Chapter V

GUILTY!" "Condemned to death!" "Hector D'Estrange a woman!" The words have passed through the court, along the corridors, and out into the street beyond, where the crowds press eagerly forward to hear the news. It is received at first with astonishment and incredulity. Some people call it a hoax, others laugh at the statement as a wild improbability, and wonder what the real truth is. But even as they discuss the rumour, a movement is visible opposite the court, as an officer of the White Guards' Regiment makes her appearance outside. An orderly mounted on a grey horse is holding an empty-saddled white one in readiness, and as the officer makes her appearance, brings the steed alongside the steps leading up to the entrance.

The officer is no stranger to the crowd. Flora Desmond's features are well known to it. Is she not the leader of Hector D'Estrange's especial regiment, a regiment entirely drawn from the women of "the people"? Whatever may be the feeling of the middle-class and a portion of that one which claims to rank above it, in regard to Hector D'Estrange, one thing is certain, that amidst the poor and the needy, amidst the suffering and the struggling, that name is a talisman to conjure by.

She comes down the steps hurriedly, and mounts her horse in haste. The crowd sways and presses towards her in spite of the efforts of large numbers of police to repress them.

"The verdict?" they shout inquiringly. "Tell us the verdict!"

She stands up in her stirrups and looks at that sea of faces. Enemies there may be amongst them, hundreds, perhaps, antagonistic to Hector D'Estrange, but amidst the rough faces of the thousands that press around her, she knows that the majority are true as steel.

"Guilty!" she calls out. "He is condemned to die I I mistake the people, however, if they will believe the verdict or acquiesce in the sentence. Say you, whom he loves, whose hard lot he has struggled to raise, will you permit it?"

"Never!" comes the fierce shout from hundreds, nay, thousands of throats."Hector D'Estrange shall not die!"

"I knew it," she replies proudly." Justice shall be upheld. I knew the people would be true to him, men as well as women. He shall not die!"

They cheer and cheer again as she makes her way through the crowd followed by her orderly. It gives room to her willingly, and opens a passage for her horse. She rides along rapidly in the direction of a quiet side street, well away from the thronging crowd of people. Even as she does so the rumbling wheels of the prison-van strike on her ear. She can see it approaching, surrounded by a strong force of police, and as she does so, she urges on her horse.

Flora Desmond passes rapidly along the quiet, deserted street, until she nearly reaches the end, and then turns her horse down a narrow alley leading therefrom. This brings her into a wide, spacious yard, around which a big square building is built, in the centre of which is a large archway with strong iron gates, guarded by two mounted sentries. They salute her as she rides up, and the iron gates are unlocked at once. She rides through them, and enters what appears to be an immense riding-school, in which are drawn up a hundred troopers of the White Regiment. Her eye scans them keenly and rapidly. They are in perfect order, and look fit for any work. Every face is turned towards her.

"Hector D'Estrange has been declared guilty," she says in a clear, distinct voice,"and is condemned to die! I am here to lead you to his rescue. If anyone is to die, it shall be we who will do so, not him. Follow me, guards. There is not a moment to be lost."

She places herself at their head. They pass out into the courtyard, and the gates are locked behind them. The sentries fall into their places, and the troopers, six abreast, follow in the wake of their gallant-hearted leader. At a smart trot they pass down the quiet street. In the distance they can hear the roar of the crowd, which is cheering loudly; and they know that Hector D'Estrange is being removed to the prison from which his accusers hope never again to see him issue.

They are nearing the crowd now, for it is surging their way. The prison-van is coming along at a smart pace, guarded by its bevy of policemen. It is not a hundred yards from where Flora Desmond, at the head of her hundred and two guards, sits motionless on her horse, for she has called a halt, and is awaiting their coming.

Suddenly she stands up in her stirrups and turns to her troopers. At the same moment she draws her sword.

"Forward!"she cries, waving it above her head. "Forward, guards of his regiment; rescue him or die!"

She has put her horse in motion as she speaks, and with the rush of a whirlwind the White Guards bear down upon the prison-van. The policemen catch sight of them coming, and close around it manfully. The driver whips up the horses, and urges them along at a canter."Of what avail?" The White Guards are upon them; nothing can withstand the charge. It is the work of a moment.

"Sever the traces; cut the horses loose!" shouts Flora Desmond, as she gallops up alongside one of the animals, and, seizing its rein, brings it up onto its haunches, one of the troopers doing likewise by the other.

They obey her promptly and rapidly, while the remainder engage the police escort, who resist gallantly. "Of what avail?" The crowd has closed round, willing and eager to assist in the work of rescue. The odds are too great to allow the representatives of law and order to prevail.

Twice over Flora Desmond has summoned the policeman inside to unlock the door of the van, but he stands to his guns and refuses. "If you do not,"she cries, "I shall be forced to fire through the lock until I break it, and the bullets may injure you. Come, man, no use resisting now."

But the policeman is staunch in the performance of what he considers his duty, and remains firm in his determination not to betray his trust.
 

“Then throw yourself flat on the ground, my man," again calls out Flora Desmond," for I am going to fire."

She pauses for a moment to give him time to obey, then raises a revolver, and fires once, twice, thrice through the lock, which gives way at last. The crowd cheers loudly, the door of the van is flung open, and in a moment Flora Desmond is beside Gloria de Lara.

"Thank God!" she exclaims. "Here, come this way. I have a horse all ready for you."
 

The policeman is lying motionless on the floor of the van. The two step across him, and pass quickly out of the wheeled prison. As they do so the people press forward to welcome their hero, for to them, in spite of the rumours, Gloria de Lara is still Hector D'Estrange. She has mounted her horse, and raised her hand to enjoin silence. The police escort has been overcome; its members are passively accepting what to them is the inevitable. They have sought to do their duty. They can do no more.

"Friends," she calls out in the voice they know and love so well,"I have been unjustly accused and unjustly condemned. If it were not so, I would not accept the rescue brought me by my faithful women guards, aided by your kindly and generous devotion. My enemies are those who would fight against true progress, and the abolition of scandals and wrongs which must destroy this great nation with their wickedness, unless abolished in time. I have sought to probe to their root these scandals and these wrongs, have sought to submit to you the quickest and surest way to remedy them. I tell you that the greatest evils we have to face are the social ones. To them I ascribe all the sufferings and sins of the poor, the sins and false position of the rich. There are bad laws which must be done away with, good ones which must be set up to accomplish such social reform. Before you can do this you must set Nature on an even footing, and do away with the artificial barriers which you have raised against woman's progress and advancement; for until she has the same powers and opportunities as man, a thorough and exhaustive reform of the evils which afflict Society, will never be efficiently undertaken.

"And now, my friends, we are on the eve of a great revolution. If the people will stand by me, I will stand by them. Let us loyally determine to carry this great question to a successful issue, nor rest till it has been accomplished. I am going to trust myself amongst those whom I have ever loved, whose condition I have sought to raise. Yet ere doing so, I have one confession to make to you. Hector D'Estrange, whose advancement has been rapid and unparalleled almost in the annals of statesmanship, must be no longer known to you under that name. The time has come when I must confess myself. Before you you see one of the despised and feeble sex, the unfitted to rule, the inferior of man. I am a woman! Henceforth I am no longer Hector D'Estrange, but Gloria de Lara."