well as from the groups that hurried along under the shelter of the walls; and the air was full of talking and laughter and footsteps.  It meant nothing to her at present, except inextricable confusion:  the gleam of arms as a patrol passed by; the important little group making its way with torches; the dogs that scuffled in the roadway; the party of apprentices 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 apron, following behind.

“It is all well,” he said.  “We can have our rooms and the parlour complete.  These are the ladies,” he added.