"I want to go home!" she said. "Take me!"
"The first thing, then, is to get out of this crowd. Keep hold of my arm."
"No!" A perverse tag of conscience held her back. "I don't want to! I've got a petition; it has to go to the King. Oh, if he only knew!"
"Give it to me! I will see that he gets it."
"You? You'd only throw it away when my back was turned."
"No; I promise you I would not. Give it me! It shall really go to him."
"You are not making fun of me?"
"Indeed I am not. Here, where is it? Give it to me, quick!"
She put the precious crumpled document into his hand. Poor nameless soul, unconscious of what she had achieved—"I hope I've done right," she said.
A fresh movement of the crowd drove them against the railings. The elderly little woman cried out like a frightened child.