"But one not pleasing to the King's Majesty, do you think?" flashed the dark youth who had been their guide.
"No," smiled the other. "I think it would grieve His Majesty even more than the acquittal of the holy fathers——"
The young man laughed; he seemed very excited.
"See you, sir, if you wait awhile you will see a warming-pan burnt—with the pretended Prince of Wales, that Popish brat, within!"
Mr. Sidney interrupted.
"We have a boat to catch at Gravesend, if you could make a passage for us, my friend——"
More than a little flattered at being thus addressed by so fine a gentleman, the youth, by various shouted commands to his companions, elbowings and blows administered in a lively manner, steered Mr. Sidney and the sailor out of the crowd with the same dexterity that he had guided them to the church steps.
On the confines of the press, Mr. Sidney, rather breathless, shook out his mantle and adjusted his hat. The glow from the bonfire cast their shadows long and leaping over the grass. In the distance towards the archery fields and the Mall were other crowds and processions to be seen passing in and out of the trees, and another bonfire was burning in front of the mansion of the Protestant Northumberlands. The air was full of the harsh colour of artificial light, the smell of powder and tar, of burning rag and oil, belching smoke and the crack of squib, rocket and bomb, mingled with noisy shouting of anti-Popish songs and hoarse cheers for the bishops, the Dissenters, and the Protestant succession.
"This must be pleasant music at Whitehall," remarked the sailor, with good-humoured indifference. He was standing now full in the light of the lantern at the corner of the church, and the young man, who had been looking at him with great eagerness, exclaimed softly—
"It is Admiral Herbert!"