anticipated, a seventh was now taken into the
number--a pervert, Robert Keyes, the son of a Protestant clergyman in
Derbyshire. A second house was hired at Lambeth, of which Keyes was
placed in charge, while to Fawkes was committed the chief business of
laying in the combustibles, first in the Lambeth house, and afterwards
of removing them to that at Westminster. Fawkes went cautiously about
his business, purchasing his materials in various parts of the City, so
as not to excite suspicion. He provided in all, three thousand billets
of wood, five hundred faggots, thirty-six barrels of gunpowder, with
stones and bars of iron, in order that the explosion might be more
destructive. From the Bankside, or south bank of the Thames, where it
lay in hampers, twenty barrels of the powder was first brought in boats,
by night, to the house at Westminster, where it was stored in the cellar
to await the finishing of the mine. By Christmas they had penetrated
the wall of Percy's house, and had reached that of the House of Lords.
They thought it desirable now to rest for the Christmas holidays; Keyes
was left in charge of the house at Lambeth, and the others departed in
various directions.

"Well, upon my word! Prithee, good my master, who's your tailor?"

The speaker was Temperance Murthwaite, who was clad in the plainest of
brownish drab serges, without an unnecessary tag or scrap of fringe, and
carried on her arm an unmistakable market-basket, from which protruded
the legs of a couple of chickens and sundry fish-tails, notwithstanding
the clean cloth which should have hidden such ignoble articles from
public view. The person addressed was Mr Aubrey Louvaine, and his
costume was a marvel of art and a feast of colour.

"My tailor is Adrian Sewell, Aunt, in Thieving Lane--"

"Like enough!" was the response. "Well, Gentleman?"

"Shall I--" The words died on Aubrey's lips. His aunt, who read his
thoughts exactly, stood wickedly enjoying the situation.

"Shall you carry the basket? By all means, if it please your Highness.
Have a care, though, lest the tails of those whitings sully yon brave
crimson velvet, and see the fowls thrust not their talons into that
Spanish lace. Methinks, Master Aubrey, considering your bravery of
array, you were best pocket your civility this morrow. It'll be lesser
like to harm the lace and velvet than the chicks' legs and the
fish-tails. You may keep me company an' you will, if I be good eno