The two friends that Cuthbert had made of his own sex during the
first weeks spent beneath his uncle's roof were the same two guests
he had seen at the supper table on the evening of his arrival--Walter
Cole and Jacob Dyson.
Both these men were several years older than himself, but in a
short time he became exceedingly intimate with the pair, and thus
obtained insight into the home life of persons belonging to the
three leading parties in the realm. The Puritan element was
strongly represented in Martin Holt's house, the Romanist in that
of the Coles, whilst the Dysons, although springing from a Puritan
stock, had been amongst those willing to conform to the laws as
laid down in the late Queen's time. Both Rachel and Jacob preferred
the Episcopal form of worship to any other, and openly marvelled at
the taste of those who still frequented the private conventicles,
where unlicensed preachers, at the risk of liberty and even life,
held forth by the hour together upon their favourite doctrines and
arguments.
But honest Jacob was no theologian. He did not hesitate to assert
openly his ignorance of all controversy, and his opinion that it
mattered uncommonly little what a man believed, so long as he led
an upright life and did his duty in the world. He was "fair sick"
of long-drawn arguments, the splitting of hairs, and those
questions which the theologians of all parties took such keen joy
in discussing--though, as nobody ever moved his opponent one whit,
the disputes could only be held for the love the disputants felt
for hearing themselves talk. Jacob had long since claimed for
himself the right to leave the room when politics and religion came
under discussion. As an only son, he had some privileges accorded
him, and this was one he used without stint.
Honest Jacob had taken an immediate and great liking for Cuthbert
Trevlyn from the first appearance of that youth at his uncle's
house. Though himself rough and uncouth of aspect, clumsy of gait
and slow of speech, he was quick to see and admire beauty and wit
in others. He had picked out Cherry from amongst her sisters for
those qualities of brightness and vivacity in which he felt himself
so deficient, and it seemed as though he took to Cuthbert for very
much the same reason.
Cuthbert was ready enough to accept the advances of this
good-natured youth. He was a stranger in this great city, whilst
Jacob knew it well. He was eager to hear and see and learn all he
could; and though Jacob's ideas were few and his powers of
observation limited, he was still able to answer a great many of
the eager questions that came crowding to the lips of the stranger
as they walked the streets together. And when Cuthbert accompanied
Jacob to his home, Abraham Dyson could fill up all the blank in his
son's story, and was secretly not a little pleased with Cuthbert's
keen intelligence and ready interest.
The Dysons were merchants in a small way of business, but were
thriving and thrifty folks. They and the Holts had been in close
relations one with the other for more than one generation, and any
relative of Martin Holt's would have been welcome at their house.
Cuthbert was liked on his own account; and soon he became greatly
fascinated by the river-side traffic, took the greatest interest in
the vessels that came to the wharves to be unladed, and delighted
in going aboard and making friends with the sailors. He quickly
came to learn the name of every part of the ship, and to pick up a
few ideas on the subject of navigation. Whenever a vessel came in
from the New World but recently discovered, he would try to get on
board and question the sailors about the wonders they had seen.
Afterwards he would discourse to Jacob or to Cherry of the things
he had learned, and would win more and more admiration from both by
his brilliant powers of imagination and description.
So the river became, as it were, a second home to him. Abraham
Dyson had more than one wherry of his own in which Cuthbert was
welcome to skim about upon the broad bosom of the great river. He
soon became so skillful with the rude oars or the sail, that he was
a match for the hardiest waterman on the river, and more than once
Cherry had been permitted to accompany Cuthbert and Jacob upon some
excursion up or down stream.
And now, after many weeks of pleasant comradeship, Cuthbert found
himself in the unenviable position of standing rival to his friend
in the affections of Cherry, and the more he thought about it the
less he liked the situation. He could not give Cherry up--that was
out of the question; besides, had he renounced her twenty times
over, that would not improve Jacob's case one whit. Cherry was her
father's own daughter, and, with all her kittenish softness, had a
very decided will of her own. She was not the sort of daughter to
be bought and sold, or calmly made over like a bale of wool. She
would certainly insist on having a voice in the matter, and her
choice was not likely at any time to fall upon the worthy but
unprepossessing Jacob.
All this Cuthbert understood with the quick apprehension of a
lover; but it was very doubtful if Jacob would so see things, and
Cuthbert felt as though there was something of treachery in
accepting and returning his many advances of friendship whilst all
the time he was secretly affianced to the girl for whose hand Jacob
had made formal application, and had been formally accepted, though
for the present, on account of the maiden's tender years, the
matter was allowed to stand over.
With Walter Cole there was no such hindrance to friendship, and
just at this juncture Cuthbert prosecuted and confirmed his
intimacy at that house by constant visits there. He was greedy of
information and book learning, and in this narrow dim dwelling,
literally stacked with books, papers, and pamphlets of all kinds,
and partially given over to the mysteries of the printing press,
seldom worked save at dead of night, Cuthbert's expanding mind
could revel to its full content.
He devoured every book upon which he could lay hands--history,
theology, philosophy; nothing came amiss to him. He would sit by
the hour watching Anthony Cole at work setting type, asking him
innumerable questions about what he had been last reading, and
finding the white-headed bookseller a perfect mine of information.
Controversy and the vexed topics of the day were generally avoided
by common consent. The Coles had learned through bitter experience
the necessity for silence and reticence. Everybody knew them for
ardent and devoted sons of Rome, and they were under suspicion of
issuing many of the pamphlets against the policy of the King that
raised ire in the hearts of the great ones of the land. But none of
these "seditious" writings had so far been traced to them, and they
still lived in comparative peace, although the tranquillity
somewhat resembled that of the peaceful dwellers upon the sides of
a volcanic mountain, within whose crater grumblings and mutterings
are heard from time to time.
Cuthbert's frequent visits, and the manifest pleasure he took in
their society, were a source of pleasure to both father and son;
and though they never showed this pleasure too openly, or asked him
to continue his visits or help them in their night work, they did
not refuse his help when offered, and sometimes would look at each
other and say:
"He is drawing nearer; he is drawing nearer. Old traditions, race
instincts, are telling upon him. He is too true a Trevlyn not to
become a member of the true fold. His vagrant fancy is straying
here and there. He is tasting the bitter-sweet fruit of knowledge
and restless search after the wisdom of this world. But already he
begins to turn with loathing from the cold, lifeless Puritan code.
Anon he will find that the Established Church has naught to give
him save the husk, from which the precious grain has been carefully
extracted."
"Father Urban thinks well of him," Walter once remarked, as they
discussed the youth after his departure one evening. "He has met
him, I know not where, and believes that there may be work for him
to do yet. We want those with us who have the single mind and
honest heart, the devotion that counts not the cost. All that is
written on the lad's face. If he breaks not away from us, he may
become a tool in a practised hand to do a mighty work."
Cuthbert, however, went on his way all unconscious of the notice he
was arousing in certain quarters. His mind was filled just now with
other matters than those of religious controversy. He had become
rather weary of the strife of tongues, and was glad to busy himself
with the practical concerns of life that did not always land him in
a dilemma or a difficulty.
Abraham Dyson was having a new sloop built for trading purposes,
and both Jacob and Cuthbert took the keenest interest in the
progress of the work. The sloop was to be called the Cherry Blossom
when complete, and it was Abraham Dyson's plan that the christening
of the vessel by Cherry herself should be the occasion of her
formal betrothal to his son.
This ceremony, however, would not take place for some while yet, as
at present the little vessel was only in the earlier stages of
construction. Neither Jacob nor Cuthbert had heard anything about
this secondary plan, but both took the greater interest in the
sloop from the fact that she was to be named after Cherry.
Cuthbert visited her daily, and Jacob as often as his duties at his
father's warehouse allowed him. On this particular bright February
afternoon the pair had been a great part of their time on the
river, skimming about in the wherry, and examining every part of
the little vessel under the auspices of the master builder. Dusk
had fallen upon the river before they landed, and a heavy fog
beginning to rise from the water made them glad to leave it behind.
They secured the wherry to the landing stage, leaving the oars in
her, as they not unfrequently did when returning late, and were
pursuing their way up the dark and unsavoury streets, when the
sound of a distant tumult smote upon their ears, and they arrested
their steps that they might listen the better.
Cuthbert's quick ears were the first to gather any sort of meaning
from the discordant shouts and cries which arose.
"They are chasing some wretched fugitive!" he said in a low voice.
"That is the sound of pursuit. Hark! they are coming this way. Who
and what are they thus hounding on?"
Nearer and nearer came the surging sound of many voices and the
hurried trampling of feet.
"Stop him--catch him--hold him!" shouted a score of hoarse voices,
rolling along through the fog-laden air long before anything could
be seen. "Stop him, good folks, stop him! stop the runaway
priest--stop the treacherous Jesuit! He is an enemy to peace--a
stirrer up of sedition and conspiracy! Down with him--to prison
with him! it is not fit for such a fellow to live. Down with
him--stop him!"
"A priest!" exclaimed Cuthbert between his shut teeth, a sudden
gleam corning into his eyes. "Jacob, heard you that? A priest--a
man of God! one man against a hundred! Canst thou stand by and see
such a one hunted to death? that cannot I."
Jacob cared little for priests--indeed, he had no very good opinion
of the race, and none of Cuthbert's traditional reverence; but he
had all an Englishman's love of fair play, and hated the cruelty
and cowardice of an angry mob as he hated anything mean and vile,
and he doubled back his wrist bands and clinched his horny fists as
he answered:
"I am with thee, good Cuthbert. We will stand for the weaker side.
Priest or no, he shall not be hounded to death in the streets
without one blow struck in his defence. But how to find him in this
fog?"
"We need not fight; that were mere madness," answered Cuthbert in
rapid tones. "Ours is to hurry the fugitive into the wherry, loose
from shore, and out into the river; and then they may seek as they
will, they can never find us. Mist! hark! the cries come nigher. If
the quarry is indeed before them, it must be very nigh. Mark! I
hear a gliding footfall beside the wall. Keep close to me; I go to
the rescue."
Cuthbert sprang swiftly through the darkness, and in a moment he
felt the gown of a priest in his hand, and heard the sound of the
distressed breathing of one hunted well nigh to the verge of
exhaustion. As the hunted man felt the clasp upon his robe he
uttered a little short, sharp cry, and made as if he would have
stopped short; but Cuthbert had him fast by the arm, and hurried
him along the narrow alley towards the river, upholding him over
the rough ground, and saying in short phrases: "Fear nothing from
us, holy Father; we are friends. We have come to save you. Trust
only to us and, believe me, in three more minutes we shall be
beyond the reach of these savage pursuers. The river is before us,
though we see it not, and our boat awaits us there. Once aboard,
they may weary themselves in their vain efforts to catch us; they
will never find us in this fog.
"Here is the water side. Have a care how you step--Jacob, hold fast
the craft whilst the Father steps in. So. All is well; cast off and
I will follow."
There was the sound of a light spring; the boat gave a slight
lurch, and then, gliding off into the mysterious darkness of the
great river, was lost to sight of shore in the wreaths of foggy
vapour.
"Where is the hound? where is the caitiff miscreant? Has he thrown
himself into the river? Drowning is too good for such a dog as he!"
shouted angry voices on the river's bank, and through the still air
the sound of trampling footsteps could be heard up and down the
little wharf which formed the landing stage.
"I hear the sound of oars!" shouted one.
"He has escaped us--curse the cunning of that Papist brood!" yelled
another.
"Let us get a boat and follow," counselled a third; but this was
more easily said than done, as there was no other boat tied up at
that landing stage, and the fog rendered navigation too difficult
and dangerous to be lightly attempted. With sullen growls and many
curses the mob seemed to break up and disperse; but the leaders
appeared to stand in discussion for some moments after the rest had
gone, and several sentences were distinctly heard by those in the
boat, who thought it safer to drift with the tide awhile close to
the shore than to use their oars and betray their close proximity
to their foes.
"We shall know him again; and if he dares to show his face in the
city, we will have him at last, even if we have to search for him
in Alsatia with a band of soldiers. He has too long escaped the
doom he merits, the plotter and schemer, the vile dog of a seminary
priest! Once let us get him into our hands and he shall be hanged,
drawn, and quartered, like those six of his fellows. No mercy for
the Jesuits; it is not fit that such fellows should camber the
earth. There will be no peace for this realm till we have destroyed
them root and branch."
The boat had now drifted too far for the conversation to be any
longer audible. Jacob gave a long, low whistle, and took to the
oars. Cuthbert, who sat beside the priest in the stern, had his
hand upon the tiller; and as the fog cloud lifted just a little, so
that the darkness about them became hardly more than that of
twilight, he looked at the silent, motionless figure beside him,
and exclaimed in surprise:
"Father Urban!"
A slight smile hovered for a moment over the wan face of the
priest. He lifted his thin hand and said solemnly:
"Peace be with thee, my son."
Cuthbert bent his head in reverence, and then turned again towards
the Father.
"What hast thou done that they should rail at thee thus--thou the
friend of the poor, the friend even of the leper? What has come to
them that they turn thus against thee? Sure, but a few short weeks
ago and thou didst hold back an angry crowd by the glance of thine
eye."
"My son, trust not in the temper of the crowd, in the goodwill of
the multitude. Was it not the same crowd who on the Sabbath
shouted, 'Hosanna to the Son of David!' that on the Friday yelled,
'Crucify Him! crucify Him!' Never put faith in man, still less in
the multitude that is ever swayed like a reed, and may be driven
like a wave of the sea hither and thither as the wind listeth.
"And then I was not amongst mine own flock. I had--rashly,
perchance--adventured myself further than I ought, for I had a
message of consequence to execute, and I have not been wont to hide
myself from my fellow men. But there is no knowing in these fearful
times of lawlessness and savage hate what will be the temper either
of rulers or people. It seems that I am known--that there is some
warrant out against me. So be it. If I must flee from this city to
another, holier men have done the like ere now. I would mine errand
had been completed. I would I had accomplished my task. But--"
The priest's voice had been growing fainter for some moments.
Cuthbert supposed it to be a natural caution on his part, lest even
Jacob should hear him as he plied his oars; but as he came to this
sudden stop, he felt that the slight frame collapsed in some way,
and leaned heavily against him as he sat. Turning his eyes from the
dim, rippling water, so little of which could be seen in the
darkness and the fog, to the face of the priest, he saw that it had
turned ghastly pale, and that the eyes were glazing over as if with
the approach of death. Plainly the fugitive had received some
bodily hurt of which he had not spoken, and the question what to do
with their helpless burden became a difficult one to answer.
"My father will not receive him," said Jacob, shaking his head, as
he leaned upon his oars and let the boat drift along with the tide
that was carrying them towards the bridge. "He hates the priests
worse than your good uncle and mine, who has something of a fellow
feeling for them in these days of common persecution; and you know
well what sort of a welcome we should receive from him did we
arrive with a seminary priest in our arms."
"And I trow the mob would be upon us ere we had got him safe
housed, and for aught we could do to stop it might tear him limb
from limb in our very sight."
"Ay, there is always some rumour afoot of a new Papist plot; and
whether it be true or no, the people set on to harry the priests as
dogs harry the hunted hare. I know not what to do. To land with him
will do neither good to him nor to us. A fine coil there would be
at home if my father heard of me mixing myself up with Jesuit
traitors; and Martin Holt would not be much better pleased
neither."
"Martin Holt is not my father," answered Cuthbert, with a touch of
haughtiness; "and let him say what he will, I must save this man's
life, even if it cost me mine own. Thou knowest how he saved me
that day in the dens of Whitefriars. To leave him to the mercy of
the howling mob would be an act of blackest treachery; it would
disgrace my manhood for ever."
"Tush, man, who asked that of thee?" answered Jacob, with something
of a smile at the lad's impetuosity. "I love not a black cassock
nor a tonsured head so passing well; but a man is a man, even
though he be a priest, and I call shame upon those who would thus
maltreat a brother man, and the more so when he is one who has
visited the sick and tended the leper, and been the friend of those
who have no friends in this great city. I would no sooner than thou
give him up to the will of the mob; but we must bethink ourselves
where he may be in safety stowed, else the mob will have him
whether we will or no. All I was meaning by my words was that
neither my home nor thine could be the place for him."
"I ask thy pardon, good Jacob, for my heat," answered Cuthbert
humbly. "I should have known better thy good heart than to have
thought such a thing of thee."
"Nay, nay; I am no hero."
"Thou art a kindly hearted and an honest man, which I misdoubt me
if all the world's heroes are," answered Cuthbert quickly. "And
now, Jacob, it behoves us to think. Yes, I have it. We must ask
counsel of Master Anthony Cole. He would be the one to hide Father
Urban if it could be done. Let me land nigh to the bridge, and go
to them and tell them all; and do thou push out once more and
anchor the craft beneath the pier on which their house rests.
Methinks when I have taken counsel with them I can make shift to
slip down the wooden shaft of that pier, and so hold parley with
thee. Walter has done the like before now, and I am more agile in
such feats than he; moreover, I can swim like a duck if I should
chance to miss my hold, and so reach the water unawares. That will
be the best, for the boat may not linger at the wharf side. We know
not what news may be afoot in the city, nor that there may not be
searchers bent on finding Father Urban, let him land where he may."
Whether or not Jacob relished this adventure, he was too stanch and
too honest hearted to turn back now. The priest lay insensible at
the bottom of the boat, his head pillowed upon the cloaks the
youths had sacrificed for his better comfort. It was plainly a
matter of consequence that he should soon be housed in some
friendly shelter. His gray face looked ghastly in the dim moonlight
which began to struggle through the fog wreaths. When Cuthbert
leaped lightly ashore hard by the bridge, and Jacob sheered off
again in the darkness, he felt as though he were out alone on the
black river, with only a corpse for company.
"If it were but for Cherry's sake, I would do ten-fold more," he
murmured, as he glanced up in the direction of the wool stapler's
shop, and pictured pretty Cherry stepping backwards and forwards at
her spinning wheel. "But I trow she will hear naught of it; or if
she does, she will think only of Cuthbert's share. Alack! I fear me
she will never think of me now. Why should she, when so proper a
youth is nigh? If he should go away and leave her, perchance her
heart might turn to me for comfort; but I fear me he looks every
day more tenderly into her bright eyes. How could he live beneath
the roof and not learn to love her? He would be scarce human,
scarce flesh and blood, were he to fail in loving her; and what is
my chance beside his? I might, almost as well yield her at once,
and take good Kezzie instead. Kezzie would make a better
housewife--my mother has told me so a hundred times; and I am fond
of her, and methinks she--"
But there Jacob stopped short, blushing even in the darkness at the
thought of what he had nearly said. Anchoring against the wooden
piles of the bridge, and letting his fancy run riot as it would, he
indulged in a shifting daydream, in which pain and a vague sense of
consolation were oddly blended. He sighed a good many times, but he
smiled once or twice likewise, and at last he gave himself a shake
and spoke out aloud.
"At least it shall make no cloud and no bitterness betwixt us
twain. He is a fine lad and a noble one, and he deserves more at
Dame Fortune's hands than such a clown as I. Shall I grudge him his
luck if he gets her? never a whit! There may not be more than one
Cherry in the world, but there are plenty of good wives and honest
maidens who will brighten a man's home for him."
Musing thus, Jacob kept his watch, and was not long in hearing
strange and cautious sounds above his head. Looking up, he beheld a
lithe form slipping, in something of a snake fashion, down the
woodwork of the bridge, and the next moment Cuthbert sprang softly
down, so deftly that the wherry only rolled a little at the shock.
"Hast thought me long? Hast been frozen with cold? I have made all
the haste I could. All is planned. This is not strange work to
them. See, I have brought with me this cradle of cord. We can place
Father Urban within, and they will draw him up from above, that no
man shall see him enter their house. All the windows be shuttered
and barred by now. None will see or hear. They have harboured many
a fugitive before, I take it. They had all the ropes and needful
gear ready beneath their hand at a moment's notice."
Whilst he was speaking, Cuthbert was wrapping the inanimate figure
in the cloaks, and placing it gently in the hammock, as we should
call it, that, suspended by strong cords from above, had assisted
him in his descent to the boat. Then at a given signal this
hammock, with its human load, was slowly and steadily drawn
upwards, with a cautious, silent skill that betokened use and
experience; and as the eager watchers pushed out their boat a
little further into the river, they saw the bulky object vanish at
last within the dimly-lighted window of the tall, narrow house. A
light was flashed for a moment from the window, and then all was
wrapped in darkness.
"All is well," exclaimed Cuthbert, with an accent of relief; "and I
trow that not a living soul but our two selves knows whither the
priest has fled. He is safe from that savage, howling mob. Methinks
I hear their cries still! It was just so they yelled and hooted
round me when Father Urban came so timely to my rescue."
Mistress Susan chid Cuthbert somewhat roundly for being late for
supper that night. But when he said he had been belated by the fog
on the river with Jacob, the excuse was allowed to stand. Cherry
was eager to know the progress making with her namesake, and no
inconvenient questions were asked of Cuthbert when once her
chattering tongue had been unloosed.
Cuthbert's dreams were a little troubled and uneasy that night; but
he woke in good spirits, and was anxious to know the state of
Father Urban. He made an early excuse for visiting the Coles'
abode, and found the elder man busy over his type.
He looked up with a smile as Cuthbert appeared, but laid his
fingers on his lips.
"Be cautious; he has but just sunk to sleep after a night of
wakeful pain. He is anxious to see thee. He asked for thee a score
of times in the night; but he must not be wakened now. Thou hast
done a good deed, boy. Had Father Urban fallen a victim to yon
hooting mob last eve, a deadly blow would have been dealt to the
faith of this land."
"And is his sickness very sore? has he any grievous hurt?"
"He was sore knocked about and bruised ere he first wrenched
himself from the officer of the law who sprang upon him with an
order of arrest. Two of his ribs be broke; and that long and
fearful race for his life did cause him sore pain and greater
injury, so that a fever has been set up, and he has had to lose
much blood to allay it. But he is quiet and at rest just now. Thou
hadst better come again at sundown; he will doubtless be awake
then. He has somewhat to say to thee, I know. I believe that he has
some mission to entrust to thee. Thou hast a kindly heart and a
strong arm. I trow thou wilt not fail him now."
Anthony Cole looked fixedly into the boy's face, and Cuthbert
returned the glance unflinchingly. He was possessed by the generous
feeling all young and ardent natures know of keen desire to assist
further any person already indebted to them for past grace. The
fact that already he had run some risk on account of Father Urban
only made Cuthbert the more anxious to help him in whatever manner
might best conduce to his well being and comfort. He looked full at
his interlocutor, and said:
"Whatever I may with honour and right do for Father Urban shall not
be lacking. I owe him my life. I can never grudge any service for
him, be it great or small."
"Well spoken, my boy," answered the bookseller, with his calm,
penetrating smile. "May the blessed saints long preserve untainted
that true nobility of soul."
Cuthbert spent a restless day, wondering what mission the priest
had for him, and whether his uncle would be angry at him for
meddling in any such matters. But Martin Holt was friendly with
several of the Papist families about him, notably with the Coles
themselves; and Cuthbert had a growing sense of his own
independence and the right to choose his own associates and his own
path in life.
It was growing dusk when he stood beside the narrow bed on which
Father Urban lay. The light filtered in scantily through the narrow
window pane, and illumined a face lined by pain and white with
exhaustion. Upon the bed lay a packet which looked like papers, and
one of the priest's wasted hands lay upon it as if to guard it. As
Cuthbert bent over him and spoke his name, Father Urban looked up,
and a dim light crept into his eyes.
"Is it thou, my son, come at last?"
"Yes, Father. What may I do for thee?"
"Wilt thou do one small service more for me, my son?"
"Willingly, Father, if it lies within my power."
"It is well within thy power, boy. It is not the power I question,
but the will. We live in dangerous days. Art willing to partake of
the peril which compasses the steps of those who tread in the old
ways wherein the fathers trod?"
"Try me and see," was the quiet reply.
Perhaps none could better have suited the astute reader of
character. The hollow eyes lighted, and the old man bent upon
Cuthbert a searching glance whilst he seemed to pause to gather
strength.
"I would have thee take this packet," he said, speaking slowly and
with some pain and difficulty. "There is no superscription; and
sooner than let them be found by others on thy person, fling them
into the river, or cut them to fragments with thy dagger; and
plunge thy dagger into thine own heart sooner than be taken with
them upon thee. But with caution and courage and strength (and I
know that thou hast all of these) thou canst avoid this peril. What
thy part is, is but this: Deliver this packet into the hand of
Master Robert Catesby himself. Thou knowest him. Thou wilt make no
error. Seek him not at any tavern or public place. Go to a lone
house at Lambeth, with moss-grown steps down to the water's edge.
Go by thine own wherry thither, and go alone. Thou canst not
mistake the house. There is none like it besides. It stands upon
the water, and none other building is nigh at hand; but a giant elm
overshadows it, and there is a door scarce above high water level
and steps that lead from it. Knock three times, thus, upon that
door"--and the priest gave a curious tap, which Cuthbert repeated
by imitation; "and when thou art admitted, ask for Robert Catesby,
and give him the packet. That is all. Thy mission will then be
done. Wilt thou do as much for me?"
Cuthbert answered, without the least hesitation:
"I will."