on
the railing. The headless trunk was flung without ceremony into a cart
which was in waiting.

Again the procession formed; once more a victim knelt; the axe fell,
and another head stared down upon the throng below.

A ripple of expectancy again broke forth. Two had died; the next must
be the one for whom they waited. All strained their necks in eagerness
to catch the first glimpse as he should be led forth, and this was the
sight for which they had longed:--

A man unable to stand alone; his form, weakened by torture and
sickness, was dragged up the steps and stood confronting them. His
arms were not bound, for they hung lifeless. Those who stood near
could understand the absence of fetters; there was nothing upon which
to clasp them, save a mass of crushed bones, in many places stripped
of flesh by the cruel cords of the rack. He seemed quite oblivious of
his surroundings, turned his head neither to the right nor to the
left, but gazed past the headsman--past his captors--and far beyond
the sea of upturned faces. His lips were seen to move, but only those
who supported him could catch the words:--"In a moment, my little
one!" he whispered; "thy father will soon kiss thy sweet lips--and
then--we will love each other, and in that love forget all----"

They hurried him toward the block and were obliged to place his head
upon it; his weakness was so great that he would have fallen had they
not supported him. His guards drew back, the axe, already lifted, was
about to descend, when, the poor limp figure slipped and fell with a
thud to the floor, unable to save itself by reason of the uselessness
of the arms. Again he was lifted; once more the axe was raised, and
even in that moment they heard him whisper the name ever upon his
lips:

"Elinor!"--Crash!--and he was away to clasp her to his breast.

CONCLUSION.

Of Henry Garnet something remains to be said. The alarm which was felt
at the revelation of the treason which might, but for the arrest of
Fawkes in the cellar under Parliament House, have resulted in the
disruption of the government, was widespread, and it became necessary
for the Jesuits remaining in the kingdom to hide most secretly.

As Catesby had said, the Superior, upon leaving London some weeks
before the discovery of the plot, had taken refuge in the house of Sir
Everard Digsby at Coughton. 'Twas there he received a letter from one
of the conspirators announcing the failure of the enterpri