troop of Brethren back
into the arena and dressed rank with the others, salaaming as the
mock potentates entered, uttering stage cheers, while inwardly
groaning in spirit. His eye kept an anxious sidewise watch on the
gateway by which Corona must make her entrance.

She came. But before her, leading the way, strewing flowers, came
score upon score of children in regiments of colour--pale blue, pale
yellow, green, rose, heliotrope. They conducted her to the May
Queen's throne, hung it with wreaths, and having paid their homage,
ranged off, regiment by regiment, to take their station for the
dance. And she, meanwhile? . . . If she were nervous, no sign of it
betrayed her. She walked to her throne with the air of a small
queen. . . . _Vera incessu patuit--Corona_; walked, too, without airs
or _minauderies_, unconscious of all but the solemn glory. This was
the pageant of her beloved England, and hers for the moment was this
proud part in it. Brother Copas brushed his eyes. In his ears
buzzed the verse of a psalm--

She shall be brought unto the King in raiment of needle-work:
the virgins that be her fellows shall bear her company . . .

The orchestra struck up a quick-tripping minuet. The regiments
advanced on curving lines. They interwove their ranks, making
rainbows of colour; they rayed out in broadening bands of colour from
Corona's footstool. Through a dozen of these evolutions she sat, and
took all the homage imperially. It was not given to her, but to the
idea for which she was enthroned; and sitting, she nursed the idea in
her heart.

The dance over--and twice or thrice as it proceeded the front of the
Grand Stand shook with the clapping of thousands of hands, all
agitated together as when a wind passes over a wheatfield--Corona had
to arise from her throne, a wreath in either hand, and deliver a
speech before Queen Mary. The length of it was just a line and
three-quarters--

"Lady, accept these perishable flowers
Queen May brings to Queen Mary. . . ."

She spoke them in a high, clear voice, and all the Grand Stand
renewed its clapping as the child did obeisance.

"First-class!" grunted Brother Warboise at Copas's elbow.
"Pity old Bonaday couldn't be here to see the girl!"

"Aye," said Copas; but there was that in his throat which forbade his
saying more.

So the Pageant went on unfolding its scenes. Some of them were
merely silly: all of them were false to fact, of