received with
profound gravity and respect; bowing very low, and so frequently that
his hat was more off his head than on; and looking up at the houses as
he passed along, with the air of one who was making a public entry, and
yet was not puffed up or proud.

So they rode (to the deep and unspeakable disgust of John Grueby) the
whole length of Whitechapel, Leadenhall Street, and Cheapside, and into
St Paul's Churchyard. Arriving close to the cathedral, he halted; spoke
to Gashford; and looking upward at its lofty dome, shook his head, as
though he said, 'The Church in Danger!' Then to be sure, the bystanders
stretched their throats indeed; and he went on again with mighty
acclamations from the mob, and lower bows than ever.

So along the Strand, up Swallow Street, into the Oxford Road, and thence
to his house in Welbeck Street, near Cavendish Square, whither he was
attended by a few dozen idlers; of whom he took leave on the steps with
this brief parting, 'Gentlemen, No Popery. Good day. God bless you.'
This being rather a shorter address than they expected, was received
with some displeasure, and cries of 'A speech! a speech!' which might
have been complied with, but that John Grueby, making a mad charge upon
them with all three horses, on his way to the stables, caused them to
disperse into the adjoining fields, where they presently fell to
pitch and toss, chuck-farthing, odd or even, dog-fighting, and other
Protestant recreations.

In the afternoon Lord George came forth again, dressed in a black velvet
coat, and trousers and waistcoat of the Gordon plaid, all of the same
Quaker cut; and in this costume, which made him look a dozen times more
strange and singular than before, went down on foot to Westminster.
Gashford, meanwhile, bestirred himself in business matters; with which
he was still engaged when, shortly after dusk, John Grueby entered and
announced a visitor.

'Let him come in,' said Gashford.

'Here! come in!' growled John to somebody without; 'You're a Protestant,
an't you?'

'I should think so,' replied a deep, gruff voice.

'You've the looks of it,' said John Grueby. 'I'd have known you for one,
anywhere.' With which remark he gave the visitor admission, retired, and
shut the door.

The man who now confronted Gashford, was a squat, thickset personage,
with a low, retreating forehead, a coarse shock head of hair, and eyes
so small and near together, that his broken nose alone seemed to
prevent