by little, in the present case, dissolved the glittering crowd
that stood about Tom Canty and clustered it together again in the
neighbourhood of the new-comer. Tom Canty stood almost alone.
Now ensued a brief season of deep suspense and waiting–during
which even the few faint hearts still remaining near Tom Canty
gradually scraped together courage enough to glide, one by one,
over to the majority. So at last Tom Canty, in his royal robes
and jewels, stood wholly alone and isolated from the world, a
conspicuous figure, occupying an eloquent vacancy.
Now the Lord St. John was seen returning. As he advanced up the
mid-aisle the interest was so intense that the low murmur of
conversation in the great assemblage died out and was succeeded by
a profound hush, a breathless stillness, through which his
footfalls pulsed with a dull and distant sound. Every eye was
fastened upon him as he moved along. He reached the platform,
paused a moment, then moved toward Tom Canty with a deep
obeisance, and said–
“Sire, the Seal is not there!”
A mob does not melt away from the presence of a plague-patient
with more haste than the band of pallid and terrified courtiers
melted away from the presence of the shabby little claimant of the
Crown. In a moment he stood all alone, without friend or
supporter, a target upon which was concentrated a bitter fire of
scornful and angry looks. The Lord Protector called out fiercely-
–
“Cast the beggar into the street, and scourge him through the
town–the paltry knave is worth no more consideration!”
Officers of the guard sprang forward to obey, but Tom Canty waved
them off and said–
“Back! Whoso touches him perils his life!”
The Lord Protector was perplexed in the last degree. He said to
the Lord St. John–
“Searched you well?–but it boots not to ask that. It doth seem
passing strange. Little things, trifles, slip out of one’s ken,
and one does not think it matter for surprise; but how so bulky a
thing as the Seal of England can vanish away and no man be able to
get track of it again–a massy golden disk–”
Tom Canty, with beaming eyes, sprang forward and shouted–
“Hold, that is enough! Was it round?–and thick?–and had it
letters and devices graved upon it?–yes? Oh, NOW I know what
this Great Seal is that there’s been such worry and pother about.
An’ ye had described it to me, ye could have had it three weeks
ago. Right well I know where it lies; but it was not I that put
it there–first.”
“Who, then, my liege?” asked the Lord Protector.
“He that stands there–the rightful King of England. And he shall
tell you himself where it lies–then you will believe he knew it
of his own knowledge. Bethink thee, my King–spur thy memory–it
was the last, the very LAST thing thou didst that day before thou
didst rush forth from the palace, clothed in my rags, to punish
the soldier that insulted me.”
A silence ensued, undisturbed by a movement or a whisper, and all
eyes were fixed upon the new-comer, who stood, with bent head and
corrugated brow, groping in his memory among a thronging multitude
of valueless recollections for one single little elusive fact,
which, found, would seat him upon a throne–unfound, would leave
him as he was, for good and all–a pauper and an outcast. Moment
after moment passed–the moments built themselves into minutes–
still the boy struggled silently on, and gave no sign. But at
last he heaved a sigh, shook his head slowly, and said, with a
trembling lip and in a despondent voice–
“I call the scene back–all of it–but the Seal hath no place in
it.” He paused, then looked up, and said with gentle dignity, “My
lords and gentlemen, if ye will rob your rightful sovereign of his
own for lack of this evidence which he is not able to furnish, I
may not stay ye, being powerless. But–”
“Oh, folly, oh, madness, my King!” cried Tom Canty, in a panic,
“wait!–think! Do not give up!–the cause is not lost! Nor SHALL
be, neither! List to what I say–follow every word–I am going to