men, and the bellowing and the crashes and
the smoke together went up into the night air as from the infernal pit.
It was a hellish transformation from the deathly stillness of a few
minutes--a massacre of the sweet night silence. And yet the house where
the little silent stream of dark figures had been swallowed up rose up
high above the smoky cauldron, black, dark, and irresponsive.

* * * *

There rose a shrill howling from behind the house, and the figure on the
top of the wall capered and gesticulated again. Then footsteps came
running up the passage, and a pursuivant thrust his way through to the
leaders; and, in a moment or two, above the din a sharp word was given,
and three or four men hurried out through the doorway by which the man
had come. Almost at the same moment the hinges of the door gave way, the
whole crashed inwards, and the attacking party poured into the dark
entrance hall beyond. By this time the noise had wakened many in the
houses round, and lights were beginning to shine from the high windows
invisible before, and a concourse of people to press in from all sides.
The approaches had all been guarded, but at the crash of the door some of
the sentries round the nearer corners hurried into the court, and the
crowd poured after them; and by the time that the officers and men had
disappeared into the house, their places had been filled by the
spectators, and the little court was again full of a swaying, seething,
shouting mass of men, with a few women with hoods and cloaks among
them--inquiries and information were yelled to and fro.

"It was a nest of papists--a wasp's nest was being smoked out--what harm
had they done?--It was a murder; two women had had their throats
cut.--No, no; it was a papists' den--a massing-house.--Well, God save her
Grace and rid her of her enemies. With these damned Spaniards everywhere,
England was going to ruin.--They had escaped at the back. No; they tried
that way, but it was guarded.--There were over fifty papists, some said,
in that house.--It was a plot. Mary was mixed up in it. The Queen was to
be blown up with powder, like poor Darnley. The barrels were all stored
there.--No, no, no! it was nothing but a massing-house.--Who was the
priest?--Well, they would see him at Tyburn on a hurdle; and serve him
right with his treasonable mummery.--No, no! they had had enough of
blood.--Campion had died like a man; and an Engli