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.

The pursuers were still coming on, but did not appear to be
distressing themselves. Probably they felt so secure of their prey
that they could afford to be moderately cautious in the midst of
these fog wreaths that made river travelling somewhat perilous.
Cuthbert shipped his oars and sprang lightly ashore, leaving the
wherry to its fate. Then he raced like a hunted hare along the
margin of the river, and before five minutes had passed he had
scrambled up and leaped the wall of this lonely river-side house,
and was crouching breathless and exhausted in a thick covert upon
the farther side, straining his ears for sounds of pursuit.

These were not long in coming. He heard regular steps approaching
the wall, and a voice said:

"Here are the tracks. He got over here. Follow, and find him now.
He is in a trap!"

"Am I indeed in a trap?" thought Cuthbert, setting his teeth hard;
"that remains to be proved!"

And gliding out from the covert with that noiseless movement he had
learned during his residence in the forest, he raced like a
veritable shadow in the direction of the house.

He had reached the building rising black and grim against the
darkening sky; he had almost laid his hand upon the knocker,
intending to make known his presence and his peril, and demand
admittance and speech with Master Robert Catesby, when forth from
the shadows of the porch stepped a tall dark figure, and he felt a
shiver of dismay run through him as a loaded pistol was levelled at
his head.

"It is the spy again--the sp