“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.”