red the armoury.
The company had much decreased: one and another every now and then
dropped off stealthily, doubtful of what was coming, though Catesby and
Sir Everard rode pistol in hand, warning them that all who sought to
steal away would be shot without quarter. Percy, Grant, John Wright,
and Morgan, were placed behind for the same purpose. As the party rode
towards Hewell Grange, they asked all whom they met to join them. The
usual response was--

"We are for King James; if you go for him, then will we have with you."

To this the conspirators were wont to reply--"We go for God and the
country."

But the shrewd Worcestershire peasants declined to commit themselves to
anything so vague as this.

At last they came to an old countryman, to whom they addressed their
customary appeal. The old man planted his staff firmly in front of him,
and set his back against a wall.

"I am for King James," he said, "for whom I will live and die."

Upon this the disloyalty of the company was plainly manifested by shouts
of "Kill him! kill him!" But there was no time to stop for that, which
probably saved the brave old loyalist's life.

Upon leaving Hewell, the conspirators rode up to the houses of all the
Roman Catholic gentry in the neighbourhood, and summoned their owners to
join them for God and the Church. But sore disappointments met them on
every side. From door after door they were driven with horror and
contumely--were openly told that "they had brought ruin on the Catholic
cause."

"Not one man came to take our part," is their lament, "though we had
expected so many." To add to their misery, the rain began to pour down
in torrents; one after another deserted them as they fled: and when at
last in the darkness the heath was passed, and Holbeach House was
reached, instead of the gallant company of eighty well-accoutred troops
who had left Norbrook the morning before, there crept into the
court-yard only eighteen wet and weary men, who had lost all, including
honour.

Holbeach House was about two miles from Stourbridge, and was the home of
Stephen Littleton, one of the latest to join the plot. Here the
worn-out men slept--the last sleep for some of them.

So weary and worn-out were they, that they sank to sleep just as they
were, in the dining-room--some pillowing their heads on the table,
others casting themselves on the floor. At this very unsuitable moment,
it seemed good to Mr John Winter to inquire o