"Cuthbert, do not go--ah, do not go!"
"And wherefore not, my Cherry?"
"I am afraid. I had such dreams last night. And, Cuthbert, didst
thou not heed? Notedst thou not how in handing the salt at supper
thy hand shook, and it was spilled? I like not such auguries; they
fill my heart with fear. Do not go--ah, do not!"
Cuthbert smiled as he caressed his little love, not averse to
feeling her soft arms clinging round his neck, yet quite disposed
to laugh at her youthful terrors.
"But what dost thou fear, sweetheart?"
"I fear everything," she replied, with inconsequent vehemence. "I
remember the stories I have heard of the wiles of the priests, and
how they tempt unwary men to their destruction. What is this Father
Urban to thee, that thou shouldst risk aught for him? I will not
let thee go--I will not!"
"Father Urban saved my life."
"And thou hast saved his. That debt is paid in full," was the
prompt response. "He saved thee at no peril to himself; thou hast
saved him when it might have cost thee thy life. Thou owest him
nothing--nothing! Why should he ask this further service of thee?"
Cuthbert smiled. Cherry's petulance and vehemence amused him. Her
little spoiled-child tempers and exactions were beginning to have a
great charm. He scarcely knew how much of the deeper fears of
dawning womanhood were beginning to intermingle with the "child's"
eager love of her own way. Love was gradually transforming Cherry,
but the transformation was as yet scarcely seen, and the added
charm of her new softness and timidity had hardly begun to be
observed by those about her.
"He is sorely sick, sweetheart, and he has asked this thing of me.
I have passed my word. Thou wouldst not have me go back therefrom?"
"He should not have asked thee; he had no right," flashed out
Cherry, in some despite. "Why did he not ask Walter Cole? he was a
fitter person than thou."
"And wherefore so?"
"Why, everybody knows him for a pestilent Papist!" answered Cherry,
with a flash of her big eyes. "Nothing he did would surprise
anybody. He is suspected already; whilst thou--nay, Cuthbert,
wherefore dost thou laugh?"
"Marry, at the logic of thy words, sweetheart! Father Urban desires
a safe and secret messenger, and thou wouldst have him employ one
already suspected and watched! That were a strange way of setting
to work, Why, I may come and go unquestioned. No man has suspected
me of aught, and I am one of those who willingly conform to the
laws. With Walter things be far different: he might be stopped and
searched by any suspicious knave who saw him pushing forth into the
river."
"And a good riddance, too!" cried Cherry, who was in no humour to
be tolerant of the Romanists, who were, as she thought, putting her
lover in peril. "I hate those plotting, secret, cunning Papists!
They are like men who are always mining in the dark, working and
striving in deadly secret, no man knowing what will next be heard
or seen. I like not such ways. I like not that thou shouldst meddle
with them. Those be treasonable papers, I doubt not. Cuthbert, it
is not meet that thou shouldst have dealings with traitors!"
Cuthbert smiled, but the earnestness with which Cherry spake
impressed him in spite of himself. It had been one thing to make
this promise to the sick priest who trusted him, but it was a
different matter to be told that he was meddling in treason. Still,
what did Cherry know about it? She was but a child.
"I know that there be treasons and treacherous plots enow in the
world," answered Cherry, as he put the question to her. "I hear
more than men think; and since thou hast been here, Cuthbert, I
have listened and heeded as I was not wont to do. All men whisper
of the treachery and malice of the Papists. All men know that had
they their will the King would be sent to death or imprisonment,
and some other person placed upon the throne."
"I know not how that may be," answered Cuthbert slowly, "and I have
no concern in such matters. All I have to do is to give these
papers to one whom I know, and who has befriended me; and that must
I do at all cost, for my word is pledged, and thou wouldst not have
me go back from that, wouldst thou, Cherry?"
"I would not have thee run into danger," answered Cherry, sticking
persistently to her point with true feminine insistence, "and I
know better than thou canst do what evil haps befall them who
meddle in matters too hard for them, and that they reek not of.
"Cuthbert," drawing a little nearer and speaking in a breathless
whisper, "dost call to mind what the wise woman said: how thou wast
to beware of the dark river--the flowing river? And yet thou wilt
venture forth upon it this eve! I like it not; I like it not! I
would that I could make a prisoner of thee, that thou mightest not
go."
"It were sweet imprisonment to be held in such thrall," answered
Cuthbert, smiling, as he loosed the clasp of the warm arms from
about his neck; "but this time, sweetheart, I must needs go. I will
be cautious and careful. I are too much upon the river in the
wherry for any to question my coming or going. None knew aught of
our rescue of the hunted priest; none but thyself knows of him nor
where he lies. It is impossible that any can suspect me yet; and
for the future, for thy sweet sake, I will be cautious how I
adventure myself into any like peril, if peril there be."
With that Cherry had to be content, for Cuthbert was immovable
where his word was pledged, and she had perforce to let him go,
since he would not be stayed.
"Tell thy father that I sup tonight with Abraham Dyson," said
Cuthbert, as he kissed her for the last time before he left. "It
may be I shall not be home in time for the supper, and I would not
be too close questioned on my return. I will go thither when I have
landed once more. Good Jacob will wish for news of Father Urban."
Cuthbert was gone, Cherry looking wistfully after him. She had
already begun to know something of the pain as well as of the joy
of love. She felt that there was in Cuthbert's nature a strain of
self devotion and heroism which frightened her whilst it enthralled
her fancy. She had an instinct that he would never turn back in any
quest he had undertaken for the peril he might have to face. She
felt that in him she was realizing her vague ideals of knightly
prowess and dauntless courage; but all the same, unless she might
be at his side to share the peril, she would almost have felt
happier had this fearless bravery been somewhat less.
Cuthbert meantime pursued his way with a light heart, his packet of
papers securely buttoned in the breast of his doublet. The keen air
of the February afternoon fanned his face. His heart was full of
tender thoughts of Cherry and her sweet affection for him. How soon
would it be possible, he wondered, to claim her as his own; and
what would Martin Holt say to the frustration of one of his
favourite schemes?
Of his present mission, and of any peril likely to accrue to him
therefrom, Cuthbert thought little or nothing. He did not see how
he could possibly come under suspicion simply from fulfilling the
priest's request. It would have been brutal to refuse; and what
harm could he do to himself or others by simply delivering a packet
of papers?
He had almost promised Master Robert Catesby before this to visit
him in his river-side house. Doubtless this was the very place for
which he was now bound. Anything like an adventure was agreeable to
one of Cuthbert's imaginative nature, and a spice of possible
danger did not detract from the sense of fascination, even though
he might not see wherein the danger lay.
The wherry he was wont to use lay moored near to the Three Cranes,
and no one heeded or questioned him as he stepped in and pushed off
into the river. A couple of soldiers were lounging upon the little
wharf and watching the small craft as they came and went. They
appeared to take some note of Cuthbert, as of others who passed by,
but they did not speak to him, and he wondered what their business
was there.
A fragment of talk between two watermen reached him as he began
rowing out in the direction of the Cherry Blossom; for he did not
wish to take the upstream direction till twilight should have
fallen and his movements would escape unheeded, and the voices of
these men as they passed him reached him clearly over the water.
"On the lookout for the runaway priest, I take it. Thou surely
didst hear how he gave them the slip in the fog, just when they
thought they had him safe. He had been well bruised and battered.
It was a marvel how he got free. But he knew the narrow lanes well,
and doubled like a hare. Doubtless he had his friends in waiting,
for he slipped into some craft and eluded pursuit. But for the fog
they would have made sure of him that time. They say he--"
But the rest of the sentence was lost in the distance, and Cuthbert
laughed silently as he plied his oars.
"Beshrew me, but they make a mighty coil anent this good Father
Urban. One would have thought they could have made shift to lay
hands on him before were he so notable a miscreant. He was not in
hiding when I saw him first; he appeared to go about the city
fearlessly. Doubtless it is but some new panic on the part of the
King. God help us all now that we be ruled over by such a poor
poltroon!"
Cuthbert had caught the prevailing contempt for the foolish and
feeble James that was shared by the nation in general, and London
in particular.
They put up with him to avoid the horrors and confusion of a
disputed succession and a possible repetition of the bloody strife
of the Roses; but there was not one section of the community with
whom he was popular: even the ecclesiastics of the Episcopal party
despised whilst they flattered and upheld him. Cuthbert felt an
access of zeal in his present mission in the thought that it would
be displeasing to the unkingly mind of the King. He had seen the
ungainly monarch riding through Westminster one day not long since,
and the sight of his slovenly and undignified figure, trapped out
in all the extravagance of an extravagant age, his clumsy seat on
horseback (of which, nevertheless, he was not a little proud), and
his goggle eyes and protruding tongue, filled the young man with
disgust and dislike. But for the noble bearing and boyish beauty of
the Prince of Wales, who rode beside his father, his disgust would
have been greater; and all men were somewhat more patient with the
defects of the father in prognosticating better and happier times
when young Henry should succeed to the throne.
Nevertheless treasonable plottings at this juncture did not appear
as fearful and horrible as they had done in the days of "good Queen
Bess," who, with all her faults and follies, contrived to keep her
people's affection in a marvellous fashion, as her sire had done
before her. Men who would have recoiled with horror at a whisper
against the Queen's Majesty, shrugged their shoulders with
comparative indifference when they heard vague whispers of Popish
or Puritan plots directed more or less against the person of King
James. Any warm personal love and loyalty was altogether lacking to
the nation, and with it was lacking the element which has always
been the strongest bulwark of the sovereign's safety.
James appears to have been dimly conscious of this, always
insisting on wearing heavy and cumbersome garments, quilted so
strongly as to defy the thrust of a dagger. A monarch who goes
about in habitual fear of assassination betrays his knowledge that
he has failed to win the love or veneration of his subjects.
Cuthbert mused idly of these things as he pushed out into the
middle of the river, and then eased up and looked about him to see
if his movements were observed. It was beginning to grow dusk now.
The sun had dipped behind the trees and buildings. The two sentries
on the wharf had turned their backs upon the river, and were
entering a tavern. The other wherries were all making for the
shore, and the tide was running in strongly and carrying Cuthbert's
boat upstream for him in the direction whither he would go.
Letting himself drift with the tide, and contenting himself with
keeping the prow in the right direction, Cuthbert drifted on his
way quite as fast as he cared to. He had not often been as far up
the stream as this, since business always took him down towards the
shipping in the mouth of the river. He had never before gone higher
up than the Temple Stairs, and now as he drifted past these and saw
the fine pile of Westminster rising before his eyes, he felt a
thrill of admiration and awe, and turned in his seat the better to
observe and admire.
Westminster was almost like another town in those days, divided
from the busy walled city of London by fields and gardens and fine
mansions standing in their own grounds. On the south side of the
river the houses were few and far between, and save at Southwark,
hardly any attempt at regular building had been made. Past the
great Palace of Whitehall and Westminster, with its Parliament
Houses rising majestic against the darkening sky, drifted the
lonely little boat. And then Cuthbert took his oars and pulled for
the southern bank; for he knew that Lambeth was not very much
farther away, and he recalled to mind the directions of the priest,
how to find it and know it.
Trees fringed the southern bank here, leafless at this season, but
still imparting a certain dark dreariness to the scene. The hoot of
an owl occasionally broke the silence, and sent light shivers
through Cuthbert's frame. He was not free from superstition, and
the evil-omened bird was no friend of his. He would rather not have
heard its harsh note just at this time; and he could have wished
that the river did not look so inky black, or that the trees did
not cast such weird shadows.
But the tide ran strong beneath the overhanging bank, and Cuthbert
was carried onwards without any effort of his own. There was
something just a little uncanny in this swift force. It reminded
Cuthbert of relentless destiny sweeping him onward whether or not
he would go.
But it was too late to consider or turn back even if such had been
his desire. Already he began to see white gleams as of stone work
along the water's edge. The willow trees came to an end; a wall
bounded the river for fifty yards or more, and then there arose
before his eyes the structure of the lonely old house, guarded by
its giant elms--a house seeming to be actually built upon the water
itself, one door, as Cuthbert had been told, opening upon the
flight of steps which at high water were almost covered.
It was well nigh high water now, and Cuthbert could bring the prow
of his boat to within a foot of the door. There were rings all
along the topmost step for the mooring of small craft, and he
quickly made fast his wherry and stood at the iron-clamped portal.
How dark and silent and lonely the house looked, rising gaunt and
dim in the uncertain light! Who would choose such a spot for a
home? Surely only those whose deeds would not bear the light of
day. And why that deadly silence and torpor in a house inhabited by
human beings? It seemed unnatural and uncanny, and as a great white
owl swept by on silent wing with a hollow note of challenge,
Cuthbert felt a chill sense of coming ill creep through his veins
and run down his spine; and fearful lest his resolution should
desert him at the last, he raised his hand and gave the
thrice-repeated knock he had been taught by Father Urban.
He doubted if the signal would be heard. He could scarcely believe
that the house boasted any inhabitants, but soon he heard a heavy
yet cautious tread approach the door from the other side. Some
heavy bolts were drawn back, and the door was opened a little way.
"Who is there?" asked a muffled voice.
"One wishful to see Master Robert Catesby."
"Why come to this back door, then? Why not approach the house by
the front way, like an honest man?"
Cuthbert was rather taken aback by this question. He answered with
a touch of sharpness:
"I came the way I was bidden to come. If I am in fault, the blame
lies with him who sent me."
"And who is that?"
"Father Urban."
At the sound of that name the door was cautiously opened a little
further, and Cuthbert felt himself confronted by a man whose face
still remained in deep shadow.
"You come from Father Urban, and with a message to Robert Catesby?"
"Not a message; a packet which methinks contains papers. I was
bidden to deliver them into no hand but his, and to destroy both
them and myself sooner than let them fall into alien hands."
At that the door opened wider yet, and Cuthbert could look along a
dark stone passage, at the end of which glowed a light. His
companion's first suspicions now appeared laid to rest.
"Come in, come in. Speak not thus aloud without, even at this dead
hour of dim loneliness. Men like ourselves stand in sore need of
every caution. Come in, and let me lock the door behind us. There
may be spies lurking even round these walls."
"Spies!" echoed Cuthbert, as he strode along the passage towards
the light. "I fear no spies; I have naught to conceal!"
But the other man was drawing the heavy bolts, and did not hear
this remark. He followed Cuthbert into the great vaulted kitchen,
which was illumined by a noble fire, the warmth of which was very
welcome to the youth after his chilly voyage on the river. There
was some cooking going on at the stove, and an appetizing odour
filled the air.
Cuthbert turned his curious glance upon the custodian of this
strange place, and saw a man who was evidently a gentleman, though
very plainly and simply dressed, and employed at this moment in
menial toil. He had a thin, worn face, and his eyes gleamed
brightly under their heavy brows. He looked like one who had seen
both trouble and suffering, and had grown somewhat reckless under
successive miseries,
He on his side was attentively regarding Cuthbert.
"Thy name, good youth?" he asked abruptly.
"Cuthbert Trevlyn," was the unhesitating rejoinder.
The lad had not yet learned the prudence of reticence in dealing
with strangers. He was neither ashamed of his errand nor of his
name.
"Trevlyn--Trevlyn. It is a good name, and I have heard it before. I
have heard Catesby speak of thee. So thou hast come with papers for
him? Art thou indeed to be one of us?"
The question was asked almost in a whisper, accompanied by a very
keen and searching glance. Cuthbert did not exactly know what to
make of it.
He shook his head as he replied:
"Nay, I know naught of that. I am but a messenger from Father
Urban, who was in sore straits but two days back, and well-nigh
fell into the hands of his foes with these papers upon him. I had
the good hap to help him to escape the peril; and as he was sore
hurt, he begged of me to carry them to Master Catesby and deliver
them with mine own hand. This have I come to do. He bid me seek
this house, for that I should likely find him here. If he be not
so, I pray you direct me where he may be found; for I have no mind
to return with my task unfulfilled, nor yet to carry about with me
these same papers an hour longer than need be."
"Heaven forfend!" ejaculated the custodian of the place with
unfeigned anxiety. "Father Urban in peril! Father Urban sore hurt!
We must know more of this business, and that without delay. Art
sure he is safe for the present? Art sure he hath not fallen into
the hands of the King's hirelings?"
"He is safe enow for the nonce."
"And where--where is he hidden?"
Cuthbert gave the man a keen look as he answered:
"That will I tell to none save Master Robert Catesby himself, whom
I know. You, good sir, are a stranger to me, albeit, I doubt not, a
very worthy gentleman."
The man's thin face lighted up with a gleam of approval.
"You are i' the right, young sir; you are i' the right of it," he
said. "In these days of peril and trouble men cannot walk too
warily. My name is Robert Kay, and the fate which has been your
father's has been mine, too. I have been ruined and beggared for my
devotion to my faith; and but for Master Robert Catesby and others
who have given me assistance and employment, I might well have
starved in some garret ere now. Yet I was gently born and nurtured,
and mine only cause of offence was the religion which but a
generation back all men in this realm honoured and loved.
Well-a-day! alack-a-day! we have fallen on evil times. Yet there is
still a God in the heavens above us, and our turn may come--yea,
our turn may come!"
The fierce wild gesture that accompanied these words recalled to
Cuthbert's mind the same sort of prediction and menace uttered by
Catesby on the night of their journey together over Hammerton
Heath. He felt at once a lively curiosity and a sense of awe and
repulsion; but he made no remark, and Kay quickly recovered
himself.
"It boots not to linger. We must to Catesby without delay. He must
hear your news, young man, and must learn of you the fate of Father
Urban. You will come with me to find him?"
"Very gladly, an you know where he is to be found."
A curious expression flitted across the man's face.
"Ay, that do I know well; nor is he far from here. We shall soon
reach him in that wherry of yours. He is but across the river at
Westminster, in the house of Thomas Percy, who has a lodging there
in right of his office and stewardship to my Lord of Northumberland."
Kay glanced rather keenly into Cuthbert's face as he spoke these
words, but they evoked no answering spark of intelligence, and
again the mask fell, leaving the face expressionless and weary as
before.
"I can take you across in my boat right well," answered Cuthbert;
"and the sooner we start the better I shall be pleased, for I have
a dark journey back tonight, and there be sentries on the watch
along the banks who may perchance ask somewhat too curiously of my
movements an I be detained late."
"Nay, then let us hurry," said Kay restlessly; "for Catesby will
not be back for many hours, and we must needs find him. I will but
tarry to get my cloak, and then we will to the boat."
He vanished as he spoke through an open door, and Cuthbert stood
looking inquisitively about him. There were several deep recesses
in this vault-like place, and in one of these were piled a large
number of small barrels, the contents of which Cuthbert guessed to
be wine or spirits. He was rather amused at the store thus got
together, and thought that Master Kay and his companions knew how
to enjoy themselves, even though they did lead lonely and troubled
lives. His eyes were still fixed upon the barrels when Kay
returned, and a smile hovered round the corners of his lips. The
man seemed to note the glance, and looked sharply at him.
"Thou knowest the meaning of those?" he said suddenly; and Cuthbert
smiled again as he answered readily:
"Ay, verily that do I."
That was all which then passed. Kay took up a lantern and led the
way. Cuthbert followed, and soon the door was unbarred and barred
again behind them, the wherry was pushed out into deep water, and
Cuthbert's strong arms were soon propelling it across the river,
Kay steering carefully, and with the air of a man well used to the
transit.
He cautioned quietness as they neared the shore, but in the little
creek where the boat was pushed up not a living thing was seen.
Another boat somewhat larger in build was already in the creek, and
there was a post to which craft could he made fast whilst the
owners landed. Kay dexterously performed this office, and taking
Cuthbert by the arm, bid him muffle his face in the collar of his
cloak, and walk cautiously and with circumspection. They quickly
reached the great block of buildings of which the Houses of
Parliament formed the most conspicuous feature; and diving down a
narrow entry, Kay paused suddenly before a low-browed door, and
gave the peculiar knock Cuthbert had learned from the priest.
The door was quickly opened, and a rough head thrust forth.
"Who goes there?"
"It is I, good Bates--I and a gentleman--one of us--come on
business that brooks no delay with Master Robert Catesby. Go summon
thy master, good knave, without delay. It is needful this gentleman
speak with him at once."
Kay had been leading Cuthbert along a passage with the familiarity
of a friend of the house, whilst the serving man barred the door,
and answered somewhat gruffly, as though disturbed by the
interruption:
"Nay, if he is one of us, let him seek the master below. He is
there, and hard at work, and will not be best pleased at being
called away. I have but just come up myself. I am weary as a hunted
hare and thirsty as a fish in a desert. Find my master thyself,
Master Kay; I am no servant of thine."
Kay appeared in no way astonished at this rough answer. He went on
before without any remark, and Cuthbert, not knowing what else to
do, followed. Presently they reached the head of a long flight of
stairs that seemed to descend into the very heart of the earth, and
from below there arose strange hollow sounds--the sound of blows
steadily struck upon some hard substance; it seemed as though they
were struck upon the very rock itself.
Greatly amazed, and wondering not a little what it could mean,
Cuthbert paused at the head of this long flight, and saw his
companion prepare to descend; but just at that moment the sound of
blows ceased. A cry and confusion of voices arose, as if the
speakers were somewhere in the heart of the earth; and almost
immediately there dashed up the stairs a man with stained garments,
bloodshot eyes, and a white, scared face, crying out in fearful
terror:
"The bell! the bell! the tolling bell! God and the Holy Saints
protect us! It is our death knell--our death knell!"
Kay seized the man by the arm.
"What ails you, man? what is it?" he asked, quickly and sternly;
but at that moment the pale face of Robert Catesby appeared, and he
was followed by a tall bearded man of very soldierly bearing, who
said, in calm, authoritative accents:
"I have here some holy water, blessed by the Pope himself. If we do
but sprinkle the walls with that and bid the daring fiend cease,
all will be well. It is no work of God; it is a work of the devil,
striving to turn us aside from our laudable and righteous purpose.
Prove me if it be not so. If yon booming bell sounds again after
this holy water has been sprinkled, then will I own that it is God
fighting against us; but if it cease after this has been sprinkled,
then shall we know that heaven is on our side and only the powers
of darkness against us."
"So be it," answered Catesby, quickly and decisively; "thou shalt
make trial of it, good Guido. I trow we shall learn by that token
that God is on our side."
All this Cuthbert saw and heard, as he stood in the shadow at the
top of the stairs consumed by a burning curiosity. Something had
occurred of such overwhelming interest as to obliterate even from
Kay's mind for the moment the errand on which he had come, and his
presence in the house at this moment awoke no question amongst the
men assembled there, who were plainly otherwise engrossed. All
vanished again down the stairs, and Cuthbert stole after them with
cautious footfalls, too eager to discover what could be so moving
them to consider what he was doing.
It was easy to track, by their voices and the light they carried,
the men who had preceded him. The long flight of stairs terminated
in a long stone passage, deadly cold; and this led in turn to a
great cellar, at the far end of which a group of seven men was
assembled. They appeared to be standing round the entrance to a
small tunnel, and this tunnel they had plainly been making
themselves; for a number of tools for boring and picking lay about,
and the faces, hands, and clothes of the assembled party plainly
indicated the nature of their toil, albeit from their speech and
bearing it was plain that all were gentlemen.
Robert Catesby was sprinkling the walls of this tunnel with some
water, using words of supplication and exorcism, and his companions
stood bare headed around him. A great hush fell upon all as this
ceremony ceased, and all seemed to listen intently.
"There is no sound; the devil hath taken flight. I knew how it
would be!" spoke the tall dark man exultantly. "And now, comrades,
to work again, for we have heard the last of our knell tonight. No
powers of darkness can stand before the charm of His Holiness's
power."
With an air of relief and alacrity the gentlemen seized their
tools, and again the hollow or ringing sounds commenced to sound in
that dim place; but Kay had plucked Robert Catesby by the sleeve,
and was whispering some words in his ear.
Catesby turned quickly round, made a few strides towards the
staircase, and then catching sight of Cuthbert, stopped short, and
seized Kay by the arm.
"Fool!" he cried, in a low, hissing tone, "what possessed you to
bring him here? We are undone!"
"Nay, but he knows; he is one of us."
"He is not; it is a lie! If he said so, he is a foul spy!"
And then striding up to Cuthbert with eyes that gleamed
murderously, he looked into the youth's face, and suddenly the fury
died out of his own.
"Why, it is Cuthbert Trevlyn! Good luck to you, good youth! I had
feared I know not what. But thou art stanch and true; thou art a
chip of the old block. If it had to be some one, better thee than
any other. Boy, thou hast seen a sight tonight that must have
awakened thy curiosity. Swear to secrecy--swear to reveal
nothing--and I will tell thee all."
"Nay, tell me nothing," answered Cuthbert firmly; "I love not
mysteries. I would fain forget all I have heard and seen. Let me
tell thee of Father Urban--let me give thee his letters; but tell
me naught in return. I will not know--I will not."
Cuthbert spoke with sudden vehemence. He and Catesby were mounting
the stairs together. As they reached the dim vestibule above,
Catesby took him by the arm and looked him searchingly in the face,
as he said:
"Maybe thou art in the right. It may be better so. But thou must
swear one thing ere thou goest hence, and that is--to reveal to no
living soul what thou hast seen this night. Know, boy, that if thou
wilt not swear this--"
But Cuthbert shook himself free, and looked proudly at his
interlocutor.
"Nay, threaten me not, good Master Catesby, else I may be moved to
defy thee and thy power. For the goodwill I bear thee, and for that
I loathe and abhor those craven souls who will betray their fellow
men to prison and death, I will give thee my word of honour to hold
sacred all that I have seen and heard in this house this night. I
know not what it means, nor do I desire to know. Be it for good or
be it for ill, it is thy secret, not mine, and with me it is safe.
But I will not be threatened nor coerced--no, not by any man. What
I will not give for friendship and brotherly love, no man shall
wrest from me through fear."
Catesby looked at the lad with his flashing eyes and proudly-held
head, and a smile illuminated his features. Whether or not his
companions would have been satisfied with this pledge, he himself
was content, and with a kindly grip of the hand he said:
"Enough, boy, enough! I like thy spirit, and I ask thy pardon for
dreaming of treating thee in any unworthy fashion. And now let us
talk of Father Urban and what has befallen him; and give to me
these papers of which thou hast been such a careful custodian."
An hour later, Cuthbert's wherry floated out into midstream once
more, and swiftly sped along the dark water, propelled by a pair of
strong young arms. Could any have seen the rower's face, it would
have been seen to be grave and rather pale. The lights of the
bridge beginning to gleam ahead of him as he looked over his
shoulder, Cuthbert muttered to himself:
"This has been a strange night's work, and there be more in all
than I can rightly understand. Pray Heaven I be not further
entangled in such mysteries and secrets! Well did the wise woman
bid me beware of underground cellars. Would I had never been into
that ill place this night!"