So swept the pageant onwards to the city, and thence through crowded streets to Westminster. In the van went detachments of the Imperial Army. There followed the dignitaries of the Commonwealths of Canada, Australasia, Africa, of the Dependencies and the Indies, attended by contingents from the several races of mankind, bodies of men-at-arms from all the forces of the Empire. Then came the estates of the British Realm, the Commons, the Lords, the Imperial Council, the Princes of India, the envoys, ambassadors, and foreign princes, the Household, and last the Queen's Blackguards in their dazzling silver, escorting the lumbering-golden carriage of Margaret the Fair. And always above them floated the pageant of the Aerial Fleet soaring against the blue, and sheltering the streets from the fierce heat of the sun. As in many a former time of national rejoicing, once more the immemorial Abbey sent up the Te Deum and the solemn service of the Eucharist. Queen Margaret sat upon the stone of destiny, the crown of white gems was placed upon her head, while the trumpets pealed, and the nobles of the old isles put on their coronets and rendered homage. Once more, as in ancient times, the banquet was spread in the great hall of St. Stephen's Palace at Westminster. Old white statues of the Kings looked down upon this new Queen, crowned by the Grace of God, Defender of the Faith, Defender of our time-honoured, well-tried Faith. That faith of disciplined freedom had made a little nation very great, and had given an awful and far-reaching power. At the high table the great officers of the kingdom waited upon our Lady with every solemnity that has come down through the centuries of a nation's youth. The heat was stifling, the fierce light of the morning was quenched in a white haze, and the sun was hidden now, for the air was darkening. Many of those who sat at the banquet tables have since spoken of the prevailing depression and weariness. Once somebody laughed, and the sound seemed out of place, for people were seized with vague misgivings, a sense of restless uneasiness verging on fear. The hall became dim as though it were evening, darkness swept down out of the spaces of the timbered roof. The air was full of electric tension, and the silence that fell upon the assemblage was broken at times by the roll of distant thunder; while the semi-darkness was now and then illumined by the flicker of far-off lightning. One of the Queen's ladies fainted, causing some stir for a moment, while the darkness deepened until it seemed to be night. A moaning wind caught the doors and swept them wide apart. Then came a peal of trumpets while three horsemen clattered in from the palace yard. Here came the hereditary Champion of England, mounted and clad in plate armour, attended by the Earl Marshal and the Lord Great Chamberlain on horseback, and by a body of trumpeters and heralds.