The landlord had said shortly that it had not yet been
sent for. And the greater part of the day--after he had told the
companions that had come with him from Rheims that he had had a letter,
which seemed to show that the party with whom they had made friends had
disappeared, and were probably under suspicion, and had made the
necessary arrangements for his own departure with young Mr. Arnold--he
spent in walking abroad as usual. The days that followed had been bitter
and heavy. He had liked neither to stop within doors nor to go abroad,
since the one course might arouse inquiry and the second lead to his
identification. He had gone to my Lord Vaux's house again and again,
with his friend and without him; he had learned of the details of
Anthony's capture, though he had not dared even to attempt to get speech
with him; and, further, that unless the rest of the men were caught, it
would not be easy to prove anything against him. One thing, therefore,
he prayed for with all his heart--that the rest might yet escape. He
told his party something of the course of events, but not too much. On
the Sunday that intervened he went to hear mass in Fetter Lane, where
numbers of Catholics resorted; and there, piece by piece, learned more
of the plot than even Anthony had told him.
Mr. Arnold was a Lancashire man and a young convert of Oxford--one of
that steady small stream that poured over to the Continent--a
sufficiently well-born and intelligent man to enjoy acting as a servant,
which he did with considerable skill.
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