e would vote for Protheroe and
Baillie, and whether he was an anti-reformer or a reformer.

These questions were generally shouted at him and followed by cries and
cheers, so that the reply could not be heard.

Erect and fearless, Gilbert rode on, clearing the way for the carriage,
which contained all that was most precious to him in the world. Had he
turned a hair, or shown the slightest sign of fear, it is probable he
would have had stones hurled at him, or insulting missives, such as
rotten eggs or dead rats, thrown into the carriage. But there was
something in the way Gilbert guided his horse through the throng, and in
the steadfast outlook of his eyes, that won the mob, and not a finger
was raised against him. He even heard cries of "pretty dears!" from
behind.

"It's their father, I daresay. Pretty dears! And that's their mother,
with the youngest. She is as white as a ghostie."

So on they passed safely over Bristol Bridge, through Wine Street, and
Corn Street, narrow thoroughfares, which necessitated at the best of
times, but slow progress.

As they passed along Saint Augustine's Back they left the great
proportion of the crowd on the other side of the river. It was making,
by way of King Street, for Queen's Square, where the great meeting was
to assemble before the Mansion House, and the two whig candidates were
to harangue the people.

The heat of controversy was fanned continually into a fiercer flame; and
moderate men, like Gilbert Arundel, were rare. While desiring any change
which might give the people their just rights, and conscious of many
abuses which needed reform, Gilbert took up no party cry, nor did he try
to exalt his own side by heaping abuse on the other. When the need
came, he would be ready to act for the defence of right and order, but
he stood aloof, with singular discretion, from the hot-headed
politicians of the Union, and thus he was, with many others, innocent of
the great outbreak of lawlessness and riot, which, in a few short
months, was to disgrace the annals of the city of Bristol.

The great thoroughfare of Park Street was comparatively empty, and
Gilbert reined in his horse and rode by the side of the carriage.

"We are nearly home now," he said; "and there you will be safe. Is
anything the matter?" he asked, leaning forward to Joyce.

"I will tell you," she said, in a low voice, "but not now." And then the
carriage turned into Great George Street, and the children and Jo