The men stood aside as the cavalcade began to
go between the booths, and the most of them saluted Mistress Babington.
But as they were almost out of the market they came abreast one of the
inns from whose wide-open doors came a roar of voices from those that
were drinking within, and a group that was gathered on the step stopped
talking as the party came up. Marjorie glanced at them, and noticed
there was an air about two or three of the men that was plainly
town-bred; there was a certain difference in the cut of their clothes
and the way they wore them. Then she saw two or three whispering
together, and the next moment came a brutal shout. She could not catch
the sentence, but she heard the word "Papist" with an adjective, and
caught the unmistakable bullying tone of the man. The next instant there
broke out a confusion: a man dashed up the step from the crowd beneath,
and she caught a glimpse of Dick Sampson's furious face. Then the group
bore back, fighting, into the inn door; the Dethick servant leapt off
his horse, leaving it in some fellow's hands, and vanished up the step;
there was a rush of the crowd after him, and then the way was clear in
front, over the little bridge that spanned Bramble brook.
When she drew level with Alice, she saw her friend's face, pale and
agitated.
"It is the first time I have ever been cried at," she said. "Come; we
are nearly home. There is St. Peter's spire."
"Shall we not--?" began Marjorie.
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