A dozen men, those of "B" squadron, parted from the rest, saluted, formed, and marched clattering down the long stairs. The procession of the sick and their bearers ceased. Then one could only hear the impatient horses stamping in the porch. We looked at our Lady, and saw that she was afraid.
"I want to warn you, gentlemen," she said faintly. "That trumpet was blown for the President of the British Republic—yes, the Republic. He has come to receive my surrender."
"Kill him! Kill him!" cried some, and every man in the chamber was moved to break away from the Queen's discipline.
"Gentlemen," said our Lady. "President O'Brien comes under flag of truce. If you are offended now, you will be furious when you hear his demands, and if you love me, you will stand quite still, except to salute him at his entrance. I warn you the slightest hostile movement may ruin me. My envoys have failed to treat with this man, my letters met with an insulting reply, and he holds North London in overwhelming force. Ah, here he comes. Don't be uneasy, I assure you I'm not going to surrender."
The President, attended by his staff, conducted by our troopers, came to the stairhead and there stood surveying our Lady and her war-stained Guard.
"Where is this woman?" he demanded hoarsely.
And in answer, Margaret rose to make him welcome, met him half-way across the chamber, and frankly offered her hand.
"What," she asked gently, "will you not shake hands?"
General O'Brien lifted his eyes until they were level with her brave sad face.
"Won't you shake hands?" she said, "you come to me in my utmost need." Then addressing his retinue, "I am so glad to welcome friends."