Meeting upon meeting had followed; concourse after concourse had assembled. Simultaneously they would be heard of in the north, south, east, and west of England, of Scotland, or of Ireland. No public placards or advertisements announced these meetings, and yet they were always well attended. It seemed as though some secret, mysteriously silent fiery cross passed through the districts in which they were held. But the authorities could not say for certain; they could only surmise. Machinery was at work beneath the surface which they had no power to fathom. The speakers at these meetings were manifold and various. The D’Estrangeite members were particularly active, but after Gloria de Lara and Flora Desmond, the people’s favourites were undoubtedly the Duke of Ravensdale, Nigel Estcourt, Lady Manderton, Launcelot Trevor, Archie Douglasdale, and Jack Delamere! Wonder of wonders! What! Colonel Delamere? The swagger Guardsman, the spoilt child of Society, the man whose life had hitherto been one long succession of amusement and pleasure? Is it possible? Quite so. There is no impossibility when Nature steps in to the rescue.
What influence has been at work thus to change the current of Jack Delamere’s pleasant but useless existence? What has induced him to take up the cudgels for Gloria de Lara’s cause? Ay, what?
Ever since that evening when, in obedience to orders, Jack Delamere had charged the crowd which barred the way between his Blues and the White Guards, ever since that day when he had marked the heroism of those men and women that composed it, ever since he had seen them go down before the horses of his troopers, sacrificing their lives so that their idol’s might be spared, Jack Delamere had been a faithful and devoted adherent of the D’Estrangeite cause. Perhaps, too, his love for Flora Desmond may have influenced him. Who knows? The influence of a noble and high-souled woman is surely the greatest incentive a man can have to do right.
Money, too, had poured in from all quarters of the globe, and from all manners and classes of people. The women, who in the palmy days of Hector D’Estrange had responded to his appeal on behalf of the Hall of Liberty, had not been laggard when the author of its being had again called upon them for sympathy and aid. The sinews of war had flowed in rapidly, and none had commanded it more quickly than Speranza de Lara.
Such a state of things had of course become intolerable to the Devonsmere Ministry, which in the early days of the movement had so confidently predicted its speedy collapse, as well as the arrest of Gloria de Lara and Flora Desmond. Every effort to capture these two had, however, proved unavailing, protected as they had been by a people’s love.
A people’s love! It was a noble gift to have won, a treasure of which they might well be proud, one which they might surely pray ever to deserve. None knew better than Gloria de Lara and Flora Desmond, that without it their fates must long since have been a prison’s cell and a felon’s doom.
In the eyes of this Government matters had become desperate. The efforts of the police had been paralysed. Conflicts had taken place between the military and the Women’s Volunteer Regiments, and strong measures appeared necessary to check the disorders. Gloria de Lara’s enemies had pointed to the Volunteer organisation as the root of the mischief, and it had been resolved to destroy it. Parliament had been asked to grant exceptional powers to meet this dangerous combination. Parliament had acquiesced, and forthwith a proclamation had been issued declaring the Women’s Volunteer organisation to be illegal, and decreeing the instant disbandment of its regiments. The exceptional powers had furthermore empowered the police to arrest and imprison without trial all women who should be seen wearing the uniform of these regiments; and it had likewise been decreed a felony to shelter or harbour the persons of Gloria de Lara or Lady Flora Desmond, or to take part in any public meeting in which they should participate.
This Coercion Act, the first which had ever been passed for Great Britain and Ireland combined, had rendered the position of Gloria de Lara and Flora Desmond one of extreme peril, while threatening the liberties of thousands of their countrymen. A secret meeting had been called, the situation discussed, and it had been agreed that for the sake of the cause thus threatened these two must leave the country.
But how? That was the question. Every port and sea-going vessel was strictly watched. In this dilemma Archie Douglasdale had submitted a plan.
This plan was that his sister and Gloria de Lara, together with Nigel Estcourt and himself, should retire to one of his properties on the shores of Glenuig Bay, where amidst its shaggy woods nestled a little fishing box, remote from the haunts of man. In this lonely retreat, guarded by trusty Ruglen retainers, he had declared his belief that for a time they could rest concealed, while Evie Ravensdale, repairing to London, should from there direct the immediate fitting-out of his yacht, in which, so soon as ready, he should put to sea, and work round to the Sound of Arisaig, where the fugitives could be embarked. And this plan had been approved of and acted upon. Gloria de Lara, Flora Desmond, Nigel Estcourt, and Archie Douglasdale had taken up their quarters in this safe retreat, and Evie Ravensdale had repaired to London. With him had gone Léonie, who had been commissioned to bear back the duke’s instructions when all was ready. It was a fatal arrangement this last; but Léonie had played her part well, and had won the confidence of all. Thus it is that we find Gloria de Lara on the last dying day of summer, amidst the scenes described at the opening of this chapter.