ritain. To them
Oceana was a living, sentient thing, not merely a glorious name and
expanse. It had squalled in their ears. They could go back to the
beginnings, could witness the whole panorama of the Colonies unroll
itself. They stood for the history of a high endeavour, which had been
nobly crowned. Oft, there had been weary clouds across the sky, not
seldom heavy darkness. But the sun was kept shining, and finally all had
become light. Oceana was grown up, and she gathered the four corners of
her robe into that Windsor audience chamber.

Of the Queen's order Sir George had the simple deliverance, 'It showed
how careful Her Majesty is to manifest a strong consideration for all
those who come in contact with her, a most taking quality in a
Sovereign.' Yet, for the first time in his life, he was to disobey that
Sovereign. Nothing, not even her protest of 'No, no,' could stop him from
getting down on his knees, as if he had been a younger subject. The
infirmities were conquered by his desire to pay to the Queen that
reverence and loyalty which had always been hers. The bonds of age were
burst, although his quaint complaint about himself that very evening was,
'You know I want a minute or two to get in motion.'

Despite bowed shoulders and rusty joints, he still had something of the
lithe, strenuous carriage of his youth. In his dignity of manner, there
almost seemed to you a glimpse of the gallant age when forbears had gone
whistling to the headsman. He was of a line which counted in English
history, which among its women had a Lady Jane Grey. His mother, with the
mother's wistful love and pride, had traced that line for him. He was not
deeply moved, unless by the romance and the tragedy that gathered about
it.

But the aristocrat abode in the democrat, nature's doing. He was of the
people in being whole-souled for them; he was not by them. Verily, he had
been through the winters in their interest. The ripe harvest was in his
hair, which had become thin above a face, rugged with intellect; over a
broad, decisive brow, strewn with furrows. It was a head of uncommon
shape, with bumps and a poise, indicating at once the idealist and the
man of action. There it spoke truly, for Sir George was both; the two
were one in him.

The chief secret of his personality seemed to rest in his eyes, and it
was in them you met the dreamer of dreams. 'So I was often called,' he
would mention, 'and the answer is to hand. Many of the dr