Dusk had fallen upon the river before they landed, and a heavy fog beginning to rise from the water made them glad to leave it behind.
They secured the wherry to the landing stage, leaving the oars in her, as they not unfrequently did when returning late, and were pursuing their way up the dark and unsavoury streets, when the sound of a distant tumult smote upon their ears, and they arrested their steps that they might listen the better.
Cuthbert's quick ears were the first to gather any sort of meaning from the discordant shouts and cries which arose.
"They are chasing some wretched fugitive!" he said in a low voice.
"That is the sound of pursuit.

Hark! they are coming this way.

Who and what are they thus hounding on ?" Nearer and nearer came the surging sound of many voices and the hurried trampling of feet.
"Stop him--catch him--hold him!" shouted a score of hoarse voices, rolling along through the fog-laden air long before anything could be seen.

"Stop him, good folks, stop him! stop the runaway priest--stop the treacherous Jesuit! He is an enemy to peace--a stirrer up of sedition and conspiracy! Down with him--to prison with him! it is not fit for such a fellow to live.

Down with him--stop him!" "A priest!" exclaimed Cuthbert between his shut teeth, a sudden gleam corning into his eyes.