s down to the water's edge.
Go by thine own wherry thither, and go alone. Thou canst not
mistake the house. There is none like it besides. It stands upon
the water, and none other building is nigh at hand; but a giant elm
overshadows it, and there is a door scarce above high water level
and steps that lead from it. Knock three times, thus, upon that
door"--and the priest gave a curious tap, which Cuthbert repeated
by imitation; "and when thou art admitted, ask for Robert Catesby,
and give him the packet. That is all. Thy mission will then be
done. Wilt thou do as much for me?"

Cuthbert answered, without the least hesitation:

"I will."

Chapter 11: The Lone House On The River.

"Cuthbert, do not go--ah, do not go!"

"And wherefore not, my Cherry?"

"I am afraid. I had such dreams last night. And, Cuthbert, didst
thou not heed? Notedst thou not how in handing the salt at supper
thy hand shook, and it was spilled? I like not such auguries; they
fill my heart with fear. Do not go--ah, do not!"

Cuthbert smiled as he caressed his little love, not averse to
feeling her soft arms clinging round his neck, yet quite disposed
to laugh at her youthful terrors.

"But what dost thou fear, sweetheart?"

"I fear everything," she replied, with inconsequent vehemence. "I
remember the stories I have heard of the wiles of the priests, and
how they tempt unwary men to their destruction. What is this Father
Urban to thee, that thou shouldst risk aught for him? I will not
let thee go--I will not!"

"Father Urban saved my life."

"And thou hast saved his. That debt is paid in full," was the
prompt response. "He saved thee at no peril to himself; thou hast
saved him when it might have cost thee thy life. Thou owest him
nothing--nothing! Why should he ask this further service of thee?"

Cuthbert smiled. Cherry's petulance and vehemence amused him. Her
little spoiled-child tempers and exactions were beginning to have a
great charm. He scarcely knew how much of the deeper fears of
dawning womanhood were beginning to intermingle with the "child's"
eager love of her own way. Love was gradually transforming Cherry,
but the transformation was as yet scarcely seen, and the added
charm of her new softness and timidity had hardly begun to be
observed by those about her.

"He is sorely sick, sweetheart, and he has asked this thing of me.
I have passed my word. Thou wouldst not have me go back therefrom?"

"He should not have a