Divided betwixt horror of the deed and pity for the conspirators who had been practically discovered and frustrated in their evil work, and who had doubtless persuaded themselves and been persuaded by their ghostly advisers that it was an act of virtue and justice and right, Cuthbert walked on, wondering more and more at the strange vagaries of human conscience, and at the extraordinary self delusion possible to the sons of the Romish faction.

It was long since he had decided definitely and of resolute conviction to cast in his lot with those who held the Reformed faith; but had he ever had any secret doubts and leanings towards the faith in which he had been reared, the revelations of that night would have proved enough for him.  He knew—­none better—­that this diabolic deed was planned and executed with the full consent, approbation, and blessing of the Romanist priests, and might even be known to the Pope himself.  Sorrowful and indignant as Cuthbert had often been for the persecuted Romanists, and keenly as his sympathies would have been stirred had they risen in man-like fashion to claim liberty of conscience and fight boldly for the cause in which their hearts were bound up, he could regard a plot like this with nothing but loathing and horror.  He wondered that men could be found willing to sell themselves to such iniquity.  Yet he knew, from what he had himself seen, that these were no mere hirelings bought over with money to do this thing, but that they were gentlemen, most of them of noble birth and large means, all of them actuated by motives of devotion and religious enthusiasm; and that they did not prize their own lives or regard them as in any way precious, but would gladly offer them up so that this thing might be accomplished.

Well, it was a mystery, and one that he could not fathom.  He could only feel thankful that no compulsion lay upon him to make known what he had seen and heard.  His word had been pledged to Catesby and Father Urban, and how to have broken it he knew not.  But there was no call for him even to think of this.  It was not he who had discovered this strange plot.  The knowledge of it was already with the King and his ministers.  The conspirators themselves were half aware of this; Cuthbert well remembered the words of fear concerning some letter spoken in the lonely garden at Lambeth but a couple of days back.

How dared they, knowing so much, pursue their dark scheme?  The youth shuddered as he marvelled at them.  Did they believe themselves yet secure?  What a fearful thing security such as that might become!  Cuthbert longed to warn them, yet feared to intermeddle further in such a matter.  And at least his first business lay in the warning he must instantly convey to Sir Richard, and that without revealing more of the truth than was absolutely necessary.  Cuthbert was worldly wise enough to be well aware that the greatest protection his kinsmen could have against suspicion was absolute ignorance of the matter of which they stood suspected.