Mr. Pym touched his companion's arm.
"It is Lady Strafford," he said.
Mr. Cromwell had never before seen the wife of the great minister who was now no better than a doomed man, and he gazed with vast interest and pity at the face staring from the coach window.
"We should save her from this," he answered, and, lifting his sword hilt, with a few rude blows he forced his way through the crowd to the coach.
"Stop this fooling!" he shouted, and his voice, when raised, was of an extraordinary depth and harshness. The rioters turned, startled, and, with a quick movement of his powerful arm, he swept two youths from the wheels to which they were clinging to impede the movement of the coach.
Mr. Pym was now beside him, rather breathless with pushing his way through.
The Countess never moved or altered her bitter calm; the two gentlemen both saluted her, and when Mr. Pym's hat was off and she had a clear view of his countenance, she gave a great start and the hot blood rushed to her face and burnt up her pallor.
"Mr. Pym!" she cried. "Oh, John Pym!"
At the sound of this name, which was now famous throughout England as the champion of the people, the crowd quieted and began shamefacedly to give way, being at heart good humoured and not disposed to more than rough horse-play, after the nature of English crowds.