s singing
together loudly, with linked arms, plunging up a side street; the hooded
women chattering together with gestures beneath a low-hung roof; the
calling, from side to side of the twisting street; the bargaining of the
sellers at the stalls--all this, with the rattle of their own horses'
feet and the jingling of the bits, combined only to make a noisy and
brilliant spectacle without sense or signification.
Mistress Alice glanced at her, smiling.
"You are tired," she said; "we are nearly there. That is St. Paul's on
the right."
Ah! that gave her peace....
They were turning off from the main street just as her friend spoke; but
she had time to catch a glimpse of what appeared at first sight a mere
gulf of darkness, and then, as they turned, resolved itself into a vast
and solemn pile, grey-lined against black. Lights burned far across the
wide churchyard, as well as in the windows of the high houses that
crowned the wall, and figures moved against the glow, tiny as dolls....
Then she remembered again: how God had once been worshipped there
indeed, in the great house built to His honour, but was no longer so
worshipped. Or, if it were the same God, as some claimed, at least the
character of Him was very differently conceived....
* * * * *
The "Red Bull" again increased her sense of rest; since all inns are
alike. A curved archway opened on the narrow street; and beneath this
they rode, to find themselves in a paved court, already lighted,
surrounded by window-pierced walls, and high galleries to right and
left. The stamping of horses from the further end; and, almost
immediately, the appearance of a couple of hostlers, showed where the
stables lay. Beside it she could see through the door of the
brightly-lit bake-house.
She was terribly stiff, as she found when she limped up the three or
four stairs that led up to the door of the living-part of the inn; and
she was glad enough to sit down in a wide, low parlour with her friend
as Mr. Babington went in search of the host. The room was lighted only
by a fire leaping in the chimney; and she could make out little, except
that pieces of stuff hung upon the walls, and a long row of metal
vessels and plates were ranged in a rack between the windows.
"It is a quiet inn," said Alice. Marjorie nodded again. She was too
tired to speak; and almost immediately Anthony came back, with a tall,
clean-shaven, middle-aged man, in an apr
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