to their leaders. Catesby and Percy now brought up the rear, and kept a sharp look-out to check any further attempt at desertion.

Digby and Winter, being well acquainted with all the Catholic gentry in the neighbourhood, they proceeded to their different resi dences, and were uniformly coldly received, and in some cases dismissed with reproaches and menaces. In spite of all their efforts, too, repeated desertions took place; and long before they reached Alcester their force was diminished by a dozen men. Not thinking it prudent

to pass through the

town, they struck into a lane on the right, and fording the Arrow near Ragley, skirted that extensive park, and crossing the hills near Weethly and Stoney Moreton, arrived in about an hour and a half in a very jaded condition at Huddington, the seat of Robert Winter. Affairs seemed to wear so unpromising an aspect, that Catesby on entering the house immediately called a council of his friends, and asked them what they proposed to do.

"For my own part," he said, "I am resolved to fight it out. I will continue my march as

long as I can get a man to follow me, and when they are all gone, will proceed alone.

will never yield."

But I

"We will all die together, if need be," said Sir Everard Digby. "Let us rest here tonight, and in the morning proceed to Lord Windsor's mansion, Hewel Grange, which I know to be well stocked with arms, and, after carrying off all we can, we will fortify Stephen Littleton's house at Holbeach, and maintain it for a few days against our enemies.”

This proposal agreed to, they repaired to the court-yard, and busied themselves in seeing the wants of their followers attended to; and such a change was effected by good fare and a few hours' repose, that the spirits of the whole party revived, and confidence was once more restored. A slight damp, however, was again thrown upon the satisfaction of the leaders by the return of Thomas Winter and Stephen Littleton from Grafton. Their mission had proved wholly unsuccessful. Mr. Talbot had not merely refused to join them, but had threatened to detain them.

"He says we deserve the worst of deaths," observed Thomas Winter, in conclusion, "and that we have irretrievably injured the Catholic cause."

"And I begin to fear he speaks the truth," rejoined Christopher Wright. "However, for

us there is no retreat.”

"None whatever," rejoined Catesby, in a sombre tone. "We must choose between death upon the battle-field or on the scaffold." "The former be my fate," cried Percy. "And mine," added Catesby.

An anxious and perturbed night was passed by the conspirators, and many a plan was proposed and abandoned. It had been arranged among them that they should each in succession make the rounds of the place, to see that the sentinels were at their posts, strict orders having been given to the latter to fire upon whomsoever might attempt to fly, but, as Catesby, despite his great previous fatigue, was unable to rest, he took this duty chiefly upon himself.

Returning at midnight from an examination

of the court-yard, he was about to enter the house, when he perceived before him a tall figure, with a cloak muffled about its face, standing in his path. It was perfectly motionless, and Catesby, who carried a lantern in his hand, threw the light upon it, but it neither moved forward, nor altered its position. Catesby would have challenged it, but an undefinable terror seized him, and his tongue clove to the roof of his mouth. An idea rose to his mind that it was the spirit of Guy Fawkes, and, by a powerful effort, he compelled himself to address it.

"Are you come to warn me?" he demanded.

The figure moved in acquiescence; and withdrawing the cloak, revealed features of ghastly paleness, but resembling those of Fawkes.

"Have I long to live?" demanded Catesby. The figure shook its head.

"Shall I fall to-morrow?" pursued Catesby. The figure again made a gesture in the negative.

"The next day?"

Solemnly inclining its head, the figure once

more muffled its ghastly visage in its cloak, and melted from his view.

For some time Catesby remained in a state almost of stupefaction. He then summoned up all the resolution of his nature, and instead of returning to the house, continued to pace to and fro in the court, and at last walked forth into the garden. It was profoundly dark; and he had not advanced many steps when he suddenly encountered a man. Repressing the exclamation that rose to his lips, he drew a petronel from his belt, and waited till the person addressed him.

"Is it you, Sir John Foliot?" asked a voice, which he instantly recognised as that of Topcliffe.

"Ay," replied Catesby, in a low tone.

"Did you manage to get into the house?" pursued Topcliffe.

"I did," returned Catesby; "but speak lower. There is a sentinel within a few paces of us. Come this way."

And grasping the other's arm, he drew him further down the walk.