ew me again and asked how matters were in London; and we came at
last in sight of the old church at Hormead Parva, just as the sun was
going down upon our left. Peter, my horse, knew where he was then, and
needed no more urging, for he knew that his stable was not far away.

They knew of course nothing of my coming; and when I dismounted in the
yard there was not a man to be seen. I left my horse with James; and
went along the flagged path that led to the door, and beat upon the
door. The house seemed all dark and deserted; and it was not till I had
beaten once more at the door that I saw a light shewing beneath it.
Presently a very unsteady voice cried out to know who was there; and I
knew it for my Cousin Tom's; so I roared at him that it was myself.
There followed a great to-do of unlocking and unbarring--for they had
the house--as I found presently--fortified as it were a castle; and when
the door was undone there was my Cousin Tom with a great blunderbuss and
two men with swords behind him.

"Why, whatever is forward?" I said sharply; for I was impatient with the
long waiting and the cold, for a frost was beginning as the sun set.

"Why, Cousin Roger, we knew nothing of your coming," said my Cousin Tom,
looking a little foolish, I thought. "We did not know who was at the
door."

"I only knew myself of my coming yesterday," I said. "And whatever is
the house fortified for?"

My cousin was putting up the bolts again as I spoke; (the two men were
gone away into the back of the house);--and, as soon as he had done, he
said:

"Why, there are dangerous folks about, Cousin Roger. And it is a
Catholic house, you see."

I smiled at that; but said no more; for at that moment my Cousin Dolly
came through from the back of the house where she had been sent by her
father for safety; and at that sight I thought no more of the door.

I saluted her as a cousin should; and she me. She looked mighty pretty
to me, in her dark dress, with her lace on, for supper was just on the
table; and I cannot but think she was pleased to see me, for she was all
smiling and flushed.

"So it is you, Cousin Roger," she said. "I thought it might very well
be. We looked for you before Christmas."

* * * * *

At supper, and afterwards, I learned in what a panic poor Cousin Tom had
lived since the news of the plot, and, above all, of Sir Edmund Berry
Godfrey's death; and what he said to me made me determine to