“My friends,” he exclaims, “for with Gloria de Lara may I not call you my friends? I have a pleasing task to perform in that which I am going to say. As Gloria de Lara has told you, the law of this country has at length acknowledged the principle of human freedom, and woman’s right to equal man is finally recognised. When the country spoke out so unmistakably on behalf of human freedom, my sovereign bade me assume the reins of power. I accepted them, not unwillingly; for the only object I had in life was to carry out the great reforms which the genius of Gloria de Lara had conceived, and of which she had made me the confidant. At that time I believed, with all others, that she was dead. But, my friends, she is alive. And now I tell you that she only has a right to assume the reins confided to me, she alone has the right to carry those great reforms. The person who conceived them alone has that right, and I, her deputy, relinquish it to her. I tell you that Gloria de Lara must be your Prime Minister, while I will take my part as a humble worker with the people. With the full approval of my colleagues and every D’Estrangeite member, I intend forthwith to tender my resignation, and to advise my sovereign to send for Gloria de Lara.” There can be no mistaking the genuine ring of approval in the mighty cheer that bursts forth from the thousands of throats in that densely packed building. Truly the child’s heartfelt prayer has been answered in this splendid tribute paid to her unselfish labours, from the days of childhood far into those of womanhood. [Illustration] CHAPTER IX. Wealth and magnificence rear their forms in and around the precincts of St. Stephen’s. They do not, however, monopolise the entire space, for here and there the squalid streets of poverty abide, with all their _wealth_ and _magnificence_, of suffering, crime, and sin. One of these streets is just across the river, and the clock in the big tower of the Houses of Parliament can peep and peer therein, even from its misty height. Staring from a dust-begrimed window on the second floor of a dirty-looking dwelling situated in the street named, stands a woman, whose rough, untidy hair is tied back in a knot, and whose coarse, seared features show signs of former enamelling, now disused. Poor wretch! there is hunger and misery in her eyes, and despair as well. Some would say insanity gleams there. She is listening to the cannons’ roar as they belch forth their welcome to Gloria de Lara. Their booming sound is maddening to the hungry, lonely, despairing woman, who stands there with not a friend in the world.