But Joyce sat up and put it from her. "No, thank you, dear mother. I was faint, rather faint. Perhaps it _was_ too much for me speaking to that angry crowd. Oh!" and she put her hand to her eyes, "their faces, their dreadful faces! I am better now." And, with wonderful self-restraint, Joyce did not tell her mother or Piers that, amidst that throng of ragged, wild people, she had seen the face of the man whom she believed had caused her father's death. Falcon's voice from the "dickey" was now heard. "Here's father! here's father!" And presently Gilbert trotted up on horseback, and was received with shouts from his little boy and deep thankfulness from those inside the carriage. "The crowd is getting very thick in the city," he said, "and I thought I would ride out and be your escort. Why, my darling, you don't look much better for country air," he said, anxiously scanning her face. "We have been surrounded by a mob," Piers said, "and Joyce asked them to let us pass, and that was rather too much even for her nerves. There are some two hundred men and women coming on behind us." "Then push on," Gilbert said to the post boy, "and I will be your _avant courier_. The crowd in Bristol is fairly orderly so far, and I think we shall get through pretty well. Why, Susan!" he said, "you look almost as white as your mistress. I shall be glad to get you all safe home." Joyce rose in the carriage again, and, turning, looked back at Susan. Her face told that she also had recognised her father; and, with a sudden gesture of sympathy, Joyce put her hand on her faithful and trusted servant's arm, and gave it a pressure which she understood. "Oh! dear madam," she said, "it was very dreadful." "Yes," Joyce said, "but the danger is past now that we have Mr. Arundel with us. Hold Falcon firmly when we get into the streets." "I shall be glad to get home now," said little Falcon. "I am as tired as mother is." That surging crowd, increasing hourly in numbers and in vehemence, thronged the narrow streets, and made the progress of the carriage very slow. The young man who rode before it attracted attention, and he was called upon several times to declare whether he would vote for Protheroe and Baillie, and whether he was an anti-reformer or a reformer. These questions were generally shouted at him and followed by cries and cheers, so that the reply could not be heard. Erect and fearless, Gilbert rode on, clearing the way for the carriage, which contained all that was most precious to him in the world. Had he turned a hair, or shown the slightest sign of fear, it is probable he would have had stones hurled at him, or insulting missives, such as rotten eggs or dead rats, thrown into the carriage. But there was something in the way Gilbert guided his horse through the throng, and in the steadfast outlook of his eyes, that won the mob, and not a finger was raised against him. He even heard cries of "pretty dears!" from behind.