"Be cautious; he has but just sunk to sleep after a night of wakeful pain. He is anxious to see thee. He asked for thee a score of times in the night; but he must not be wakened now. Thou hast done a good deed, boy. Had Father Urban fallen a victim to yon hooting mob last eve, a deadly blow would have been dealt to the faith of this land." "And is his sickness very sore? has he any grievous hurt?" "He was sore knocked about and bruised ere he first wrenched himself from the officer of the law who sprang upon him with an order of arrest. Two of his ribs be broke; and that long and fearful race for his life did cause him sore pain and greater injury, so that a fever has been set up, and he has had to lose much blood to allay it. But he is quiet and at rest just now. Thou hadst better come again at sundown; he will doubtless be awake then. He has somewhat to say to thee, I know. I believe that he has some mission to entrust to thee. Thou hast a kindly heart and a strong arm. I trow thou wilt not fail him now." Anthony Cole looked fixedly into the boy's face, and Cuthbert returned the glance unflinchingly. He was possessed by the generous feeling all young and ardent natures know of keen desire to assist further any person already indebted to them for past grace. The fact that already he had run some risk on account of Father Urban only made Cuthbert the more anxious to help him in whatever manner might best conduce to his well being and comfort. He looked full at his interlocutor, and said: "Whatever I may with honour and right do for Father Urban shall not be lacking. I owe him my life. I can never grudge any service for him, be it great or small." "Well spoken, my boy," answered the bookseller, with his calm, penetrating smile. "May the blessed saints long preserve untainted that true nobility of soul." Cuthbert spent a restless day, wondering what mission the priest had for him, and whether his uncle would be angry at him for meddling in any such matters. But Martin Holt was friendly with several of the Papist families about him, notably with the Coles themselves; and Cuthbert had a growing sense of his own independence and the right to choose his own associates and his own path in life. It was growing dusk when he stood beside the narrow bed on which Father Urban lay. The light filtered in scantily through the narrow window pane, and illumined a face lined by pain and white with exhaustion. Upon the bed lay a packet which looked like papers, and one of the priest's wasted hands lay upon it as if to guard it. As Cuthbert bent over him and spoke his name, Father Urban looked up, and a dim light crept into his eyes. "Is it thou, my son, come at last?" "Yes, Father. What may I do for thee?" "Wilt thou do one small service more for me, my son?" "Willingly, Father, if it lies within my power."