“It is very hard certainly on a man like Mr. Bunce,” said Lady Laura.

“Why did not Mr. Bunce stay at home and mind his business?” said the Earl.

Phineas spent the remainder of that day alone, and came to a resolution that on the coming occasion he certainly would speak in the House.  The debate would be resumed on the Monday, and he would rise to his legs on the very first moment that it became possible for him to do so.  And he would do nothing towards preparing a speech;—­nothing whatever.  On this occasion he would trust entirely to such words as might come to him at the moment;—­ay, and to such thoughts.  He had before burdened his memory with preparations, and the very weight of the burden had been too much for his mind.  He had feared to trust himself to speak, because he had felt that he was not capable of performing the double labour of saying his lesson by heart, and of facing the House for the first time.  There should be nothing now for him to remember.  His thoughts were full of his subject.  He would support Mr. Mildmay’s bill with all his eloquence, but he would implore Mr. Mildmay, and the Home Secretary, and the Government generally, to abstain from animosity against the populace of London, because they desired one special boon which Mr. Mildmay did not think that it was his duty to give them.  He hoped that ideas and words would come to him.  Ideas and words had been free enough with him in the old days of the Dublin debating society.  If they failed him now, he must give the thing up, and go back to Mr. Low.

On the Monday morning Phineas was for two hours at the police-court in Westminster, and at about one on that day Mr. Bunce was liberated.  When he was brought up before the magistrate, Mr. Bunce spoke his mind very freely as to the usage he had received, and declared his intention of bringing an action against the sergeant who had detained him.  The magistrate, of course, took the part of the police, and declared that, from the evidence of two men who were examined, Bunce had certainly used such violence in the crowd as had justified his arrest.

“I used no violence,” said Bunce.

“According to your own showing, you endeavoured to make your way up to Mr. Turnbull’s carriage,” said the magistrate.

“I was close to the carriage before the police even saw me,” said Bunce.

“But you tried to force your way round to the door.”

“I used no force till a man had me by the collar to push me back; and I wasn’t violent, not then.  I told him I was doing what I had a right to do,—­and it was that as made him hang on to me.”

“You were not doing what you had a right to do.  You were assisting to create a riot,” said the magistrate, with that indignation which a London magistrate should always know how to affect.