"Count on me," he said quietly, "to not leave thy party until thou hast brought the King to reason, but I believe that this will be a longer and bloodier business than any of us reckon on as yet."
"I trust we shall leave blood out of it," answered Mr. Pym gravely. "But God directs as He will, and we are not of a temper to shrink from fighting for His word and our liberty."
By now the crowd had gathered in considerable proportions, and the two spectators at the window observed that the centre of this agitated throng was a coach and four which, protected by several constables, footmen, and two gentlemen on horseback, was endeavouring to make headway down Whitehall, probably to the palace.
"Who is this," wondered Mr. Pym, "whose appearance causeth such a riot?"
They were, however, too far off to discern the occupant of the coach, and therefore presently descended into the street to discover who it might be whose progress was thus impeded, and to offer, if need be, some assistance against the clamour of the mobile, for violence and outrage were not wished for by these two, even though the cries of the populace might be but an echo of their own sentiments.
As they began to push their way, into the fringe of the crowd, they perceived that the coach had been brought to a standstill and was densely surrounded by shop boys and the meaner kind of citizen.
The coachman, buffeted by various missiles, leant from his box and cried—
"My lady, I cannot go on!"
At this the leathern curtains of the coach were drawn back and a woman's face appeared at the window. She regarded the press before her fixedly, and with a curious blankness of expression, her high-bred and sensitive countenance had a cold look of either pride or terror, or preoccupation, which made it mask-like as a carving.