And so a new life began for Cuthbert beneath the roof of his uncle.
He found favour in the sight of Martin Holt because of his
unpretending ways, his willingness, nay, his eagerness to learn,
his ready submission to the authority exercised by the master of
the house upon all beneath his roof, and the absence of anything
like presumption or superciliousness on his nephew's part on the
score of his patrician birth on his father's side. Trevlyn though
he was, the lad conformed to all the ways and usages of the humbler
Holts; and even Mistress Susan soon ceased to look sourly at him,
for she found him as amenable to her authority as to that of
Martin, and handy and helpful in a thousand little nameless ways.
He was immensely interested in everything about him. He would as
willingly sit and baste a capon on the spit as ramble abroad in the
streets, if she would but answer his host of inquiries about
London, its ways and its sights. Mistress Susan was not above being
open to the insidious flattery of being questioned and listened to;
and to find herself regarded as an oracle of wisdom and a mine of
information could not but be soothing to her vanity, little as she
knew that she possessed her share of that common feminine failing.
Then Cuthbert was a warm appreciator of her culinary talents. The
poor boy, who had lived at the Gate House on the scantiest of
commons, and had been kept to oaten bread and water sometimes for a
week together for a trifling offence, felt indeed that he had come
to a land of plenty when he sat down day after day to his uncle's
well-spread table, and was urged to partake of all manner of
dishes, the very name of which was unknown to him. His keen relish
of her dainties, combined with what seemed to her a very modest
consumption of them, pleased Mistress Susan not a little; whilst
for his own part Cuthbert began to look heartier and stronger than
he had ever done before. The slimness of attenuation was merged in
that of wiry strength and muscle. His dark eyes no longer looked
out from hollow caverns, and the colour which gradually stole into
his brown cheek bespoke increase of health and well being.
Martin and Susan looked on well pleased by the change. They liked
the lad, and found his Popery of such a mild kind that they felt no
misgiving as to its influence upon the girls. Cuthbert was as
willing to go to a privately conducted Puritan service as to mass,
and liked the appointed service of the Establishment rather better
than either. Martin did not hinder his attending the parish church,
though he but rarely put in an appearance himself. He was not one
of the bitter opponents of the Establishment, but he was a bitter
opponent of persecution for conscience' sake, and he was naturally
embittered by the new rigour with which the old laws of conformity
were enforced. However, he was true to his principles in that he
let Cuthbert go his own way freely, and did not forbid Cherry to
accompany him sometimes to church, where she found much
entertainment and pleasure in watching the fashionable people come
and go; and perhaps her father divined that she would give more
attention to the mode of the ladies' headgears and hair dressing
and the cut of their farthingales than to any matters of doctrine
that might be aired in the pulpit.
As for Cuthbert, he drank in voraciously all that he heard and all
that he saw in this strange place, which seemed to him like the
Babylon of old that the Puritan pastors raved over in their
pulpits. He was to be allowed his full liberty for some weeks, to
see the sights of the city and learn his way about it. Perhaps
after Christmastide his uncle would employ him in his shop or
warehouse, but Martin wished to take the measure of the lad before
he put him to any task.
So Cuthbert roamed the London streets wondering and amazed. He saw
many a street fight waged between the Templars and 'prentices, and
got a broken head himself from being swept along the tide of mimic
battle. He saw the rude and rabble mob indulging in their favourite
pastime of upsetting coaches (hell carts as they chose to dub
them), and roaring with laughter as the frightened occupants strove
to free themselves from the clumsy vehicles. Cuthbert got several
hard knocks as a reward for striving to assist these unlucky wights
when they chanced to be ladies; but he was too well used to blows
to heed them over much, and could generally give as good as he got.
The fighting instinct often got him into tight places, as when he
suddenly found himself surrounded by a hooting mob of ruffians in
one of the slums of "Alsatia," as Whitefriars was called, where he
had imprudently adventured himself. And this adventure might have
well had a fatal termination for him, as this was a veritable den
of murderers and villains of the deepest dye, and even the
authorities dared not venture within its purlieus to hunt out a
missing criminal without a guard of soldiers with them. The abuse
of "Sanctuary" was well exemplified by the existing state of things
here; and though Cuthbert was doing no ill to any soul, but merely
gratifying his curiosity by prowling about the narrow dens and
alleys, the cry of "A spy! a spy!" soon brought a mob about him,
whilst his readiness to engage in battle caused the tumult to
redouble itself in an instant.
The lad had just realized his danger, and faced the fact that the
chances of escaping alive were greatly against him, when a window
in a neighbouring house was thrown open, and a stern, musical voice
exclaimed:
"For shame, my children, for shame! Is it to be one against a
hundred? Is that Alsatia's honour? What has the lad done?"
Cuthbert raised his eyes and beheld the tonsured head of a priest
clad in a rusty black cassock, who was standing at the only window
to be seen in a blank wall somewhat higher than that of the other
houses surrounding it. The effect of those words on the angry
multitude was wonderful. The hands raised to strike were lowered,
and voices on all sides exclaimed:
"It is Father Urban; we may not withstand him."
Still the anger of the mob was not calmed in a moment, and fierce
voices exclaimed in threatening accents:
"A spy! he is a spy!"
"Then bring him hither to me; I will judge him," said the priest,
in the same tones of calm assurance. "If I find him worthy of
death, I will give him over to your hands again."
"That will do; Father Urban shall judge him!" cried a brawny fellow
who seemed to be something of a leader with his fellows. "The
Father never lied to us yet. He will give him back if he finds him
a spy."
Cuthbert was now jostled and hustled, but not in the same angry
fashion, to a small narrow door in a deep embrasure, and when this
door presently swung back on its hinges, the crowd surged quickly
backwards as though in some sort afraid. Within the narrow doorway
stood the priest, a small, slim man in rusty black, with a crucifix
suspended from his rosary, which he held up before the crowd, who
most of them crossed themselves with apparent devotion.
"Peace be with you, my children!" was his somewhat incongruous
salutation to the blood-thirsty mob; and then turning his bright
but benignant eyes upon Cuthbert, he said:
"This is a leper house, my son. Yet methinks thou wilt be safer
here a while than in the street. Dost thou fear to enter? If thou
dost, we must e'en talk where we are."
"I have no fear," answered Cuthbert, who indeed only experienced a
lively curiosity.
The priest seemed pleased with the answer, and drew him within the
sheltering door; and Cuthbert followed his guide into a long, low
room, where a table was spread with trenchers and pitchers, whilst
an appetizing odour arose from a saucepan simmering on the fire and
stirred by one of the patients, upon whom Cuthbert gazed with
fascinated interest.
"He is well nigh cured," answered the priest. "Our sick abide on
the floor above; but there be not many here now. The plague carried
off above half our number last year.
"But now of thine own matters, boy: how comest thou hither? Thou
art a bold lad to venture a stranger into these haunts, unless thou
be fleeing a worse peril from the arm of the law; and neither thy
face nor thy dress looks like that. Hast thou not heard of
Whitefriars and its perils? or art thou a rustic knave, unversed in
the ways of the town?"
Cuthbert told his story frankly enough. He had lost himself in the
streets, and was in the forbidden region before he well knew. A few
kindly and dexterous questions from Father Urban led him to tell
all that there was to know about himself, his parentage and his
past; and the priest listened with great attention, scanning the
face of the youth narrowly the while.
"Trevlyn--the name is known to us. It was a good old name once, and
may be still again. I have seen thy father, Nicholas Trevlyn. It
may be I shall see him again one day. Be true to thy father's
faith, boy; be not led away by hireling shepherds. The day is
coming on England when the true faith shall spread from end to end
of the land, and all heretics shall be confounded! See that thou
art in thy place in that day! See that thou art found by thy
father's side in the hour of victory!"
Cuthbert hung his head a little, and a flush crept into his cheek;
but the priest did not appear to heed these slight indications of
embarrassment, as he moved slowly up the stairs to the window above
to tell the expectant crowd to disperse, as their victim was no
spy, but an honest country lad, whose father was known to the
priest, and who had lost his way in London, and strayed
inadvertently into their midst.
Then the crowd having dispersed to seek fresh amusement, the
priest, at Cuthbert's desire, showed him all over this leper house,
and told him much respecting the condition of the miserable inmates
before they had been admitted to this place of refuge; and Cuthbert
gazed with awe-stricken eyes at the scarred and emaciated
sufferers, filled with compassion and not loathing, and at last
drew forth one of his golden pieces from his purse and asked the
priest to expend it for the benefit of the poor lepers.
"That will I gladly do, my son. But I must not let thee linger
longer here; for although I myself hold that the whole and sound
are not affected by the taint, there be leeches of repute who swear
'tis death to abide long beside the leper."
"Thou hast not found it so, Father. Dost thou live here?"
"Nay, I have no home. I go hither and thither as duty calls me. But
I am often here with these sick folks of mine, whom so few men will
dare approach unto. But I myself have never been the worse for my
ministrations here, and I have no fears for thee, though I would
not have thee linger. We will be going now, and I will be thy guide
out of these dens of the earth, else might some more untoward thing
befall thee when none might be nigh to succour thee."
The priest and the youth passed out together. The early dusk was
beginning to fall, and Cuthbert was glad enough of the protection
of Father Urban's companionship. All saluted the priest as he
passed by, and few even looked askance at his comrade. The
influence of these Roman Catholics over the hearts and feelings of
the masses has always been very great--something of an enigma and a
grievance to those who would fain see naught but evil within the
fold of Rome. But facts are stubborn things, and the facts have
been in this matter in their favour. England as a nation was slowly
but surely throwing off the Papal yoke, and emerging from a region
of darkness and superstition. Nevertheless, the influence of the
priest was a living and often a beneficent influence amongst the
most degraded of the people, and he could and did obtain a reverent
hearing when no man else coming in the name of Christ would have
been listened to for a single moment.
As the pair moved along the dark, noisome streets, Father Urban
spoke again in his quick, imperious way.
"Thou spakest awhile ago of one Master Robert Catesby; hast thou
seen aught of him since thy arrival in London?"
"No," answered Cuthbert; "I have had much else to do and to think
of. But I must to him one day, and demand my purse again, else may
he think I have been left for dead on the highway."
"He is a good man and a true," said the priest. "Thou wilt do well
to keep his friendship an thou mayest. Catesby and Trevlyn come of
a good stock; it were well they should consort together."
Cuthbert recalled some of the strange words spoken by Master Robert
on the road, and wondered if he recalled them aright. They seemed
to partake of the character of fierce threats. He was not certain
that he altogether relished the thought of such friendship.
"Mine uncle might not wish me to consort with him," said the lad,
with a little hesitation. "He is but a wool stapler, as I have told
thee, and his friends are simple folks like himself. He meddles not
in matters that gentlefolks love. He has no fine company to his
house. Since it be my lot to abide beneath his roof--"
"Thou must needs conform to his ways; is that so, boy?" asked the
Father, interrupting the rather lame and confused speech, and
smiling as he did so. "Ay, conform, conform! Conformity is the way
of the world today! I would not bid thee do otherwise. Yet one bit
of counsel will I give thee ere we part. Think not that thou canst
not conform and yet do thy duty by the true faith, too. Be a
careful, watchful inmate of thine uncle's house; yet fear not to
consort with good men, too, when thy chance comes. Thou needst not
tell thine uncle all. Thou hast reached man's estate, and it is
ordained of God that men should shake off the fetters that bind
them in youth, and act and judge for themselves. My counsel is
this: be wary, be prudent, be watchful, and lose no opportunity of
gaining the trust of all men. So wilt thou one day live to do
service to many; and thou wilt better understand my words the
longer thou livest in this great city, and learnest more of what is
seething below the surface of men's lives."
And with a few words of dismissal and blessing the Father sent
Cuthbert on his way, standing still and looking after him till the
slight figure was lost to sight in the darkness.
"There goes a man who by his face might have a great future before
him," mused the priest. "It is with such faces as that that men
have gone to prison and to death."
Cuthbert bent his steps towards the bridge, interested and excited
by his recent adventure, his thoughts directed into a new channel,
his memory recalling the first companion of his lonely journey, and
the charm of that companion's personality and address. So many
other things had passed since, impressions had jostled so quickly
one upon the other, that he had scarce thought again of Master
Robert Catesby or the purse he had to claim from him. His new
uncle's liberality had made him rich, and a certain natural reserve
had held him silent in his Puritan relative's house about any
person not likely to find favour in Martin Holt's estimation. He
had been equally reticent about his strange adventure with the
gipsies, though he scarce knew why he should not speak of that.
But, as a matter of fact, every day brought with it such a crowd of
new impressions that the earlier ones had already partially faded
from his mind.
But the words of the priest had awakened a new train of thought.
Cuthbert resolved not to delay longer the reclamation of his own
property. He spoke to Cherry that same evening about his lost
purse, giving her a brief account of his ride across Hammerton
Heath, and she was eager for him to ask his own, lest he should
lose it altogether.
"For gay gallants are not always to be trusted, for all that they
look so fine and speak so fair," she said, nodding her pretty curly
head, an arch smile in her big gray eyes. "I have heard my father
say so a hundred times. I would go quickly and claim mine own
again. But tell me the rest of the adventure. What didst thou, left
thus alone upon the lone heath? I trow it was an unmanly and
unmannerly act to leave thee thus. What befell thee then?"
Cuthbert looked round cautiously; but there was no one listening to
the chatter of this pair of idlers in the window. Mistress Susan's
voice was heard below scolding the serving wench, and Martin Holt
was poring over some big ledger whilst Jemima called over the
figures of a heap of bills. Keziah was at her spinning wheel, which
hummed merrily in the red firelight; and Cherry was seizing
advantage of her aunt's absence to chatter instead of work.
Cherry had from the first been Cuthbert's confidante and friend. It
was taken for granted by this time that this should be so. Nobody
was surprised to see them often together, and Cherry had never
found the house on the bridge so little dull as when Cuthbert came
in night by night to give her the most charming and exciting
accounts of his doings and adventures. Once, too, she had gone with
him to see some sights. They had paraded Paul's Walk together, and
Cuthbert had been half scandalized and wholly astonished to see a
fine church desecrated to a mere fashionable promenade and lounging
place and mart. They had watched some gallants at their tennis
playing another day, and had even been present at the baiting of a
bear, when they had come unawares upon the spectacle in their
wanderings. But Cuthbert's ire had been excited through his
humanity and love for dumb animals, and Cherry had been frightened
and sickened by the brutality of the spectacle. And when Martin
Holt had inveighed against the practice with all a Puritan's
vehemence, Cuthbert had cordially agreed, and had thus drawn as it
were one step nearer the side of the great coming controversy which
his uncle had embraced.
These expeditions together had naturally drawn the cousins into
closer bonds of intimacy. Cherry felt privileged to ask questions
of Cuthbert almost at will, and he had no wish to hide anything
from her.
"I will tell thee that adventure some day when we are alone," he
answered. "I have often longed to share the tale with thee, but we
have had so much else to speak of. I was taken prisoner by the
robbers, and conveyed to a ruined mill, where some of their
comrades and some wild gipsies dwell, as I take it, for the greater
part of the inclement winter. I thought my end had surely come when
first I saw the fierce faces round me; but there was one who called
herself their queen, and who made them quit their evil purpose. She
put me to sit beside her at the board, and when the morning came
she fed me again and bid me ride forth without fear. She told me
certain things to boot, which I must not forget: but those I will
not speak of till you know the whole strange story. I may not tell
it here. I would not that any should know it but thee, Cherry. But
some day when we can get into some lonely place together I will
tell thee all, and we will think together how the thing on which my
mind is set may be accomplished."
Cherry's eyes were dilated with wonder and curiosity. Her cousin
all at once took rank as a hero and knight of romance. He had
already experienced a wonderful adventure, and there was plainly
some mystery behind which was to be made known to her later.
What a proud thing it was to have such a cousin! How she despised
honest Jacob now, with his large hands and heavy ways! She had
laughed at him ever since she could remember, and had ordered him
about much as though he were a faithful dog always ready to do her
bidding; but she had never quite realized what a clumsy boor he was
till their handsome, dark-faced Trevlyn cousin had come amongst
them, with his earnest eyes, his graceful movements, and his slim,
attractive person. Cuthbert's manners, that in fine society would
have been called rustic and unformed, were a great advance on
anything Cherry had seen in her own home, save in the person of
Anthony Cole and his son. She admired him immensely, and he was
rapidly becoming the sun and centre of her life; whilst Cuthbert,
who had always been used to the companionship of a sister, and who
found several fanciful resemblances as well as so many points of
contrast between the lively Cherry and the pensive Petronella, was
glad enough of her sisterly friendship and counsel, and did not
lose in favour with his uncle that he succeeded in pleasing and
brightening the life of his youngest born, who was in truth the
idol of his heart, though he would sooner have cut off his right
hand than have let her know as much too plainly.
As Cherry also was of opinion that Cuthbert ought to reclaim his
money, he resolved to do so upon the morrow without any further
loss of time. Cherry advised him not to speak openly of his visit
to the tavern, for her father held all such places in abhorrence,
and would likely speak in slighting terms of any person who could
frequent them. He had better prosecute his errand secretly, and
tell her the result at the end. Cherry dearly loved a little bit of
mystery, and was very anxious that Cuthbert should continue to
occupy his present position in her father's good graces.
The Cat and Fiddle was none too well looking a place when Cuthbert
succeeded at last in finding it. It had one door in the
thoroughfare of Holborn, but it ran back some way, and its other
doors opened into a narrow alley turning off from the main street
under a low archway. As Cuthbert pushed open the door of the public
room, he saw several men with faces of decidedly unprepossessing
type sitting together at a table engrossed in talk, and these all
looked quickly up as he entered, and gazed at him with undisguised
suspicion.
A burly man, who had the look of a host, came forward, and asked
his business rather roughly. Strangers did not appear to meet any
warmth of welcome at this place. Cuthbert answered that he sought
news of Master Robert Catesby, who had bidden him inquire at that
place for him. As that name passed his lips he saw a change pass
over the face of his questioner, and the answer was given with a
decided access of friendliness.
"He is not here now, but he will be here anon. He comes to dine
shortly after noon, and will spend some hours here today on
business. If it please you, you can wait for him."
"I thank you, but I will come again later," answered Cuthbert, who
was by no means enamoured of the place or the company.
He was surprised that his travelling companion, who appeared a man
of refined speech and habits, should frequent such an evil-looking
place as this. But the habits of the dwellers in cities were as yet
strange to him, and it might be his ignorance, he thought, which
made it appear suspicious to him.
"And if he asks who has inquired for him, what shall I say?" asked
the host, whilst the men at the table continued to stare and listen
with every appearance of interest.
"My name is Trevlyn," answered Cuthbert shortly, disliking, he
hardly knew why, the aspect and ways of the place.
He fancied that a slight sensation followed this announcement.
Certainly the landlord bowed lower than there was occasion for as
he held open the door for his visitor to pass out. Cuthbert was
puzzled, and a little annoyed. He was half inclined not to go there
again; but curiosity got the better of his resolve as the afternoon
hours drew on. After all, what did it matter what manner of man
this was, since he need never see him again after today? It would
be foolish not to reclaim his money, and might lead Master Robert
Catesby to inquire for him at his uncle's house, and that he did
not wish. The thing had better be done, and be done quickly. How
foolish it would be to go back to Cherry and say he had not
accomplished his errand because some odd-looking men had stared at
him, and because the tavern was ill smelling and dirty!
It was three o'clock, however, before the youth again entered the
unsavoury abode. As December had already come, the days were
approaching their shortest limit; and as heavy clouds hung in the
sky, the streets already began to look dark. Within the ill-lighted
tavern the obscurity was still greater. Cuthbert pushed his way
through the door, and found himself amongst the afternoon drinkers,
who were making the room ring with ribald songs and loud laughter.
But the host quickly singled him out, and approached with an air of
deference.
"The gentleman you asked for is upstairs. He directed that you
should be sent to him on your arrival. I am too busy to go up the
stairs with you, but you cannot miss the way. He is in the room
upon the first floor; the first door to the right hand will lead
you to him. He has one or two gentlemen with him, but he will be
glad to see you, too."
Cuthbert was glad to get out of the noisy room below, and, shutting
the door behind him, mounted the dark stairs. He opened the first
door to the right, after knocking once or twice in vain, and found
himself in a very small apartment, very ill lighted by a tiny
window, and altogether empty.
He looked round in surprise. Dim as was the twilight, he could not
be mistaken in the emptiness of the room. He wondered if the man
had misled him purposely, and a little vague uneasiness stole over
him. The noises from below had hitherto drowned any other sound;
but as for some cause unknown to himself these suddenly and
entirely ceased for the space of some half minute, he became aware
of voices close at hand; and almost before he realized his
position, he had caught several quickly and eagerly spoken
sentences.
"They show no mercy; let no mercy be shown to them!" said one
voice, in low, menacing accents. "Six saintly priests have died in
cruel agonies by the bloody hangman's hands but a few weeks past;
and look ye, what has been the fate of that godly, courageous old
man of Lancashire who has dared to raise his voice in reprobation
of these barbarities? Fined, imprisoned, despoiled of all; and all
but condemned to be nailed to the pillory, that his ears might be
sliced off! Even that fate was all but inflicted by yon infamous
Star Chamber, who respect neither virtue nor gray hairs, so they
may fill the King's coffers and destroy all godliness in the land!
It was but by two votes he escaped that last anguish and
degradation. How say ye, friends? Can any scheme be too desperate
if it rids us of such tyrants and rulers at one blow?"
An eager murmur arose at that--assent, indignation, wrath--and
again the same voice spoke in the same low, eager tones:
"And the way is open; the house is ours. But a few feet of masonry
to tunnel through, and the thing is done. Shall we shrink? shall we
hesitate? I trow not. Strong arms, silent tongues, a high
courage--that is all we want."
"And a few more strong arms to help us at the work, for it will be
a labour of Hercules to get it done."
At that moment the noise from below burst out anew, and Cuthbert
heard no more of this mysterious colloquy. He had not time to think
over the meaning of the words he had heard, or indeed to attach any
particular significance to them. He was always hearing fierce
threats bandied about between ardent partisans of Romanist and
Puritan, and was beginning to pay small heed to such matters. He
did not realize now that he had surprised any conspirators at their
work. He knocked boldly at the door of the room, to which the place
where he stood was plainly the antechamber, and a loud voice bid
him enter.
There was no light in the apartment, save that which filtered in
through the dirty window, and it was plain that the meeting,
whatever its nature, was breaking up. Several men were standing
about in their cloaks and hats, the latter slouched down upon their
brows, so that their faces could not be distinguished in the gloom.
Two or three passed Cuthbert hastily as he entered, before he had
time even to see if one of them was the companion of his journey;
but though he found some trouble in distinguishing features, his
own were visible enough as he stood facing the window, and out of
the shadows stepped a tall man, who greeted him with extended hand.
"Good e'en to you, Cuthbert Trevlyn, and a fair welcome to London
town! I trust you have not been in dangers and difficulties, and
that you but now come to claim your own again? How fared it with
you on the heath that night? Were you in any wise maltreated or
rough handled by the gentlemen of the road?"
"Nay; I was rather treated to a good supper and a night's lodging,
and not so much as deprived of my steed. I trow had he shown
something more of mettle I might not have so preserved him; but one
or two of them who mounted him pronounced him of no use even as a
pack horse."
Catesby laughed pleasantly, and putting his hand into his doublet
drew forth the purse intrusted to him, and placed it in Cuthbert's
hands.
"They would not have been so obliging, I fear, had you chanced to
have this upon your person. Take it, boy, and look within and see
that all is safe. I have not parted with it since the night of our
journey. I trow you will find your treasure as it left your hand."
"I am sure of it," answered Cuthbert gratefully; "and I return you
many thanks for your goodwill and sound counsel in the matter. But
for your good offices I should have lost all. I trust you yourself
escaped without misadventure?"
Cuthbert was now anxious to be gone. His errand was accomplished.
The atmosphere of this place was offensive to him, and he was
uneasy without well knowing why. His companion seemed to divine
this; and the room being now cleared of all other guests, he put
his hat on his head and said, "We will go out into the fresh air.
The Cat and Fiddle is better as a resort by day than by night. I
would fain know something of your whereabouts and fortunes, boy. I
have taken a liking for you, and the name of Trevlyn sounds
pleasantly in mine ears."
The old sense of fascination began to fall upon Cuthbert, as
Catesby, taking him familiarly by the arm, led him out into the
street, and walked along with him in the direction of his home,
drawing him out by questions, and throwing in bits of anecdote,
jest, and apt remark, that made his conversation a pleasure and an
education. Cuthbert forgot his anxieties and vague suspicions in
his enjoyment of the conversation of an accomplished man of the
world; and there was a subtle flattery in the sense that this man,
scholar and gentleman as he was, had condescended to a liking for
and an interest in his insignificant self, and was of his own
accord inviting confidence and friendship.
"I once had a young brother; thou something favourest him," was the
only explanation he gave of the sudden fancy formed when Cuthbert
spoke gratefully of his kindness. "I am growing out of youth
myself, but I like the companionship of youth when I can get it. I
would fain see more of thee, boy, an thou art thine own master, and
can come and visit me at the place I may appoint."
Cuthbert was pleased and flattered, and said he should be proud to
come, but hoped it would not be at the tavern, as his uncle
misliked such places of entertainment.
"It is an ill-smelling spot; I mislike it myself," answered
Catesby. "Nay, we can do better than that now. There is a house at
Lambeth where I often frequent with my friends. It is something
lonely; but thou art a brave lad, and wilt not fear that."
He turned and looked Cuthbert keenly over as he spoke, and heaved a
short sigh.
"Thou art marvellous like the brother I lost," he said. "I would
that I might have thee for my servant; but thou art too gently born
for that, I trow."
Cuthbert had well-nigh promised lifelong service on the spot, so
peculiar was the influence and fascination exercised upon him by
this man; but he remembered his uncle and his duty to him, and
pulled himself up as he replied soberly:
"I am poor enow--poorer than many a servant--having naught but what
is given me by others. But I have mine uncle's will to do. I may
take no step without asking counsel of him."
"Ay, verily; and this secret of our friendship thou must hide from
him. Thou knowest that I am of the forbidden faith, and my presence
in London must be hid. I may trust thee thus far with my secret?
Thou wilt not reveal my name to others?"
"Never, since thou hast told me not."
"Good lad; I knew thou mightest be trusted. And thou wilt come to
see me as I shall ask?"
"If I can make shift to do so I will very willingly."
"I shall remind thee of thy promise. And now, farewell. I have
business in another quarter. We shall meet again anon."