and were gloomily reflected in the sky.
Arriving in the immediate suburbs, they found that almost every house
had chalked upon its door in large characters 'No Popery,' that the
shops were shut, and that alarm and anxiety were depicted in every face
they passed.

Noting these things with a degree of apprehension which neither of the
three cared to impart, in its full extent, to his companions, they
came to a turnpike-gate, which was shut. They were passing through the
turnstile on the path, when a horseman rode up from London at a hard
gallop, and called to the toll-keeper in a voice of great agitation, to
open quickly in the name of God.

The adjuration was so earnest and vehement, that the man, with a lantern
in his hand, came running out--toll-keeper though he was--and was about
to throw the gate open, when happening to look behind him, he exclaimed,
'Good Heaven, what's that! Another fire!'

At this, the three turned their heads, and saw in the distance--straight
in the direction whence they had come--a broad sheet of flame, casting
a threatening light upon the clouds, which glimmered as though the
conflagration were behind them, and showed like a wrathful sunset.

'My mind misgives me,' said the horseman, 'or I know from what far
building those flames come. Don't stand aghast, my good fellow. Open the
gate!'

'Sir,' cried the man, laying his hand upon his horse's bridle as he let
him through: 'I know you now, sir; be advised by me; do not go on. I saw
them pass, and know what kind of men they are. You will be murdered.'

'So be it!' said the horseman, looking intently towards the fire, and
not at him who spoke.

'But sir--sir,' cried the man, grasping at his rein more tightly yet,
'if you do go on, wear the blue riband. Here, sir,' he added, taking one
from his own hat, 'it's necessity, not choice, that makes me wear it;
it's love of life and home, sir. Wear it for this one night, sir; only
for this one night.'

'Do!' cried the three friends, pressing round his horse. 'Mr
Haredale--worthy sir--good gentleman--pray be persuaded.'

'Who's that?' cried Mr Haredale, stooping down to look. 'Did I hear
Daisy's voice?'

'You did, sir,' cried the little man. 'Do be persuaded, sir. This
gentleman says very true. Your life may hang upon it.'

'Are you,' said Mr Haredale abruptly, 'afraid to come with me?'

'I, sir?--N-n-no.'

'Put that riband in your hat. If we meet the rioters, swear that I took
you prisone