How Janet was clasped in the Wrong Arms.
A signal made with four glow-worms can be seen by many who happen to be gazing out into the darkness of the night. Janet had seen them plainly, and, as it happened, so had the founder, who took down—and buckled on his sword, and then crept cautiously to Sir Mark’s chamber.
“Are you awake?” he whispered.
“Yes, yes,” cried Sir Mark, starting up with a cry; “is aught the matter?”
“Hush, man,” whispered the founder, “or you’ll alarm the house. One would think I had told thee that one was sotting spark to the powder-barrels in the cellar.”
“Powder-barrels in the cellar?” said Sir Mark, in a hoarse whisper.
“Of course. Where would’st have them for safety? Tut, man, it is not Guido Fawkes who has come. He is here.”
“What, Fawkes?”
“Nay, how dense thou art. Up and dress quickly. He is in the garden, I’ll wager, trying to keep tryst with my child. Dress quickly, and bring thy sword. If he be not pricked to-night as a warning my name is not Cobbe. I’ll wait thee in the passage below.”
He slipped out on to the broad landing, and waited, when, to his surprise and rage, he saw a figure hooded and cloaked, glide down the stairs and out of the front door, which creaked lightly as the girl passed through.