Gladstone had concluded, had
vanished from the House. This was immediately followed by the stampede
of the rest of the House--for by half-past eight everybody was famished
with hunger--and the Chamber was left empty, silent, and dim, with a
suddenness that was startling, disconcerting, and a little
disillusioning. And then it was that the strongest proof was given of
the effect of the speech.
[Sidenote: The outburst.]
The House, I say, became empty--but not altogether. The Irish Benches,
which had become crowded as the great apology for Ireland was being
pronounced, remained still full--full, but silent. There was something
strange, weird, startling in those benches, full and yet silent, amid
all this emptiness and almost audible stillness; and some of the Liberal
members, who had left the House in the mad rush to dinner, quietly stole
back to see what was going to happen. The explanation of the mystery
soon came. After he sat down, ghastly pale, almost painfully panting
after this tremendous effort, Mr. Gladstone tarried a little to recover
himself--to say a few words to Mr. John Morley--to scribble a note. At
last he rose, and then came the moment for which those silent Irish
Benches had been waiting.
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