On another day Robin saw the Archbishop land at Westminster Stairs.
It was a brilliant day of sunshine as he came up the river-bank, and a
little crowd of folks at the head of the stairs drew his attention. Then
he heard, out of sight, the throb of oars grow louder; then a cry of
command; and, as he reached the head of the stairs and looked over, the
Archbishop, with a cloak thrown over his rochet, was just stepping out
of the huge gilded barge, whose blue-and-silver liveried oarsmen
steadied the vessel, or stood at the salute. It was a gay and dignified
spectacle as he perceived, in spite of his intense antipathy to the
sight of a man who, to him, was no better than an usurper and a deceiver
of the people. Dr. Whitgift, too, was no friend to Catholics: he had,
for instance, deliberately defended the use of the rack against them and
others, unashamed; and in one particular instance, at least, as Bishop
of Worcester, had directed its exercise in the county of Denbigh. These
things were perfectly known, of course, even beyond the seas, to the
priests who were to go on the English mission, in surprising detail.
Robin knew even that this man was wholly ignorant of Greek; he looked at
him carefully as he came up the stairs, and was surprised at the kindly
face of him, thin-lipped, however, though with pleasant, searching eyes.
His coach was waiting outside Old Palace Yard, and Robin, following with
the rest of the little crowd, saluted him respectfully as he climbed
into it, followed by a couple of chaplains.
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