Late in the afternoon a drenching shower of rain burst over London, with one great ringing peal of thunder. Miss Temple would have us believe that this was the last trumpet sounding the call to judgment. The Russian papers were now in all men's hands that they might consider her Majesty's quarrel, also Brand's proposals were known, and how his gift was withheld from reaching the people. And it was well understood that the Parliament, in fighting Brand, had caused all the money in the world to be dishonoured, so that neither the currency of the nations nor that of Lyonesse could be accepted as any measure of value. The leaders of public opinion, journals, clubs, societies, cities, fortresses, and colonies throughout the Empire were hourly declaring for the Queen. The rich were on the Duke of Ulster's side, scouting the idea that he had betrayed us to Russia. The poor were with the Queen and Lyonesse. On the whole the fleets and armies obeyed the departments as usual; but rather than attack our Lady, or slaughter their countrymen, soldiers and sailors alike were ripe for mutiny. Ulster was innocent until his guilt was proved; the nation wanted, even for him, fair play, a trial at law. We islanders are slow to kindle, and neither party desired civil war. So the day closed. But with the second day, all England knew that trial at law was denied us, or even trial by battle. The deadlock remained and was forgotten. For how could any man remember that the Empire was betrayed, or so much as think of internecine war amid that beggary of the human Race? That was not to be salved by public holidays, or cured by politics, or stayed by war. The first necessity of life is food, and a merchant will not part with his good provisions for any quantity of bogus money. At first we were all quite confused, storming the banking houses, which solemnly dealt out waste coin and waste paper to hungry customers. Or we thought to rescue our invested savings, and our stock-brokers screamed themselves hoarse trying to sell out shares in mines gone bankrupt, or the bonds of governments already fallen. We had nothing to sell but pieces of paper; we got their exact value back in scraps of paper. We began to understand that we were ruined. There was no money. People came to the railway stations offering jewels or watches to pay their fares out of London. Then the trains stopped running, and they were rich who had yachts or carriages to make their escape to the country. From noon on the second day to the evening of the third, some thirty hours, the main roads were crowded with fugitives, and when some broken carriages blocked the way, the lanes on either side were overrun. Long afterwards the roads to the country were littered with the wreckage of that flight, in wagons overturned, in piles of broken furniture, in baggage thrown away, and household treasures, or here and there some shattered, trampled body of a man. And the poor remained in London.