The single horseman, clad in a military dress, and
bearing a drawn sword, rode onward as the leader, and, by his fierce
and variegated countenance, appeared like war personified: the red
of one cheek was an emblem of fire and sword; the blackness of the
other betokened the mourning that attends them. In his train were wild
figures in the Indian dress, and many fantastic shapes without a
model, giving the whole march a visionary air, as if a dream had
broken forth from some feverish brain, and were sweeping visibly
through the midnight streets. A mass of people, inactive, except as
applauding spectators, hemmed the procession in; and several women ran
along the side-walk, piercing the confusion of heavier sounds with
their shrill voices of mirth or terror.
"The double-faced fellow has his eye upon me," muttered Robin, with
an indefinite but an uncomfortable idea that he was himself to bear
a part in the pageantry.
The leader turned himself in the saddle, and fixed his glance
full upon the country youth, as the steed went slowly by. When Robin
had freed his eyes from those fiery ones, the musicians were passing
before him, and the torches were close at hand; but the unsteady
brightness of the latter formed a veil which he could not penetrate.
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