CHAPTER VIII.
“Gloria de Lara lives!” The words have rung far and wide o’er land and distant sea. They have entered the homes of the great, the cottages of the poor, they have brought joy to millions of weary hearts, who know that while that great name breathes the breath of life, reform cannot die.
Yes, Gloria lives, lives! But how? Have we not seen her in the clutch of Death?
We left her therein. We left her being borne down by the resistless, sucking whirlpool of the sinking smack as the massive trading steamer, which had cut clean through the frail barque, bore on its course. As she parted her hold of Léonie, Gloria had clutched the sinking wreck with that strong and tenacious grip which the drowning alone can command. The lighter and severed portion of the wreck had been swept forward by an enormous wave, which carried with it likewise the body of Léonie, supported on the crest of the sea by the life-belt, which Gloria had tied around her.
But the bright, flashing light which had danced in Gloria’s eyes ere she was borne downwards, had searched from stem to stern the helpless, storm-tossed craft, and the anxious gaze of the man on the look out had been able to detect those two frail human forms. As the shout of “Boat ahoy!” had rung out through the shrieking storm, the steamer had crashed through her frail antagonist in the manner already described. But the skipper of The Maid of Glad Tidings, as such the steamer was named, was brave and humane. In spite of the storm he had skilfully brought his vessel to the rescue. The electric light had swept the sea in search of the unlucky boat, and after a time a portion of her had been sighted, a helpless and dismantled wreck. Yet to that wreck a human form was clinging.
A brave crew had manned the lifeboat, and with the true pluck of British seamen, had fought against terrible odds to rescue that one lone, helpless creature. They succeeded; and amidst that black night and howling storm, another deed of heroism had silently written its tale upon the scrolls of British fame. And as Captain Ruglen’s gaze had first fallen on the rescued victim of the storm, he had started. He was a big, powerful man, with a tender, kindly heart. When, therefore, he bent over the silent figure and raised it in his arms, bearing it below to his own cabin, his men only saw in this act another evidence of the skipper’s kindly disposition. Yet in that brief glance, Gloria de Lara had been recognised; for what devoted adherent of her cause who had ever looked upon her face could forget it? Certes, not Captain Ruglen. A member of Ruglen clan, he was also an out-and-out D’Estrangeite; nor was this the first time that he had been in the company of Hector D’Estrange. But he knew that the once successful and powerful idol of Society was now a hunted and doomed felon, with a large reward out for her apprehension. He knew that many of his crew were not D’Estrangeites, and that it might go hard with him and her if she were recognised. Thus had he borne her to his cabin, determined there to protect and shield her, and carry her to the far-away free shores of the Spanish main, whither The Maid of Glad Tidings was bound.
Reaching it, Gloria’s first act had been to wire to Speranza de Lara in North America, and to Estcourt in England. As yet she had heard no tidings of the wonderful events which had led up to the triumph of her cause.
But those tidings sped back to her along the electric wire. They came in the shape of a loving message of welcome from the man she loved. From Evie Ravensdale she learnt how victory had crowned her efforts; from him came the tidings of great joy that her vow had been accomplished.
Once more the vast crowd of London surges in the streets,—a happy, joyous, good-humoured crowd nevertheless. Every house is gay with bunting and flags, and triumphal arches are in every street through which the procession will pass along.
What procession?
Why, is not this the day upon which Gloria de Lara is to reach our shores, and is she not to be welcomed back and publicly honoured in the great Hall of Liberty, where, when last she stood, she was a condemned and hunted felon?
The yacht Eilean has gone to meet her. It has joined the Colossus, in which Gloria has made her passage from South America at the mouth of the Thames. The party on board the Eilean consists solely of Speranza de Lara, Flora Desmond, and her child, a fine girl of seven years, together with Evie Ravensdale, Estcourt, Léonie, and Rita Vernon. All, with the exception of Speranza, wear the white gold-braided uniform of the White Guards’ Regiment of the Women Volunteers, an organisation which a Royal Proclamation has called back to life.
The Colossus has yielded up its precious charge. As the cutter bears Gloria de Lara away from the great war monster’s side towards the white, graceful Eilean that awaits her, the cannon belch forth their parting salute and welcome in one breath. There, standing on the deck ready to grasp her hand in a deep and loving tenderness, with heartfelt gratitude for her wonderful deliverance, stand the two beings whom she loves most in the world, Speranza de Lara and Evie Ravensdale. What human words could describe that meeting, for they thought her dead, and behold she is there in living life?
Tilbury Docks are reached; the roar of distant cannon announce her arrival. There she stands on the yacht’s bridge with Evie Ravensdale by her side. As the crowd sways to and fro to catch a glimpse of her, the people see that she wears the White Guards’ Uniform. The regiment is there to meet and welcome her. As she leaves the yacht, its band strikes up the beautiful march “Triumphant,” the same which had welcomed her to the Hall of Liberty, when, as Hector D’Estrange, she had performed the opening ceremony. The milk-white steed which she had ridden on that occasion now awaits her in its trappings of white-and-gold. Never has horse been so groomed and petted as this one.
In sight of the crowd she bids her mother a courteous and tender farewell, for Speranza has elected to drive straight to Montragee House, there to await her child’s return. A brilliant mounted throng await the former’s coming; many well-known faces are there, amongst which Gloria catches sight of those of Lady Manderton and Launcelot Trevor.
Now she has mounted her milk-white charger Saladin, and with Evie Ravensdale and Nigel Estcourt on her right, and Flora Desmond and Archie Douglasdale on her left, is riding slowly forward. In close attendance behind are Rita Vernon and Léonie Stanley. The latter’s eyes are busy in the crowd, and seem to search the ranks forward as they ride along. The brilliant throng of mounted friends close in, the cheering of the crowd is deafening; it will be one long loud roar until the Hall of Liberty is reached.
The way is kept by the Women’s Volunteer Regiments, and the order is perfect. As Gloria and Flora ride along, they catch glimpses of old, tried, true, and trusty friends among the ranks—friends who in time of trouble stood by them, and laboured lovingly to make easier the rugged path which they were then treading.
It is a soul-inspiring sight. Many of the people have brought flowers with them, and as the procession approaches they cast them loosely in the air, out of which they descend in a shower of many colours to carpet the way, along which Gloria must pass, with their bright and variegated bloom. The strains of the White Guards’ band, the glitter of their white-and-gold uniforms, the loud cheering of the enthusiastic crowds as the brilliant cavalcade moves along, is a sight which the onlooker is not likely to forget. It thrills the hearts of that vast woman world, assembled to do honour to the one who has worked for and who has won their emancipation.
One long triumphal march. One uninterrupted scene of unchecked enthusiasm is the welcome accorded her from the Docks to the Hall of Liberty. The sun is shining on the gilded statues and million panes which crown that wondrous structure, as she approaches the building which her genius conceived and raised,—approaches it, no longer as the hunted felon upon whose head the price of gold is set, but as a free woman, a victorious general who has conquered the demon armies of Monopoly and Selfishness, and thrown open to the people the free gates of happiness and reform. Now through the giant portals she rides once more. Great God! what a burst of welcome, and what a scene! From floor to ceiling the monster building is crammed. Every available space has been occupied; there is not a foot of standing room.
She has uncovered, and they see her face as she rides round the circular ride towards the huge platform,—the same face of exquisite beauty which they remember and know so well. As she dismounts, she is received by the chairman of the committee appointed to carry out the day’s proceedings, and to present the people’s address of welcome, to which thousands of representative names from every county have been attached.
On the platform are gathered every member of the Ministry and every D’Estrangeite Member of Parliament. Truly a royal welcome by staunch and faithful friends; for as Gloria dismounts and steps upon the platform she is greeted with a loud long cheer by these men of generous mould, who have fought so nobly on behalf of her holy cause. All honour be to them for ever!
Sir Arthur Hazlerigg, Lord Mayor of London, presents and reads the address of welcome, and as he concludes it, Gloria de Lara stands forward to reply. An intense silence falls. All are eager to hear again a voice which they had believed to be for ever stilled in death.
“My friends,” she begins, and though the voice has all the clear, ringing sweetness of yore, there is undoubtedly a tremor in it, “it would require a special language, one of which we have yet no knowledge, to convey to you the emotions which this scene of magnificent welcome awakens within me. From the bottom of my heart I thank you for it, as well as all those true and gallant friends who have created this glorious day; for next to God it is the people who have created it. In this welcome which you give to me, the humble and all too unworthy representative of a magnificent cause, the great principle of human freedom is at length recognised, that freedom inherited at birth, and only wrung from individuals by oppression and wrong. Human freedom means the right to take part in the creation of laws for the better government and perfection of man; it means that man and woman are born equal, are created to work hand in hand for the greater happiness of mankind. Hitherto this principle of mighty truth has not been recognised, with the awful results shown forth in man’s ever-increasing degradation. By the acknowledgment of this principle you have laid the train which, when fired, will put an end to immorality and social wrongs, which will make evil unpleasant to perform, and which will degrade the performer to the position of a leper, the shunned and outcast of Society, loathed and despised by his fellow-men. By the acknowledgment of this principle, a day of darkness has sunk to rise no more, and one of brightness, and promise, and fair hope has arisen to cheer us along the glorious path of reform. Much there is to be done, mountains of prejudice, and selfishness, and greed yet to be faced and conquered; but the army which the acknowledgment of human freedom has raised, is an army which will fight victoriously to the end; for it is an army in which men and women will do battle side by side and shoulder to shoulder, undeterred by class jealousies or the odious assumption of superiority by one sex over another. My friends, as I stand to-day in this Hall of Liberty and look upon this magnificent scene, memories rise up before me of a stirring and eventful past. I see before me now, a picture which in childhood I loved to imagine, a glorious reality which in the past haunted my waking dreams. On many incidents of that past I would prefer not to dwell, arousing, as they must, the bitterness of human nature. Rather is the province of the conqueror, of the victorious to forgive and forget, to look forward to the future, and strive for the possibilities which that future may contain. We are starting along a new path in life, a path open to all, not monopolised by the few, a path which, as time goes on, shall show traces of victory on all sides. I ask the great army of my countrymen to endeavour to win those victories as speedily as possible, so that in the future, the day may dawn when there shall be no misery, no wickedness, no crime. In that army, women now find a place; let them triumphantly prove their right to be there. They have yet an uphill road to climb, but I have confidence that they will compass it, and now that the gates of freedom are thrown open to them, take part in all the great deeds of the world. Upon them the eyes of this world will be fixed; upon them depends the ultimate freedom of the human race. I have no fear as to the result; I do not for one moment dread the trial. I believe, moreover, that the presence and natural companionship of woman will upraise and influence man’s character for good, banishing from his daily life those coarser habits which self-indulgence and lack of moral influence have allowed to creep therein, and that Society, in its remodelled state, will thus be enabled to deal with the evils which infest it. My friends, I need detain you no longer. On my arrival in this country I was informed that my old constituency had re-elected me as its member. I rejoice to hear that I have several women fellow-members in the Legislature to whom men, generous and noble-hearted men, have relinquished places. To tell you that the remainder of my life, which God has so mercifully spared to me, will be employed in working for the people, in devoting every energy I possess to their advancement, is the sum of my declaration here to-day. Rest assured that for them, no one will struggle harder than Gloria de Lara.”
A simple speech, a quiet, honest declaration. Though she stands there, the cynosure of all eyes, there is no vanity or conceit in those few simple words. Gloria’s aim is unveiled. It is the upraising and triumph of humanity. She lives but to work on its behalf.
She is on the point of stepping back amidst a perfect hurricane of cheers, when Evie Ravensdale comes to her side.
“One moment, Gloria; stay where you are,” he whispers. “I have something to say.”
He raises his hand to ask for silence, and the people accord it to him.
“My friends,” he exclaims, “for with Gloria de Lara may I not call you my friends? I have a pleasing task to perform in that which I am going to say. As Gloria de Lara has told you, the law of this country has at length acknowledged the principle of human freedom, and woman’s right to equal man is finally recognised. When the country spoke out so unmistakably on behalf of human freedom, my sovereign bade me assume the reins of power. I accepted them, not unwillingly; for the only object I had in life was to carry out the great reforms which the genius of Gloria de Lara had conceived, and of which she had made me the confidant. At that time I believed, with all others, that she was dead. But, my friends, she is alive. And now I tell you that she only has a right to assume the reins confided to me, she alone has the right to carry those great reforms. The person who conceived them alone has that right, and I, her deputy, relinquish it to her. I tell you that Gloria de Lara must be your Prime Minister, while I will take my part as a humble worker with the people. With the full approval of my colleagues and every D’Estrangeite member, I intend forthwith to tender my resignation, and to advise my sovereign to send for Gloria de Lara.”
There can be no mistaking the genuine ring of approval in the mighty cheer that bursts forth from the thousands of throats in that densely packed building. Truly the child’s heartfelt prayer has been answered in this splendid tribute paid to her unselfish labours, from the days of childhood far into those of womanhood.
