“God bless you, Flora! Yes, I will do my duty, for the sake of the great cause that shall triumph.” She springs from her horse as she speaks, and as one of the troopers leads it towards the stables, she turns to the others. “Brave guards,” she exclaims, “none know better than you that Gloria de Lara is grateful for your devotion and staunch loyalty.” “We would die for you!” they shout enthusiastically, and many of their voices tremble. Even as they cease, the Duke of Ravensdale is on the threshold of his noble mansion. His hand is on Gloria’s arm. “Great God be praised!” bursts from his white lips. “Gloria, they shall never touch you here!” He draws her gently into the great front hall, and the door is closed and barred behind them. There is a triumphant smile on Flora Desmond’s features; her quick ear has caught the sound of galloping horses. “Do you hear them?” she laughs defiantly. “They come too late. Brave people! They have done their part well, and she is saved. Now follow me, guards. She has no need of us just yet. We must seek a safety for the future good that we may do, and for the sake of the cause we love. There is work ahead of us—hard work, and plenty too, for the revolution has begun!” [Illustration] CHAPTER VI. “My dear, how did you ever manage to get here? How could you venture out? Isn’t it terrible, my dear?” exclaims Mrs. de Lacy Trevor, as her friend Lady Manderton enters her boudoir in the snug Piccadilly mansion, already introduced to the reader, on the morning following upon the events related in the last chapter. Outside, the streets are filled with an angry and excited crowd. The rougher element have taken advantage of the _mêlée_, to introduce themselves into its midst, and are parading the streets, causing confusion and terror to the more respectable and orderly portion of the crowd, whose presence is to be accounted for by totally different circumstances to those which have attracted the irredeemable portion of Society. The news of the verdict and sentence on Hector D’Estrange, the confession as to sex of the late Prime Minister, the daring and masterly rescue of the prisoner by Flora Desmond and her White Guards, the devoted resistance of the crowd to the charge of the Blues under Colonel Delamere, and the ultimate escape of Gloria de Lara from her pursuers, has spread like wild-fire through the metropolis. London has been in a state of the greatest excitement throughout the night. The most startling and improbable rumours have been afloat as to the intentions of the Government, while the people are loudly clamouring for a squashing of the verdict, an annulment of the sentence, and a free pardon for their idol, to many more than ever popular now that her sex is disclosed. For, let it be whispered, that this disclosure has operated in winning over to Gloria de Lara’s side many a wavering mind, which is able now to recognise in the brilliant successful life of