Surprised that he should thus have entered her chamber, a feeling of alarm possessed her. The crackling of the fire in the room below, the tell-tale glove upon the floor, and the faint murmur which she felt assured must be the voices of men engaged in earnest conversation, aroused her apprehension as well as her curiosity, and it seemed no ill thing that she should discover the meaning of so unusual an occurrence, for their dwelling was situated in a quiet part of London and 'twas not the wont of any to visit it at such an hour. Then, the thought came to her that perhaps certain companions of her father, rough soldiers like himself, had come together to partake of his hospitality. Calmed for the moment, she would have sought sleep again, had not a sentence, uttered with clear distinctness, reached her ear. "Ah, good Master Fawkes! Thou hast found all quiet, and thy household sleeping soundly?" The intonation of the question startled her. Why should her father seek to learn whether she slept or not? Surely in the meeting of a few boon companions over a flask of wine, such precaution was not necessary. Not delaying for further meditation, she slipped out of bed, and crept noiselessly to that side of the room against which arose the huge brick chimney above the fireplace below. Through the space between the flooring and the masonry, a glare of light came up to her as well as the voices of those beneath. Crouching against the warm bricks she listened, unmindful of the cold and her equivocal position. The assurance which Fawkes gave to his companions that the house was quiet, and none would interrupt them, removed the reserve which each had hitherto felt. Time was indeed precious, for Garnet desired to return ere daybreak to his hiding place, lest any should perceive that, lying beneath the doublet of a cavalier, was the insignia of a churchman, a discovery upon which great misfortune might follow. 'Twas with scant preliminaries, therefore, that Catesby, ever foremost in zeal, boldness and assurance, addressed his companions. "Methinks," said he, turning to the Jesuit, "that in thy wisdom thou must have perceived something to our benefit in saving James of Scotland from my bullet. Yet, to me it did appear that the Lord gave him into our power." A shadow of impatience darkened the priest's brow, but in an instant his features resumed their accustomed mildness. "My son!" he replied, "it would have been an ill thing to slay our master after the manner of paid assassins. 'Twas in thy heart to kill the King; what then?" Catesby bit his lip. That there lay some weighty reason in the mind of the Superior for his unexpected friendliness to James, he comprehended, but his spirit, unused to restraint, and darkened by adversity, illy brooked opposition. "What then?" replied he, in answer to Garnet's question. "'Twould have rid the kingdom of a tyrant, and our faith of its bitterest enemy."