"And," said Fawkes, "'tis not the wont of a hunting party to play highwaymen, the less so that the King, perchance, rideth with it." "The King!" cried Winter and Catesby, in a breath. "Aye!" replied Fawkes bluntly. "Have ye not told me that the royal wood of Waltham is reserved for the hunting of his Majesty?" His companions exchanged quick glances. "Then, we had best hide ourselves," cried Winter, "James hath a prying disposition." "Methinks," said Garnet, raising his hand to enforce silence, "that but one horn sounded. If, as thou sayest, it be a hunting party, the wood would echo with a score of blasts. Shall we run from one man?" Fawkes loosened his sword in its scabbard. "I have this," said he, "to back our presence in the forest, and are ye weaponless?" The bluff words of the soldier of fortune put to shame the fears of the two noblemen, yet they hesitated. Should they be suspected, it would not be a light matter to evade certain questions which might be asked, and if taken to London captives, the disguise of the Jesuit would be penetrated. Meanwhile the sound of the horn grew louder, and while wavering in their decision, a voice, faint and indistinct, was heard shouting afar off. Fawkes listened attentively. "'Tis a cry for succor," said he suddenly, "someone hath lost his way and seeks the highroad." "Then," said Garnet calmly, "we will remain, for he is approaching." Perhaps five minutes had elapsed when the blast of the horn sounded as if in their very ears; and from the forest, only a dozen rods beyond them, dashed a man mounted on a bay horse. Having reached the open road he pulled up his beast and looked helplessly in an opposite direction from the four riders. Suddenly Winter started and changed color, his face turning from red to white, and back to red again. "'Tis the King!" he whispered hoarsely, clutching the arm of Catesby, who sat beside him. It was, in truth, James of England, unattended, his dress awry and torn by thorns and brambles, with bloodless lips and terror-stricken countenance, who sat helplessly in the saddle in the presence of his bitterest enemies. As this realization dawned on Catesby's mind, he uttered an exclamation, and reached for the pistol which protruded from his holster. "'Tis the judgment of God," he muttered; "to-night England will be without a king." The firm grasp of the Jesuit upon his arm checked his murderous purpose. "Stop!" whispered Garnet sternly, "wouldst ruin the cause which thou hast sworn to befriend? Draw your cloaks about your faces and leave the King to me." Ere they could recover from their astonishment he had ridden forward to the spot where James sat bewildered, noting not the presence of those behind him.