"Not one man came to take our part," is their lament, "though we had expected so many." To add to their misery, the rain began to pour down in torrents; one after another deserted them as they fled: and when at last in the darkness the heath was passed, and Holbeach House was reached, instead of the gallant company of eighty well-accoutred troops who had left Norbrook the morning before, there crept into the court-yard only eighteen wet and weary men, who had lost all, including honour. Holbeach House was about two miles from Stourbridge, and was the home of Stephen Littleton, one of the latest to join the plot. Here the worn-out men slept--the last sleep for some of them. So weary and worn-out were they, that they sank to sleep just as they were, in the dining-room--some pillowing their heads on the table, others casting themselves on the floor. At this very unsuitable moment, it seemed good to Mr John Winter to inquire of Percy what he meant to do. [Note 3.] Percy, in extremely somnolent tones, answered that he intended to go on. "Ay, but how and whither?" responded Thomas Winter, as wide awake as he usually was in all senses. "If you have e'er a plan in your head, out with it," replied Percy. "Just now, I've no head to put one in." "If you will hearken to me," said Thomas, "you will now despatch Robin's letter to my cousin Smallpiece." "What to do?" "`What to do'!--to win his aid. He is as true a Catholic as any of us." "Ay, he's Catholic, but he is very timorous. He has no mind to be hanged, trust me." "Have you?" "I should stand to it better than he. Then you'll meet old Master Talbot, who shall kick you forth ere you have time to say, `An't please you.'" "I'll have a care of that. Steenie, wilt have with me?" Mr Stephen Littleton had to be awoke before he could answer the question. As soon as he understood what was demanded of him, he professed his readiness to accompany anybody anywhere in the future, so long as he might be let alone to finish his nap at the present. Before another sentence had been uttered, he reverted to an unconscious state. Suddenly Sir Everard sprang up. "Mr Catesby, methinks I shall best serve you if I go to hasten the succours. What think you?" "If you will," said Catesby, for once a little doubtfully. Ten minutes later, one of the least wearied horses in the group carried him away. There were troops on their way to Holbeach, but it was not for succour. Sir Richard Walsh, the Sheriff, Sir John Folliott, a few gentlemen, and a party of the King's troops, with all the force of the county, were on the track of the wretched fugitives. They had chased them from Northamptonshire into Warwickshire, from Warwickshire into Worcestershire, and now they were approaching their last refuge in Staffordshire.