklessness, gave that stern and mocking ring to the roar which continued and thwarted Sir Robert’s every effort to make himself heard. He stood long facing them, waiting, and never blenching. But after a while his lip curled and his eyes looked disdain on the mob below him: such disdain as the old Duke in after days hurled at the London rabble, when for answer to their fulsome cheers he pointed to the iron shutters of Apsley House. Sir Robert Vermuyden had done something, and thought that he had done more, for the men who yelped and snarled and snapped at him. According to his lights, acting on his maxim, all for the people and nothing by the people, he had treated them generously, granted all he thought good for them, planned for them, wrought for them. He had been master, but no task-master. He had indeed illustrated the better side of that government of the many by the few, of the unfit by the fit, with which he honestly believed the safety and the greatness of his country to be bound up.