ntlemen. The
King's highway is free to all who choose to pass thereon, even though
the forest bordering it be reserved for those who have gained the
smile of James."

"And," said Fawkes, "'tis not the wont of a hunting party to play
highwaymen, the less so that the King, perchance, rideth with it."

"The King!" cried Winter and Catesby, in a breath.

"Aye!" replied Fawkes bluntly. "Have ye not told me that the royal
wood of Waltham is reserved for the hunting of his Majesty?"

His companions exchanged quick glances. "Then, we had best hide
ourselves," cried Winter, "James hath a prying disposition."

"Methinks," said Garnet, raising his hand to enforce silence, "that
but one horn sounded. If, as thou sayest, it be a hunting party, the
wood would echo with a score of blasts. Shall we run from one man?"

Fawkes loosened his sword in its scabbard. "I have this," said he, "to
back our presence in the forest, and are ye weaponless?"

The bluff words of the soldier of fortune put to shame the fears of
the two noblemen, yet they hesitated. Should they be suspected, it
would not be a light matter to evade certain questions which might be
asked, and if taken to London captives, the disguise of the Jesuit
would be penetrated.

Meanwhile the sound of the horn grew louder, and while wavering in
their decision, a voice, faint and indistinct, was heard shouting afar
off. Fawkes listened attentively.

"'Tis a cry for succor," said he suddenly, "someone hath lost his way
and seeks the highroad."

"Then," said Garnet calmly, "we will remain, for he is approaching."

Perhaps five minutes had elapsed when the blast of the horn sounded as
if in their very ears; and from the forest, only a dozen rods beyond
them, dashed a man mounted on a bay horse. Having reached the open
road he pulled up his beast and looked helplessly in an opposite
direction from the four riders. Suddenly Winter started and changed
color, his face turning from red to white, and back to red again.

"'Tis the King!" he whispered hoarsely, clutching the arm of Catesby,
who sat beside him.

It was, in truth, James of England, unattended, his dress awry and
torn by thorns and brambles, with bloodless lips and terror-stricken
countenance, who sat helplessly in the saddle in the presence of his
bitterest enemies.

As this realization dawned on Catesby's mind, he uttered an
exclamation, and reached for the pistol which protruded from his
holster.

"'Tis the