Fairy and Rex managed to get a corner of the balcony to themselves, from which she tried to explain the various costumes, oftener, as Rex told her, discovering the original people than the characters they were intended to represent. These two alone were not impatient for the procession to pass, being so much occupied with themselves as to pay but little attention to what was going on in the street. Occasionally a grand excitement was caused by the rolling past of a lighted tar-barrel, which illuminated the whole street, its attendant youths, many of whom were dressed like demons, looking in their black masks and asses’ ears more like fiends than men as they lashed their blazing barrels with their torches, sending the sparks far and wide. “This is the Bournemer barrel, and that is Charlie with an axe, dressed as an executioner. I made his black mask for him. Look, Rex,” cried Fairy, as another and the last of the barrels rolled into the Market-place, to return presently with the procession. A few minutes later there passed a riotous group of violent anti-papists, bearing a banner with “No popery” on it, carried reluctantly by a scarlet woman, or rather a man dressed in woman’s clothes of bright red, supposed to represent the Church of Rome. On one side of her was a man in Geneva gown and bands, on the other another in a long surplice, hood, and stole, carrying a large book, and these two, with a great deal of rough horseplay, kept the scarlet woman up to the mark. This centre group was surrounded by men and boys carrying torches and screaming, “Down with popery!” at the top of their voices. “That group will have a row before they are satisfied,” said Rex, turning away, and looking in the opposite direction, as the group passed on to the Market-place. “But look, Fairy, who is this good-looking man masquerading without a mask as a shepherd? See, he is looking up here,” said Rex. Fairy looked, and saw by the light of the torches cast behind by the anti-papist group, a tall, handsome man, dressed in a smock-frock and carrying a crook, a face which, in spite of a beard and moustache, she knew very well. “Why, Rex, it is Jack; it is, it is! I must speak to him. Jack, Jack, where do you come from? Come up and speak to me directly. Fancy Jack being here! I must go, Rex, and let him in. Oh, Mr. Leslie, here is Jack!” and Fairy ran into the drawing-room, the red shawl falling off her head, and her beautiful hair, which was disarranged by the shawl, streaming down her shoulders in wild confusion. Her cheeks were flushed with excitement, her great brown eyes sparkling with delight, as she went forward with both hands outstretched, to meet Jack at the top of the stairs.