so weighty a matter. Yet the
words of Sir Robert Catesby are well balanced, and the time draws nigh
when this same James Stuart shall know that there yet remain good
Catholics in England. Sir Thomas Winter----"

"Ah! Sir Thomas Winter!" broke in Digsby, "the hour is long past and
he is yet absent."

"There be some good reason," said Wright quickly. "Sir Thomas is too
good a Catholic, too earnest in the undertaking which will yet free us
from the heretic, to absent himself willingly. And," turning to
Catesby with hand extended, "I thank thee that thou hast thus spoken
so boldly; would there were more like thee to arouse the Catholics of
our country."

The frown passed as a cloud from the brow of the elder conspirator.

"Forgive me!" cried he, "if my words bore too much of the flame of
impatience and too little of that unity which should ever be between
us. As to Sir Winter, fear nothing; even now, I warrant he is on his
way hither, having perhaps been delayed by some slight adventure, for
the times are troublous and after nightfall a gentleman may not walk
with perfect safety through the streets of London."

As though in answer to this confidence, the speaker had scarcely
finished, when there sounded through the house three muffled raps, and
Percy, uttering an exclamation, hastily left the room.

"It may, indeed, be Winter," said Digsby, "or, perchance, Rookwood,
although he made known to me but yesterday, that certain business
demanded his presence in the country."

The sound of the opening and closing of the street door precluded a
reply. There was a clatter of feet upon the stairs, and into the room
came Percy, followed by two men whose forms and features were
concealed by their huge cloaks.

The three at the table arose hurriedly, each with hand upon the hilt
of his sword, but the words of one of the new comers changed their
look of alarm into one of welcome.

"Faith!" cried he who pressed close behind Percy, "wherefore would you
be so ready to draw blades at the coming of a comrade? Come! Sir
Robert Catesby, and thou Wright, and Digsby, seest not that the cold
hath well nigh overcome me? Wine, therefore, wine, that we may pledge
each other in our venture."

So saying, Sir Thomas Winter cast aside his cloak, revealing a figure
clad in doublet and hosen of somber brown, offset by slashes of
cardinal, and the gilt of the sword belt which girded his hips.

"Welcome!" cried the others, crowding about him, "