“Did you not see that sign?” cried Grant, eagerly.  “It heralds us to our task.”

So saying, he ran swiftly down the hill, and, followed by the others, did not slacken his pace till they reached the city.  They then shaped their course more slowly towards Saint Paul’s, and having gained the precincts of the cathedral, Solomon Eagle, who now assumed the place of leader, conducted them to a small door on the left of the great northern entrance, and unlocking it, ushered them into a narrow passage behind the rich carved work of the choir.  Traversing it, they crossed the mid aisle, and soon reached the steps leading to Saint Faith’s.  It was profoundly dark, but they were all well acquainted with the road, and did not miss their footing.  It required, however, some caution to thread the ranks of the mighty pillars filling the subterranean church.  But at last this was accomplished, and they entered the vault beyond the charnel, where they found Chowles and Judith Malmayns.  The former was wrapped in a long black cloak, and was pacing to and fro within the narrow chamber.  When Solomon Eagle appeared, he sprang towards him, and regarding him inquiringly, cried, “Have you done it?—­have you done it?”

The enthusiast replied in the affirmative.  “Heaven be praised!” exclaimed Chowles.  And he skipped about with the wildest expressions of delight.  A gleam of satisfaction, too, darted from Judith’s savage eyes.  She had neither risen nor altered her position on the arrival of the party, but she now got up, and addressed the enthusiast.  A small iron lamp, suspended by a chain from the vaulted roof, lighted the chamber.  The most noticeable figure amidst the group was that of Solomon Eagle, who, with his blazing eyes, long jet-black locks, giant frame, and tawny skin, looked like a supernatural being.  Near him stood the person designated as Robert Hubert.  He was a young man, and appeared to have lived a life of great austerity.  His features were thin; his large black eyes set in deep caverns; his limbs seemed almost destitute of flesh; and his looks wild and uncertain, like those of an insane person.  His tattered and threadbare garb resembled that of a French ecclesiastic.  The third person, who went by the name of Philip Grant, had a powerful frame, though somewhat bent, and a haughty deportment and look, greatly at variance with his miserable attire and haggard looks.  His beard was long and grizzled, and his features, though sharpened by care, retained some traces of a noble expression.  A few minutes having passed in conversation, Grant observed to the enthusiast, “I must now leave you for a short time.  Give me the key that I may let myself out.”

“You are not going to betray us?” cried Chowles, suspiciously.

“Why should I betray you?” rejoined Grant, sternly.  “I am too anxious for the event to disclose it.”

“True, true,” replied Chowles.

“I do not mistrust you, brother,” observed Solomon Eagle, giving him the key.