And she turned to beckon the servants to draw up closer behind.

* * * * *

The square was indeed crowded as they came in.  From all the country round, and especially from Dovedale, the farmers came in on this day, or sent their wives, for the selling of cheeses; and the small oblong of the market—­the smaller from its great Conduit and Cross—­was full with rows of stalls and carts, with four lanes only left along the edges by which the traffic might pass; and even here the streams of passengers forced the horses to go in single file.  Groups of men—­farmers’ servants who had driven in the carts, or walked with the pack-beasts—­to whom this day was a kind of feast, stood along the edges of the booths eyeing all who went by.  The inns, too, were doing a roaring trade, and it was from one of these that the only offensive comment was made.

Mistress Babington rode first, as suited her dignity, preceded by one of the Dethick men whom they had taken up on their way, and who had pushed forward when they came into the town to clear the road; and Mistress Manners rode after her.  The men stood aside as the cavalcade began to go between the booths, and the most of them saluted Mistress Babington.  But as they were almost out of the market they came abreast one of the inns from whose wide-open doors came a roar of voices from those that were drinking within, and a group that was gathered on the step stopped talking as the party came up.  Marjorie glanced at them, and noticed there was an air about two or three of the men that was plainly town-bred; there was a certain difference in the cut of their clothes and the way they wore them.  Then she saw two or three whispering together, and the next moment came a brutal shout.  She could not catch the sentence, but she heard the word “Papist” with an adjective, and caught the unmistakable bullying tone of the man.  The next instant there broke out a confusion:  a man dashed up the step from the crowd beneath, and she caught a glimpse of Dick Sampson’s furious face.  Then the group bore back, fighting, into the inn door; the Dethick servant leapt off his horse, leaving it in some fellow’s hands, and vanished up the step; there was a rush of the crowd after him, and then the way was clear in front, over the little bridge that spanned Bramble brook.

When she drew level with Alice, she saw her friend’s face, pale and agitated.

“It is the first time I have ever been cried at,” she said.  “Come; we are nearly home.  There is St. Peter’s spire.”

“Shall we not—?” began Marjorie.

“No, no” (and the pale face tightened suddenly).  “My fellows will give them a lesson.  The crowd is on our side as yet.”

IV

As they rode in under the archway that led in beside the great doors of Babington House, three or four grooms ran forward at once.  It was plain that their coming was looked far with some eagerness.