Then a great silence fell. The King dropped his hand to his side, and spoke. His voice rang out loud and clear, the voice of a sailor, trained to pitch his voice, instinctively, to carry as far as possible in the open air. "My people"--the words rose simply and naturally to his lips, thrilling him as he used them--"this was to have been a day of great national rejoicing. It has been turned, in a moment, into a day of great national mourning. I am unhurt, untouched. But a greater man than I, the Duke of Northborough, lies dying in the room behind me. He gave his life for mine." His voice shook a little. "From this moment, I hold my life, a sacred trust, at his hands. "I will say nothing, now, of the madman, whose madness has been used as the instrument to strike down an old man, whose long and noble life has been devoted wholly to the best interests of our country. Death has already closed that madman's account. Nor will I speak, now, of the men, whose wild and reckless talk makes such madness possible. Such men turn, naturally, to assassination and murder, in defeat. "I ask you, now, not to disturb the last moments of the great man, who has just crowned his long and noble life with the 'greater love,' before which we all bare and bow our heads, by any retaliation, by any outburst, by any demonstration, of the wilder passions against which he always set his face like flint. I ask you, now, to disperse, as quietly, and as quickly, as you can, and return to your own homes, the homes which the great man we mourn, within the last twenty-four hours, has guarded from the anarchy of revolution, and maintained in peace. "I know I shall not ask in vain." A low murmur rose from the crowd, while the King spoke. The people, on the edge of the crowd nearest to the palace, repeated what he said, to those behind them. They repeated it again. And so, in this almost miraculous way, something of what he said reached to the furthest limits of the immense crowd, and even spread beyond, through the thronged streets of the city. There was a tense, breathless pause, when the King had finished speaking-- Then the bandmaster, down below in the palace quadrangle, had an inspiration. He raised his baton. A moment later the massed band of the Guards began to play "God Save the King." For a time, the huge crowd still hesitated. Then some one began to sing. Next moment the whole crowd was singing, with a deep volume of sound, like the sound of many waters-- "Long to reign over us: "God save the King"-- Over and over again, the band played the national melody. Over and over again, the crowd sang the familiar words, finding in them, at last, an outlet for all their pent-up passions-- And then, suddenly, still singing with undiminished fervour, slowly, and quietly, in marvellous order, as if they had been soldiers on parade, the people began to move away. The King climbed down from his perilous, windswept perch on the parapet, on to the balcony again.