And there, standing by the open casement, commanding some extended
view of the noisy and crowded scene beyond, both on stream and land,
he saw the queen of the fugitive monarch. By her side was the Lady
Scrope, her most familiar friend and confidant, her three infant
children, Elizabeth, Mary, and Cicely, grouped round her knees,
playing with each other, and unconscious of the terrors of the times;
and apart from the rest stood the Duchess of Bedford, conferring
eagerly with Friar Bungey, whom she had summoned in haste, to know if
his art could not yet prevail over enemies merely mortal.

The servitor announced Alwyn, and retired; the queen turned--"What
news, Master Alwyn? Quick! What tidings from the lord mayor?"

"Gracious my queen and lady," said Alwyn, falling on his knees, "you
have but one course to pursue. Below yon casement lies your barge, to
the right see the round gray tower of Westminster Sanctuary; you have
time yet, and but time!"

The old Duchess of Bedford turned her sharp, bright, gray eyes from
the pale and trembling friar to the goldsmith, but was silent. The
queen stood aghast. "Mean you," she faltered, at last, "that the city
of London forsakes the king? Shame on the cravens!"

"Not cravens, my lady and queen," said Alwyn, rising. "He must have
iron nails that scratches a bear,--and the white bear above all. The
king has fled, the barons have fled, the soldiers have fled, the
captains have fled,--the citizens of London alone fly not; but there
is nothing save life and property left to guard."