They ranged themselves on one side:—there was a trampling of horses; and in a few moments a low open phaeton, drawn by four bays, turned rapidly from the park into the road leading over Constitution Hill.
"They are coming!" murmured Holford to himself, as he observed the equipage from the short distance where he was standing.
Every hat was raised by the little group at the end of the road, as the vehicle dashed by—for in it were seated the Queen and her illustrious husband.
By a strange coincidence Her Majesty was sitting on the left hand of Prince Albert, and not on the right as usual: she was consequently nearest to the wall of the palace-gardens, while the Prince was nearest to the railings of the Green Park.
And now the moment so anxiously desired by Holford, was at hand:—the phaeton drew nigh.
He hesitated:—yes—he hesitated;—but it was only for a single second.
"Now to avenge my expulsion from the palace!—now to make my name a subject for history!" were the thoughts that, rapid as lightning, flashed across his mind.
Not another moment did he waver; but, advancing from the railings against which he had been lounging, he drew a pistol from his breast and fired it point-blank at the royal couple as the phaeton dashed past.
The Queen screamed and rose from her seat; and the postillions stopped their horses.
"Drive on!" cried the Prince, in a loud tone, as he pulled Her Majesty back upon the seat; and his countenance was ashy pale.