He had not been able to gain speech with Father Urban; for although he was convinced the priest was in hiding within the house of the Coles, both father and son resolutely denied this, and it seemed of late as though they distrusted Cuthbert himself, and desired no more of his company.

Martin Holt and honest Jacob Dyson had warned him to be cautious in his dealings with any of the Romish persuasion, and Cuthbert had been content to take this advice.  But this last afternoon before the great day so long anticipated might surely be put to some good purpose, and the thought that those men in that Lambeth house might be unwittingly remaining to be caught in a trap impelled Cuthbert to strive to have speech with Master Robert Catesby and put him on his guard, if he could not persuade him to abandon whatever rash scheme he had in his head.

Sympathy with the persecuted went some small way in blinding Cuthbert’s eyes to the terrible nature of the purposed crime.  Moreover, he thought it like enough that Esther had heard a grossly exaggerated account of what was determined.  Still, what she had heard others might have heard, and nothing was too bad to find credit with those who planned and desired the ruin of all who held views different from their own.

These and similar thoughts had been occupying Cuthbert’s mind as he bent to his oars and propelled his light wherry upstream towards the lonely house.  The tide was running out, and rowing was hard work; but he was making progress steadily, and had no thought of any personal peril until the sound of voices through the fog broke upon his ear, and he realized that he himself was an object of pursuit.

Then the wise woman’s warnings flashed across him with vivid distinctness.  Had she not bidden him beware of just those perils which he seemed resolved to court?  Why had he forgotten or disregarded her words?  Had they not proved words of wisdom again and again?  And now here was he on the dark-flowing river alone, unarmed save for the dagger in his belt, and far from all chance of help.

Just behind was a boat in hot pursuit, and there were many rowers in that boat, as the sounds told him.  If he could hear their oars, they could hear his.  And though the twilight was creeping on, the fog seemed to be lifting.  Only the vapour wreaths hid him from the gaze of his foes.  If these were to be dispersed his last chance was gone.

The river was absolutely lonely and deserted at this time of year and at this spot.  Lower down, schooners and barges were moored.  Near to the bridge he might have had some hope of being heard had he shouted aloud for aid; here there was no such hope.  He was away on the Lambeth side:  there were no houses and no boats of any kind.  His only chance lay in reaching the shore, springing to land, and trusting to his fleetness to carry him into hiding.  The lonely house could not be far away.  Perchance within its walls he might find a hiding place, or gain admittance within its doors.  At least that was the only chance he had; and inspired by this thought he drove his light wherry swiftly through the water, and felt the keel grate against the bank almost before he was prepared for it.