CHAPTER VIII: The Fugitive.
Meantime, in the darkness of that February morning, Thomas Garret stepped forth from the sheltering walls of his still-beloved Oxford, and turned his rapid steps in a southerly and westerly direction.
His heart was hot within him as he pushed along, choosing the most unfrequented lanes and paths.

This was not the first time he had been hunted, and he had acquired some of the instincts of the quarry.

He knew how to lie hidden awhile in some sheltered nook, listening and watching, himself unseen.

He knew how to avoid notice, and how to pass through public places with the quiet air of confidence which drew no sort of attention towards himself.

His priest's gown and hood would be a protection to him after he had shaken himself clear of the pursuit which might be set afoot by the proctors.