Already the crowd was dividing from end to end, ranging
itself on either side--farmers' men shambled out of the way and turned
to see; women clambered on the carts holding up their children to see,
and from across the square came country-folk running, that they too
might see. The steps of the Cross were already crowded with sightseers.
Yet, to outward sight, the little procession was ordinary enough. First
came three or four of the town-guard in livery, carrying their staves;
then half a dozen sturdy fellows; then a couple of dignified
gentlemen--one of them she knew: Mr. Roger Columbell, magistrate of the
town--and then, walking all alone, the figure of a man, tall and thin, a
little rustily, but very cleanly dressed in a dark suit, who carried his
head stooping forward as if he were looking on the ground for something,
or as if he deprecated so much notice.
Marjorie saw no more than this clearly. She did not notice the group of
men that followed in case protection were needed for the agent of the
Council, nor the crowd that swirled behind. For, as the solitary figure
came beneath the windows she recognised the man whom she had seen once
in the Tower of London.
"God smite the man!" growled a voice in her ear. "That is Topcliffe,
going to the prison, I daresay."
And as Marjorie turned her pale face back, she saw the face of kindly
Mr. Bassett, suffused and convulsed with fury.
CHAPTER IX
I
"Marjorie! Marjorie! Wake up! the order hath come.
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