Blinded by fire and smoke but unharmed, save for a scorching of the hair and beard, the conspirators groped their way into the open air. Upon their souls rested a cloud of superstitious dread. In the explosion of the gunpowder they saw the hand of God; and--'twas not turned against the King! * * * * * It was scarce daybreak when the horse bearing Sir Thomas Winter stopped before the door of the ill-fated Holbeach mansion. Report had reached him of the explosion, also that many of his companions were sorely wounded, and that Catesby lay dead, with body shattered by the firing of the powder. Then was proved his gentle blood, and the valor of his race. Those with him when he received the news begged him to fly; but he only looked upon them with clouded brow, and said: "Nay; Catesby is dead. I will see to his burial; a gallant gentleman,--and my friend!" Thus he rode in all haste to Holbeach, to find there his friends unharmed;--close following him were the soldiers of the King. Scant time was given to the luckless gentlemen to prepare for receiving them. "What have ye resolved to do?" asked Winter, having heard the story of the night. "We mean to die," replied Percy stoutly; "we can scarce hold the house an hour." "Then," said Winter quietly, "I will take such part as you do." And looking to his sword and firearms, he leaned against the casement of the window facing the road on which the King's men would come. Toward noon they came, a gallant company of gentlemen and musketeers, flushed with the early morning ride and filled with zeal to take the traitors who awaited them behind the walls of Master Littleton's house. Watching from the window Winter saw many faces which he knew; Sir John Foliot, Francis Conyers, Salway, Ketelsby, all staunch adherents of the King;--men who, being dispatched upon any errand, would carry it through most zealously. Before the cavalcade rode a doughty gentleman, Sir Richard Walsh, sheriff of Worcestershire, armed with the royal authority to seize the persons of such conspirators as chanced to fall in his way. It was the sheriff who halted the troop some fifty paces from the house, and, attended by Sir John Foliot and two musketeers, advanced boldly to the closed door. Trying the latch and finding the portal barred, he tapped upon the panel with the hilt of his sword. None from within replied. Again the sheriff rapped, and a voice demanded who it was that sought admittance, and what might be his errand. "That," replied Sir Richard, "is well known to thee. Open, therefore, in the King's name!" The conspirators hesitated, for the command was one wont to be obeyed in England. "Open!" repeated the sheriff; "lay down your arms!" "We will die," replied Catesby firmly, "but will not open unto thee."