The end of it was that before the Yuletide season had come, he went blushing to Martin Holt to ask for the hand of his second daughter Keziah in marriage instead of that of Cherry, whose heart had from the first been given elsewhere; and it was arranged that the marriage should take place almost at once, for Jacob pleaded he had waited long enough for his wife, and Keziah's only wish was to please her future lord and master. Chapter 27: Yuletide At The Cross Way House. Lady Humbert had got her own way--she generally did when her mind was set upon a thing--and a large and merry party was assembled beneath the hospitable roof of the Cross Way House to spend the festive Yuletide there together. Sir Richard was not sorry just at this juncture to extend his visit to these kinswomen, whose known loyalty and adhesion to the Protestant cause had made the name of Wyvern respected and held in high repute even at the King's Court. It had been with equal satisfaction that he had married his eldest daughter Cecilia to Sir Robert Fortescue, and had allowed Lord Culverhouse openly to proclaim his betrothal with Kate. For strange things had been happening in the world of London since the discovery of that abortive Gunpowder Treason; and, in the first panic, the name of Trevlyn had freely been whispered abroad. Sir Richard's friends had trembled for him, and had counselled him to keep perfectly quiet and let the evil whisper die a natural death if it would. For two long weeks the family at the Chase lived upon tenterhooks. Every day they feared to hear the approach of some messenger with tidings of woe. There was terror in many hearts when a loud explosion in the middle of the night roused them all from their beds; but it was quickly seen that this explosion did not immediately concern them, and that it must have proceeded from the old Gate House, which was already wrapped in flames. The servants hurried down to assist, but were too late. It was only many hours later that the charred remains of what had once been two human beings were found amongst the smoking ruins. A whisper went abroad that a certain well-known seminary priest, by name Father Urban, had fled from London, and had taken refuge with Nicholas Trevlyn. It was surmised that the two must have been preparing themselves for a siege, and that their ammunition had unexpectedly ignited and caused the catastrophe. To say that any one deplored the fate of the gloomy old man, who was supposed to be little better than a maniac, would be going altogether too far. Petronella shed a few tears, but they were tears rather of relief than of sorrow; while Sir Richard felt that he could breathe more freely when his contumacious kinsman had ceased to live at his door.