WHEN Tom Canty awoke the next morning, the air was heavy with a

Thunderous murmur; all the distances were charged with it. It was music to

Him; for it meant that the English world was out in its strength to give loyal

Welcome to the great day.

Presently Tom found himself once more the chief figure in a wonderful

floating pageant on the Thames; for by ancient custom the 'recognition

procession' through London must start from the Tower, and he was bound

Thither.

When he arrived there, the sides of the venerable fortress seemed suddenly

Rent in a thousand places, and from every rent leaped a red tongue of flame

And a white gush of smoke; a deafening explosion followed, which drowned

The shoutings of the multitude, and made the ground tremble; the flame-jets,

The smoke, and the explosions were repeated over and over again with

Marvelous celerity, so that in a few moments the old Tower disappeared in the

Vast fog of its own smoke, all but the very top of the tall pile called the White

Tower; this, with its banners, stood out above the dense bank of vapor as a

Mountain peak projects above a cloud-rack.

Tom Canty, splendidly arrayed, mounted a prancing war-steed, whose rich

trappings almost reached to the ground; his 'uncle,' the Lord Protector

Somerset, similarly mounted, took place in his rear; the King's Guard formed