“Ay, verily he will.  I purchased him for that same speed, and it has never failed me yet.  I fear not pursuit.  My only peril lies in the chance of meeting a second band watching the road farther on.  I like not thus to leave you, boy; but I have no choice.  I may not risk being robbed of my papers.  There be more in them than must be suffered to be scanned by any eyes for which they were not meant.  My gold might go, and welcome, but I must save my papers.  And if thou hast any small valuables about thee, I will charge myself with the care of them, and thou canst call at my lodging in London when thou gettest there to claim thine own again.  ’Twill be the better chance than leaving yon gentlemen to rid thee of them.”

The smile with which the stranger uttered these words was so winning and frank, that Cuthbert placed his purse in the outstretched hand without a qualm.

“When thou wantest thine own again, go to the Cat and Fiddle in the thoroughfare of Holborn, and ask news there of Master Robert Catesby.  It is an eating house and tavern where I am constantly to be met with.  If I be not lodging there at that very time, thou wilt have news of me there.  Farewell; and keep up a brave heart.  These fellows are less harsh with poor travellers than rich.  Let them see you have small fear, and it will be the better for all.”

These last words were faintly borne back to Cuthbert on the wings of the wind, as his companion galloped with long easy strides across the heath.  A little dip in the ground hid for a moment their pursuers from sight, and before they emerged upon the crest of the undulation, Master Robert Catesby was practically out of sight; for a cloud had obscured the brightness of the moon, and only a short distance off objects became invisible.

Cuthbert rode slowly on his way, trying to compose himself to the state of coolness and courage that he would like to show in the hour of danger.  He felt the beatings of his heart, but they were due as much to excitement as to fear.  In truth he was more excited than afraid; for he had absolutely nothing to lose save a suit of old clothes and his horse, and both of these were in sorry enough plight to be little tempting to those hardy ruffians, who were accustomed to have travellers to rob of a far superior stamp.

Nearer and nearer came the galloping horse hoofs, and a loud, rough voice ordered him to stop.

Cuthbert obeyed, and wheeled round on his placid steed, who showed no sign of disquietude or excitement, but at once commenced to nibble the short grass that grew beside the sandy track.

“And what do you want of me, gentlemen?” asked Cuthbert, as he found himself confronted by half-a-dozen stalwart fellows, with swarthy faces and vigorous frames.  They were all armed and well mounted, and would have been formidable enough to a wealthy traveller with his stuff or valuables about him.

“Your money—­or your life!” was the concise reply and Cuthbert was able to smile as he replied: