“Strike through!” The stout coachman laid about him with his whip, and the curses for the moment abandoned the head of Strafford to alight on that of the driver. The horses plunged fiercely into the crowd. The cruel progress changed the tenor of the cries, as if a wailing stop of a great organ had suddenly taken the place of the open diapason. The press was so great that those in front could not make for safety, and the disappearing coach was greeted with screams of terror and was followed by groans of agony. Men went down before it like ripe grain before a sickle. “Oh! oh! oh!” moaned the girl, all color leaving her face. “It serves the dogs right,” said De Courcy. “How dare they block the way of a noble, and the chief Minister of State.” “I--I cannot look on this,” lamented Frances, shrinking back to the table, and leaning against it as one about to faint, forgetting her desire to avoid further demonstration from her companion, in the trepidation which followed the scene she had witnessed. “Indeed they were most mercifully dealt with, those scullions. The King of France would have sent a troop of horse to sabre them back into their kennels. ‘Strike through!’ cried his lordship, and, by God! ’t is a good phrase, most suitable motto for a coat of arms, a hand grasping a dagger above it. ‘Strike through!’ I shall not forget it. But ’t was a softer and more endearing theme I wished to----” “Sir, I beseech your polite consideration. I am nigh distraught with what I have seen, and am filled with a fear of London. ’T is not the courtly city I expected to behold. I am not myself.” “But you will at least bid me hope?” “Surely, surely, all of us may hope.” “Why, ’t was the last and only gift left in Pandora’s casket, and London were grim indeed to be more bereft than the receptacle of that deceitful woman. May I make my first draught on Madam Pandora’s box by hoping that I am to see you at this hour tomorrow?” “Yes--to-morrow--to-morrow,” gasped the girl faintly. CHAPTER V.--EXACTION.