As he spoke, an extraordinary noise, like a shower of falling stones, was heard overhead. And coupling the sound with their fears of the encroachment of the damp, the conspirators glanced at each other in dismay, thinking the building was falling in upon them.
“All blessed saints protect us!” cried Garnet, as the sound ceased. “What was that?”
But no one was able to account for it, and each regarded his neighbour with apprehension. After a short interval of silence, the sound was heard again. There was then another pause—and again the same rushing and inexplicable noise.
“What can it be?” cried Catesby. “I am so enfeebled by this underground life, that trifles alarm me. Are our enemies pulling down the structure over our heads?—or are they earthing us up like vermin?” he added to Fawkes. “What is it?”
“I will go and see,” replied the other.
“Do not expose yourself, my son,” cried Garnet. “Let us abide the result here.”
“No, father,” replied Fawkes. “Having failed in our scheme, what befals me is of little consequence. I will go. If I return not, you will understand what has happened.”
Pausing for a moment to receive Garnet's benediction, he then strode away.
Half an hour elapsed before Fawkes returned, and the interval appeared thrice its duration in the eyes of the conspirators. When he re-appeared, a smile sat upon his countenance, and his looks instantly dispelled the alarm that had been previously felt.
“You bring us good news, my son?” cried Garnet.