They did so, however. But the first mutterings of the storm soon made themselves heard. Within twenty-four hours the hearts of many failed them for fear. The Funds fell at once. The journals appeared in mourning borders. In many towns the bells were tolled and the shops were shut. The mob of Nottingham rose and burned the Castle and fired the house of an unpopular squire. The mob of Derby besieged the gaol and released the prisoners. At Darlington, Lord Tankerville narrowly escaped with his life; Lord Londonderry was left for dead; no Bishop dared to wear his apron in public. Everywhere rose the cry of “No Taxes!” Finally, the rabble rose in immense numbers, paraded the West End of London, broke the windows of many peers, assaulted others, and were only driven from Apsley House by the timely arrival of the Life Guards. The country, amazed and shaken from end to end, seemed to be already in the grip of rebellion; so that within the week the very Tories hastened to beg Lord Grey to retain office. Even the King, it was supposed, was shaken; and his famous distich—his one contribution to the poetry of the country, _I consider Dissolution Tantamount to Revolution_, found admirers for its truth, if not for its beauty. Such a ferment could not but occupy Vaughan’s mind and divert his thoughts from his own troubles, even from thoughts of Mary. Every day there was news: every day, in the opinion of many, the sky grew darker. But though the rejection of the Bill promised him a second short session, and many who sat for close boroughs chuckled privately over the respite, he was ill-content with a hand-to-mouth life. He saw that the Bill must pass eventually. He did not believe that there would be a revolution. It was clear that his only chance lay in following Wetherell’s advice, and laying his case before one of his chiefs. Some days after the division he happened on an opportunity. He was walking down Parliament Street when he came on a scene, much of a piece of the unrest of the time. A crowd was pouring out of Downing Street, and in the van of the rabble he espied the tall, ungainly figure of no less a man than Lord Brougham. Abreast of the Chancellor, but keeping himself to the wall as if he desired to dissociate himself from the demonstration, walked another tall figure, also in black, with shepherd’s plaid trousers. A second glance informed Vaughan that this was no other than Mr. Cornelius, who had been present at his interview with Brougham; and accepting the omen, he made up to the Chancellor just as the latter halted to rid himself of the ragged tail, which had, perhaps, been more pleasing to his vanity in the smaller streets. “My friends,” Brougham cried, checking with his hand the ragamuffins’ shrill attempt at a cheer, “I am obliged to you for your approval; but I beg to bid you good-day! Assemblages such as these are——” “Disgusting!” Cornelius muttered audibly, wrinkling his nose as he eyed them over his high collar.