“There is something, then, viler than Cromwell,” he went on with a fiendish glee; “there is something more degraded and baser than he. Come, you must confess it, ye moralists, that crime, in white shirts and embroidered laces, is less hideous than that which walks abroad all naked, and with its deformities exposed to the bold light of day.” He looked toward the river, but the light bark which carried Sir Thomas and his party escaped his keen vision: carried along by the force of the current, she shot swiftly as an arrow under the low arches of the first bridge. “Alas!” said Sir Thomas, “what is going on here?” He looked at Margaret and regretted she was there; but she seemed entirely unmoved. Margaret had but one thought, and that admitted of no other. On approaching the Tower they were still more surprised to see an immense crowd assembled and thronging every avenue of approach. The bridges and decks of the vessels were covered with people, and there seemed to be a general commotion and excitement. “Thither she comes,” said some women who were dragging their children after them at the risk of having them crushed by the crowd. “I saw her yesterday,” said another. “She is lovely; the fairest plumes on her head.” “And how her diamonds glittered! You should have seen them.” “Be still there, gabblers!” said a fat man mounted on a cask, leaning against a wall. “You keep me from hearing what they are shouting down yonder.” “My troth! she is more magnificent than the other.” “They say we are to have fountains of wine at the coronation, and a grand show at Westminster Hall.” “All is not gold that glitters,” said the fat man, who appeared to have as much good sense as flesh. He made a sign to a man dressed like himself, who advanced with difficulty through the crowd, pushing his way by dint of effort and perseverance. He seemed to be swimming on a wave of heads, each oscillation of which threw him back in spite of the determined resistance he made. The other, perceiving this, extended his hand to him, and, supporting himself by a bar of iron he found near, he drew his companion up beside him. “Eh! good-day to you, Master Cooping. A famous day, is it not? All this scum goes to drink about five hundred gallons of beer for the monks.” “May they go to the devil!” replied the brewer, “and may they die of thirst! Hark how they yell! Do you know what they are saying? Just now I heard one of them crying: ‘Long live the new chancellor.’ They know no more about the names than the things. This Audley is one of the most adroit knaves the world has ever seen. There is in him, I warrant, enough matter to make a big scoundrel, a good big vender of justice. I have known him as an advocate; and as for the judge, I remember him still.” As he said this he struck the leathern purse he carried in the folds of his belt. “These lawyers are all scoundrels; they watch like thieves in a market for a chance to fleece the poor tradesmen.”