r
the blow of a swinging axe. Fawkes, their unhappy tool, was already in
the grip of the avenging power; and was tasting a more bitter gall
than that of torture and death, for that he had, with his own hand,
shed the blood of his well-beloved daughter, but not one drop of the
heretic blood he so thirsted to spill.

CHAPTER XXIV.

"IN THE KING'S NAME."

The bomb having exploded so unexpectedly in the camp of the
conspirators, Fawkes a prisoner in the hands of the government, which,
following the custom of the day, would probably under torture wring
from him a confession, the gentlemen who had been so zealous in the
cause had now no thought but of flight. So sudden had been the
exposure of their plot--laid bare to the eyes of all England at the
eleventh hour--that the bold plans for a well-regulated defense were
overthrown completely, and could not be carried out in any degree.
Garnet, indeed, was for the time safe, his hiding place unknown to the
authorities, and did Fawkes resist with physical and moral force the
torture, the Jesuit might not become involved in the consequences of
his treason. But Catesby, Percy, the two Winters and others stood in
the shadow of the scaffold. That no mercy would be measured out to
them was beyond peradventure. Though of brave spirit, they feared, and
could but flee before, the anger of the law.

It was indeed a pitiful and chagrined body of horsemen who, hurrying
through Worcestershire and the adjoining county, sought to hide
themselves from the King's officers. Pausing in their mad flight, they
rifled the house of Lord Windsor, taking such arms and armor as best
suited their needs. Close after them rode the soldiers of the King
incited by promise of reward and honor did they capture and deliver
the little band into the hands of Salisbury and his ministers. One
face was missing from among those fleeing for their lives in such wild
haste. Catesby, Percy, my Lord of Rookwood, the two Wrights, Grant,
Morgan and Robert Keyes rode side by side, but Thomas Winter, he who
had summoned Fawkes from Spain, was absent. Small need of words
between the proscribed conspirators. A single purpose was in each
heart--to escape those in pursuit.

As dull night drew on, the horses jaded, their riders fainting from
fatigue and fear, the luckless gentlemen reached Holbeach, the house
of Stephen Littleton. The early stars were twinkling in the gray vault
of heaven when lights from the welcome a