The maze
of narrow streets of high black and white houses with their iron-work
signs, leaning forward as if to whisper to one another, leaving strips of
sky overhead; the strange play of lights and shades after nightfall; the
fantastic groups; the incessant roar and rumble of the crowded
alleys--all the commonplace life of London was like an enchanted picture
to her, opening a glimpse into an existence of which she had known
nothing.
To live, too, in the whirl of news that poured in day after day borne by
splashed riders and panting horses;--this was very different to the slow
round of country life, with rumours and tales floating in, mellowed by
doubt and lapse of time, like pensive echoes from another world. For
example, morning by morning, as she came downstairs to dinner, there was
the ruddy-faced Alderman with his fresh budget of news of the
north;--Lords Northumberland and Westmoreland with a Catholic force of
several thousands, among which were two cousins of Mrs. Marrett
herself--and the old lady nodded her head dolorously in
corroboration--had marched southwards under the Banner of the Five
Wounds, and tramped through Durham City welcomed by hundreds of the
citizens; the Cathedral had been entered, old Richard Norton with the
banner leading; the new Communion table had been cast out of doors, the
English Bible and Prayer-book torn to shreds, the old altar reverently
carried in from the rubbish heap, the tapers rekindled, and amid
hysterical enthusiasm Mass had been said once more in the old sanctuary.
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