The elder empires died, and England's time was come. She should fall gloriously as became her life, still great, still mighty, before age sapped her strength, before decay rotted her honour. Nations born of her loins should pass her freedom on to distant ages, and teach their royal posterity of peoples the discipline and speech of the English race. Our part was not in her death but in the living future--why should we die? But Margaret led us on. The sparrows fluttered about our horses' feet, a mist rose on the pavement, and above, the warm light glowed on the high pavilions, colonnades, and roofs crowning the cliff-like walls on either hand. How empty the street was! Grave bronze statues looked down as we rode by, there were the sparrows fluttering, a cyclist was coming up behind, and an old woman venturing across our front, very much frightened at our trampling. In an instant all was changed. A cluster of cars came whirling down from the north, killing the woman under their ruthless wheels, and as they passed, the occupants yelled and beckoned. The cyclist had come up abreast shouting to her Majesty some message from the Palace, but we could not listen. A man came running out of Oxford Street, then three others and a score behind him, as a shell struck the ground in front of that first man. We saw him shrink away looking back, then fearing the shell less, try to jump clear of it. The shell burst flinging his body against a lamp-post, but the other men came on at the head of a roaring crowd blocking the thoroughfare from wall to wall. There were soldiers among them, their rifles thrown away, civilians mad with fright trampling down the weak, cars rocking from side to side as their wheels rolled over the fallen, police carried helpless in the flood. Fresh crowds poured out from byways on the right, and the main tide of panic came roaring down. We galloped into line to beat the crowd back, yelled to the police to help us with barricades, but all these men were changed to beasts in their terror, shells burst in their midst, and the great rush swept us away. We rallied about our Lady gradually, cut through the tide and reformed in Conduit Street. On our west lay the ruins of Mayfair, on our east the ruins of Soho, and between no human power could stem that cataract of headlong maniac flight. A shell burst on a roof above our heads scattering ruins of brick-work in our midst; so, sorely reduced and driven from our shelter, we kept together as best we might through street after street on fire, and alleys blocked with men.