"Hollo!" cried the galleyman, as, at this moment, a party of men approached—"with whom hold ye, mates?"
"With whom should we hold," said the foremost, "but with King Richard and the true commons?"
"Well met, then," said Wells; "for the true commons are up—no time is to be lost—the prophet is in prison. Let each man steer his own course, muster all the hands he can, and meet on Tower-hill. Hark! that stroke tells one—remember we meet at two, and we will see if the Londoners and men of Kent cannot shake hands before the clock has tolled three."
The galleyman then hurried Holgrave up a narrow dark street, where, tapping gently at a door, it was instantly opened, to Stephen's great surprise, by old Hartwell.
"Is that you, Robin?" said a soft voice; and a female face was seen peeping half way down the stairs.
"Yes, yes; but go, Lucy, and tell that Stephen Holgrave is here."
"What! Stephen Holgrave!" said the warm-hearted Lucy, springing down the stairs; but, light and quick as was her step, another reached the bottom before her, and, with a faint shriek, Margaret Holgrave fell on her husband's neck.
"Father," resumed Wells, "take up that lamp, and we'll get a flask of the best, to drink a health to the rising; and do you, Holgrave, go up and just take a look at your children, and then we must be gone."
"And the strife will begin this night!" said Margaret, fearfully, as Holgrave, bending over the bed, where lay two sleeping children, glanced for an instant at a dark-haired boy of five or six, and then, taking a little rosy infant of about a twelve-month in his arms, kissed it, and gazed upon its face with all the delight of a father.
"There will be no strife, Margaret, to-night, or to-morrow. The commons of London are rising to help us, and the king will not hold out when he sees——but no matter. Tell me how you have fared. When I left Sudley, to join the commons, you were taken charge of by your brother, who, no doubt, placed you here with your friend Lucy, on her marriage with Wells——"