ntry, Kay paused suddenly before a low-browed door, and
gave the peculiar knock Cuthbert had learned from the priest.

The door was quickly opened, and a rough head thrust forth.

"Who goes there?"

"It is I, good Bates--I and a gentleman--one of us--come on
business that brooks no delay with Master Robert Catesby. Go summon
thy master, good knave, without delay. It is needful this gentleman
speak with him at once."

Kay had been leading Cuthbert along a passage with the familiarity
of a friend of the house, whilst the serving man barred the door,
and answered somewhat gruffly, as though disturbed by the
interruption:

"Nay, if he is one of us, let him seek the master below. He is
there, and hard at work, and will not be best pleased at being
called away. I have but just come up myself. I am weary as a hunted
hare and thirsty as a fish in a desert. Find my master thyself,
Master Kay; I am no servant of thine."

Kay appeared in no way astonished at this rough answer. He went on
before without any remark, and Cuthbert, not knowing what else to
do, followed. Presently they reached the head of a long flight of
stairs that seemed to descend into the very heart of the earth, and
from below there arose strange hollow sounds--the sound of blows
steadily struck upon some hard substance; it seemed as though they
were struck upon the very rock itself.

Greatly amazed, and wondering not a little what it could mean,
Cuthbert paused at the head of this long flight, and saw his
companion prepare to descend; but just at that moment the sound of
blows ceased. A cry and confusion of voices arose, as if the
speakers were somewhere in the heart of the earth; and almost
immediately there dashed up the stairs a man with stained garments,
bloodshot eyes, and a white, scared face, crying out in fearful
terror:

"The bell! the bell! the tolling bell! God and the Holy Saints
protect us! It is our death knell--our death knell!"

Kay seized the man by the arm.

"What ails you, man? what is it?" he asked, quickly and sternly;
but at that moment the pale face of Robert Catesby appeared, and he
was followed by a tall bearded man of very soldierly bearing, who
said, in calm, authoritative accents:

"I have here some holy water, blessed by the Pope himself. If we do
but sprinkle the walls with that and bid the daring fiend cease,
all will be well. It is no work of God; it is a work of the devil,
striving to turn us aside from our laudab