“Pray you, Sir,” said Martha with a bob of deprecation mingled with deference, “to come into the fields by the town’s end, where is one would speak quickly with you.”
“Who is it?”
Martha glanced round, as if afraid of the chestnuts overhearing her.
“Well, Sir, to tell truth, ’tis Mr Catesby; but I pray you, let not my Lady Anne know of his being here.”
Robert Winter took his way to the place appointed, and found a group of some twelve horsemen awaiting him.
“Good even! Well, what news?”
“The worst could be. Mr Fawkes is taken, and the whole plot discovered.”
“Ay, you have heard it, then? Here are come but now my cousins Wright, with Mr Percy and Mr Rookwood, bringing the same news. What now do we?”
“What say you?”
“Well, it seems to me best that each should submit himself.”