He had seen nothing of Catesby or his companions.
Father Urban had said that they had all dispersed into the country.
He himself shortly took leave of the Coles, and was taken off by a boat on a dark night to reach a vessel about to start for Spain.
The whole incident seemed more like a dream than a reality now; and Cuthbert's vague sense of uneasiness had by this time died quite away.
"What dost thou mean ?" he asked, as the Viscount's words fell on his ear.
"No more than this, that yon Catesby is a dangerous man.

I know naught against him, save that he is a Papist of the type I like not--a plotting, designing, desperate type, that ofttimes injure themselves far more than they injure others, yet too often drag their friends and those who trust them to destruction with them--and all for some wild and foolish design which they have not the wits to carry through, and against which Heaven itself fights to its overthrow.

Have no dealings with this same Catesby, good Cuthbert; thou wilt rue it an thou dost." "I am not like to see him again," answered Cuthbert slowly.

"He is gone I know not whither.

If men look thus darkly upon him, doubtless he will not adventure himself in London again." "I know not how that may be.