The door was quickly opened, and a rough head thrust forth.

“Who goes there?”

“It is I, good Bates—­I and a gentleman—­one of us—­come on business that brooks no delay with Master Robert Catesby.  Go summon thy master, good knave, without delay.  It is needful this gentleman speak with him at once.”

Kay had been leading Cuthbert along a passage with the familiarity of a friend of the house, whilst the serving man barred the door, and answered somewhat gruffly, as though disturbed by the interruption: 

“Nay, if he is one of us, let him seek the master below.  He is there, and hard at work, and will not be best pleased at being called away.  I have but just come up myself.  I am weary as a hunted hare and thirsty as a fish in a desert.  Find my master thyself, Master Kay; I am no servant of thine.”

Kay appeared in no way astonished at this rough answer.  He went on before without any remark, and Cuthbert, not knowing what else to do, followed.  Presently they reached the head of a long flight of stairs that seemed to descend into the very heart of the earth, and from below there arose strange hollow sounds—­the sound of blows steadily struck upon some hard substance; it seemed as though they were struck upon the very rock itself.

Greatly amazed, and wondering not a little what it could mean, Cuthbert paused at the head of this long flight, and saw his companion prepare to descend; but just at that moment the sound of blows ceased.  A cry and confusion of voices arose, as if the speakers were somewhere in the heart of the earth; and almost immediately there dashed up the stairs a man with stained garments, bloodshot eyes, and a white, scared face, crying out in fearful terror: 

“The bell! the bell! the tolling bell!  God and the Holy Saints protect us!  It is our death knell—­our death knell!”

Kay seized the man by the arm.

“What ails you, man? what is it?” he asked, quickly and sternly; but at that moment the pale face of Robert Catesby appeared, and he was followed by a tall bearded man of very soldierly bearing, who said, in calm, authoritative accents: 

“I have here some holy water, blessed by the Pope himself.  If we do but sprinkle the walls with that and bid the daring fiend cease, all will be well.  It is no work of God; it is a work of the devil, striving to turn us aside from our laudable and righteous purpose.  Prove me if it be not so.  If yon booming bell sounds again after this holy water has been sprinkled, then will I own that it is God fighting against us; but if it cease after this has been sprinkled, then shall we know that heaven is on our side and only the powers of darkness against us.”

“So be it,” answered Catesby, quickly and decisively; “thou shalt make trial of it, good Guido.  I trow we shall learn by that token that God is on our side.”