aces of three or
four others, also riding between guards, and Anthony looked eagerly at
them; but they were simple faces enough, a little pale and quiet; one was
like a farmer's, ruddy and bearded;--surely Campion could not be among
those! Then more and more, riding two and two, with a couple of armed
guards with each pair; some looked like country-men or servants, some
like gentlemen, and one or two might be priests; but the crowd seemed to
pay them no attention beyond a glance or two. Ah! what was this coming
behind?

There was a space behind the last row of guards, and then came a separate
troop riding all together, of half a dozen men at least, and one in the
centre, with something white in his hat. The ferment round this group was
tremendous; men were leaping up and yelling, like hounds round a carted
stag; clubs shot up menacingly, and a storm of ceaseless execration raged
outside the compact square of guards who sat alert and ready to beat off
an attack. Once a horse kicked fiercely as a man sprang to his
hind-quarters, and there was a scream of pain and a burst of laughing.

Anthony sat trembling with excitement as the first group had passed, and
this second began to come opposite the entrance where he sat. This then
was the man!

The rider in the centre sat his horse somewhat stiffly, and Anthony saw
that his elbows were bound behind his back, and his hands in front; the
reins were drawn over his horse's head and a pursuivant held them on
either side. The man was dressed as a layman, in a plumed hat and a buff
jerkin, such as soldiers or plain country-gentlemen might use; and in the
hat was a great paper with an inscription. Anthony spelt it out.

"Campion, the Seditious Jesuit."

Then he looked at the man's face.

It was a comely refined face, a little pale but perfectly serene: his
pointed dark brown beard and moustache were carefully trimmed; and his
large passionate eyes looked cheerfully about him. Anthony stared at him,
wholly fascinated; for above the romance that hung about the hunted
priest and the glamour of the dreaded Society which he represented, there
was a chivalrous fearless look in his face that drew the heart of the
young man almost irresistibly. At least he did not look like the skulking
knave at whom all the world was sneering, and of whom Anthony had dreamt
so vividly a few nights before.

The storm of execration from the faces below, and the faces crowding at
the windows, seemed to