His heart yearned over the place when he saw it.  It came upon him that here he would stay and abide the consequences.  He felt strong to endure all that might be laid upon him.  If it were God’s pleasure that he should suffer in the cause, would He not give him strength to bear all?  For a moment he forgot the peril which might come to others from his apprehension.  He only felt that if the martyr’s crown were indeed to be his (a thing of which he had a strong presentiment), it might well come soon as late.  And therefore, when he reached the city at dark, he slipped into the town itself, instead of lurking outside, as first he had intended, and made his way through the dark, narrow streets to a certain humble lodging, which he had used before, when Dalaber had not been able to receive him.

He met not a creature on his way.  He did not think his entrance had been marked as he passed through the gates.  A thick, drizzling rain was falling, which had wet him to the skin, and which seemed to be keeping every one within doors.  He found the door of his old lodging unlocked and the place empty, save for a little firing in a closet, which he soon kindled into a warming blaze.

He had bought food at midday in a hamlet through which he passed, and there was enough left in his wallet to provide him with a frugal supper.  He dried his clothes at the friendly warmth of the fire, and though the room was destitute of bedding, there were a few sacks on the floor.  Laying himself down upon these before the fire, he was soon plunged in a deep and dreamless slumber.

How long he slept he never could have guessed.  He afterwards knew that it was midnight when he woke.  What roused him was the sound of trampling feet on the stairs outside, and the voices of persons ascending.  He lay for a few moments in the darkness, which the few smouldering embers of the dying fire scarcely served to illuminate; and then in a sudden access of alarm be sprang to his feet and made for the door.

If escape had been in his mind, he was too late.  Already the door was burst open.  A flood of light from a couple of lanterns dazzled his eyes for some moments, so that he could only see that several men were in the room, and a stern voice exclaimed, “That is the man!  Seize him!” Then he knew that his hour had come, and that he was arrested.

Next minute he saw clearly, and found himself confronted by the proctors of the university, who regarded him with stern faces.  Who had given them warning that Garret had returned to Oxford has never, I believe, been known—­at least there is no mention of this made in the history of the known facts.  But some person must have recognized the man, tracked him to his lair, and set the bulldogs of the cardinal upon him.  He was taken at midnight upon the night of his secret return, and now stood a helpless prisoner in the hands of those set upon his track.

He looked at them with calm fearlessness.  His spirit rose to the peril, and his mien was dauntless.