seven hours, accompanied by a child of five years old, the
same who now sat on her lap, nodding in utter weariness; together they
were going to see the illuminations, and walk about, with intervals
devoted to refreshments, for several hours more. Beyond sat a
working-man, overtaken with liquor, who railed vehemently at the
Jubilee, and in no measured terms gave his opinion of our Sovereign
Lady; the whole thing was a 'lay,' an occasion for filling the Royal
pocket, and it had succeeded to the tune of something like half a
million of money, wheedled, most of it, from the imbecile poor. 'Shut
up!' roared a loyalist, whose patience could endure no longer. 'We're
not going to let a boozing blackguard like you talk in that way about
'er Majesty!' Thereupon, retort of insult, challenge to combat, clamour
from many throats, deep and shrill. Nancy laughed, and would rather have
enjoyed it if the men had fought.

At Westminster Bridge all jumped confusedly into the street and ran
for the pavement. It was still broad daylight; the sun--a potentate who
keeps no Jubilee--dropping westward amid the hues of summer eventide,
was unmarked, for all his splendour, by the roaring multitudes.

'Where are you going to leave us?' Nancy inquired of her brother.

'Charing Cross, or somewhere about there.'

'Keep by me till then.'

Barmby was endeavouring to secure her companionship. He began to cross
the bridge at her side, but Nancy turned and bade him attend upon Miss.
Morgan, saying that she wished to talk with her brother. In this order
they moved towards Parliament Street, where the crowd began to thicken.

'Now let us decide upon our route,' exclaimed Barmby, with the air of a
popular leader planning a great demonstration. 'Miss. Lord, we will be
directed by your wishes. Where would you like to be when the lighting-up
begins?'

'I don't care. What does it matter? Let us go straight on and see
whatever comes in our way.'

'That's the right spirit! Let us give ourselves up to the occasion! We
can't be wrong in making for Trafalgar Square. Advance!'

They followed upon a group of reeling lads and girls, who yelled in
chorus the popular song of the day, a sentimental one as it happened--

'_Do not forget me, Do not forget me, Think sometimes of me still_'--

Nancy was working herself into a nervous, excited state. She felt it
impossible to walk on and on under Barmby's protection, listening to
his atrocious commonplaces, his ent