There was a flourish of trumpets within; and the Prince’s uncle, the future great Duke of Somerset, emerged from the gateway, arrayed in a ’doublet of black cloth-of-gold, and a cloak of crimson satin flowered with gold, and ribanded with nets of silver.’  He turned, doffed his plumed cap, bent his body in a low reverence, and began to step backward, bowing at each step.  A prolonged trumpet-blast followed, and a proclamation, “Way for the high and mighty the Lord Edward, Prince of Wales!” High aloft on the palace walls a long line of red tongues of flame leapt forth with a thunder-crash; the massed world on the river burst into a mighty roar of welcome; and Tom Canty, the cause and hero of it all, stepped into view and slightly bowed his princely head.

He was ’magnificently habited in a doublet of white satin, with a front-piece of purple cloth-of-tissue, powdered with diamonds, and edged with ermine.  Over this he wore a mantle of white cloth-of-gold, pounced with the triple-feathered crest, lined with blue satin, set with pearls and precious stones, and fastened with a clasp of brilliants.  About his neck hung the order of the Garter, and several princely foreign orders;’ and wherever light fell upon him jewels responded with a blinding flash.  O Tom Canty, born in a hovel, bred in the gutters of London, familiar with rags and dirt and misery, what a spectacle is this!

Chapter X. The Prince in the toils.

We left John Canty dragging the rightful prince into Offal Court, with a noisy and delighted mob at his heels.  There was but one person in it who offered a pleading word for the captive, and he was not heeded; he was hardly even heard, so great was the turmoil.  The Prince continued to struggle for freedom, and to rage against the treatment he was suffering, until John Canty lost what little patience was left in him, and raised his oaken cudgel in a sudden fury over the Prince’s head.  The single pleader for the lad sprang to stop the man’s arm, and the blow descended upon his own wrist.  Canty roared out—­

“Thou’lt meddle, wilt thou?  Then have thy reward.”

His cudgel crashed down upon the meddler’s head:  there was a groan, a dim form sank to the ground among the feet of the crowd, and the next moment it lay there in the dark alone.  The mob pressed on, their enjoyment nothing disturbed by this episode.

Presently the Prince found himself in John Canty’s abode, with the door closed against the outsiders.  By the vague light of a tallow candle which was thrust into a bottle, he made out the main features of the loathsome den, and also the occupants of it.  Two frowsy girls and a middle-aged woman cowered against the wall in one corner, with the aspect of animals habituated to harsh usage, and expecting and dreading it now.  From another corner stole a withered hag with streaming grey hair and malignant eyes.  John Canty said to this one—­