He had arranged to meet Sebastian in the Plaza, near noon, if Sebastian could get leave from the ration party--and it was there he now proceeded with Captain Stout. The matter of his passage was settled--Captain Stout had offered it, before he had had time to speak. He mentioned Sebastian. "Body servant, too, I'm sure," said Captain Stout, amicably, and Andrew thought it best not to explain further at present. He looked at Captain Stout as they walked along, trying to read his political opinions in his face, but he could make nothing out of those weathered features. Fooling the Governor or letting him fool himself was one thing; he did not like the idea of fooling Captain Stout. But then, even yet--was he quite sure of his own intent? He had been quite sure; but in the Governor's room, with its air of power and order long established, the old colors of things had crept back to them insensibly, making a world where rebels were rebels and no gentleman in his wits thought of fighting for anything but a king. He sighed, cursing himself for a vacillation he could not help--habit and custom are strong chains. But he was a shopkeeper's son, not a gentleman in his wits ... oh, well, look at the people in the streets and put off thinking for a while. The narrow streets were crowded with people going to the Plaza; when they came to the Plaza, it was crowded too. "Is this a fiesta day?' he asked of his companion. "Not exactly," said the captain, slowly. "They ware talking about burning some Guy Fawkses or something--I'm as glad my boys are on board except for the boat's crew--" Then Andrew remembered. The demonstration of loyalty. He saw a pile of wood in the center of the square and was horribly reminded of another such pile of wood he had helped to build. His heart began to pound. He wanted to get away. But Sebastian must be found first--ah, there he was, standing in the mouth of an alleyway. Andrew threw up his hand and called out over the sea of heads. Sebastian heard him, turned, waved back, and started to worm his way toward them, as a ragged shout went up from the other side of the square. A drum was beating, a voice was calling, "Make way! Make way!" The crowd chattered and jostled. From the cramped mouth of the street on the other side of the square a procession debouched, the crowd fell away before it. Andrew felt Captain Stout's grip tighten on his arm. Now the head of the procession was out in the square itself--a rout of men dressed in sorry rags of carnival. Some had faces blacked with soot, like boys on Guy Fawkes' Day, others wore painted ludicrous masks. They were singing and shouting--the crowd roared its approval--the front ranks pressed back on the toes of those behind to leave a clear path to the woodpile in the center.