"I'm not afraid--I'm ready to stand by the truth," screeched the man with the crape scarf. "I mourn for England--the victim of a corrupt set of time-serving scoundrels. I wear black for her. Woe to her, I say, and her greed for gold--woe to her vile Government----"
With a fierce growl the mob flung forward. Brenda cried out. It was as though her father himself were being attacked. With a bound she placed herself before the old man.
"Leave him! Don't touch him!" she cried. "He's mad!"
"I'm not mad," cried the man. "I protest against tyranny and the cursed greed that would destroy a nation. You crouch at the feet of those who will drain your blood--cowardly hounds all of you!"
"'Ere! Let me get at 'im. Stand away, laidy!"
"No, no, he is old and weak. Oh, Mr. van Zwieten, save him."
Seeing an opportunity of posing as a hero at a small cost, the Dutchman placed the old man behind him, and stood between him and the mob which was closing in. "Leave him to me--I'll see to him!"
"He's a furriner!" yelped a small man. "Hit his head!"
"I'm a naturalized Englishman," shouted Van Zwieten, "but I won't let you touch this man!"
"Woe--woe to the wicked Government who are about to dye their garments in the blood of a just people!" shrieked the old man, waving his arms wildly.