By-and-by the gladness in the faces of the populace changed a little, and became touched with a something like solicitude or anxiety:  an abatement in the volume of the applause was observable too.  The Lord Protector was quick to notice these things:  he was as quick to detect the cause.  He spurred to the King’s side, bent low in his saddle, uncovered, and said—­

“My liege, it is an ill time for dreaming.  The people observe thy downcast head, thy clouded mien, and they take it for an omen.  Be advised:  unveil the sun of royalty, and let it shine upon these boding vapours, and disperse them.  Lift up thy face, and smile upon the people.”

So saying, the Duke scattered a handful of coins to right and left, then retired to his place.  The mock King did mechanically as he had been bidden.  His smile had no heart in it, but few eyes were near enough or sharp enough to detect that.  The noddings of his plumed head as he saluted his subjects were full of grace and graciousness; the largess which he delivered from his hand was royally liberal:  so the people’s anxiety vanished, and the acclamations burst forth again in as mighty a volume as before.

Still once more, a little before the progress was ended, the Duke was obliged to ride forward, and make remonstrance.  He whispered—­

“O dread sovereign! shake off these fatal humours; the eyes of the world are upon thee.”  Then he added with sharp annoyance, “Perdition catch that crazy pauper! ’twas she that hath disturbed your Highness.”

The gorgeous figure turned a lustreless eye upon the Duke, and said in a dead voice—­

“She was my mother!”

“My God!” groaned the Protector as he reined his horse backward to his post, “the omen was pregnant with prophecy.  He is gone mad again!”

Chapter XXXII.  Coronation Day.

Let us go backward a few hours, and place ourselves in Westminster Abbey, at four o’clock in the morning of this memorable Coronation Day.  We are not without company; for although it is still night, we find the torch-lighted galleries already filling up with people who are well content to sit still and wait seven or eight hours till the time shall come for them to see what they may not hope to see twice in their lives —­the coronation of a King.  Yes, London and Westminster have been astir ever since the warning guns boomed at three o’clock, and already crowds of untitled rich folk who have bought the privilege of trying to find sitting-room in the galleries are flocking in at the entrances reserved for their sort.