ned from sweeping
the sides of the street to gaze sadly at his father, whose face he could
now see pretty plainly, as they passed one of the dismal street lamps
which pretended in those days to light the way.

He could see that, brief as the time had been since he last saw his
father, his countenance had sadly altered. There was a stern, careworn
look in his eyes, and he looked older, and as if he had been exposed to
terrible hardships. He noted too that he did not seem to have had the
opportunity given him of attending to his person, but had been treated
with the greatest of severity.

The lad's gloomy musings on the aspect of the face which beamed lovingly
upon him, the eyes seeming to say, "Don't be down-hearted, boy!" were
suddenly brought to an end by a check in their progress, for the advance
guard, from being a hundred yards ahead, had by degrees shortened the
space to fifty, twenty, and ten yards, and finally was only the front of
the column. But still they had advanced at a trot, and the officer in
command sent orders twice over for the vanguard to increase their
distance.

"Tell him I can't," said the officer in front. "It can only be done by
riding over the people."

And now the men stationed to keep the way had utterly failed, the people
having crowded in from the side streets north of Saint Martin's-le-Grand
till the pairs of dragoons were hemmed in, and in spite of several
encounters with the crowd they were forced to remain stationary.

The check that came was the announcement that the trot could no longer
be continued, and, perforce, the escort advanced at a walk; while, as
Frank glanced round for a moment, it suddenly struck him that, save at
the windows of the houses, there was not a woman to be seen, the crowd
consisting of sturdy-looking men.

The lad had no eyes for the crowd, though. The relapse into a walk had
given him the opportunity for grasping his father's hand again, and Sir
Robert said to him hurriedly:

"My dearest love to your mother, Frank lad. Tell her, whatever happens,
I have but one thought, and that it is for her, that we may meet in
happier times."

"Meet in happier times" rang through Frank like a death-knell, for he
grasped what his father meant, and tried to speak some words of comfort,
but they would not come. Even if they had, they would have been drowned
by a tremendous cheer which arose from the crowd and went rolling
onward.

"The wretches!" muttered Fran