“That would be of no avail,” replied Garnet. “We must trust him wholly, or not at all.”

“There I agree with you, father,” said Percy. “Let us propose the oath of secrecy to him, and detain him here until we have found some secure retreat, utterly unknown to him, or to Tresham, whence we can correspond with our friends. A few days will show whether he has betrayed us or not. We need not visit this place again till the moment for action arrives.”

“You need not visit it again at all,” rejoined Fawkes. “Everything is prepared, and I will undertake to fire the train. Prepare for what is to follow the explosion, and leave the management of that to me.”

“I cannot consent to such a course, my son,” said Garnet. “The whole risk will thus be yours.”

“The whole glory will be mine, also, father,” rejoined Fawkes, enthusiastically. “I pray you, let me have my own way.”

“Well, be it as you will, my son,” returned Garnet, with affected reluctance. “I will not oppose the hand of Heaven, which clearly points you out as the chief agent in this mighty enterprise. In reference to what Percy has said about a retreat till Lord Mounteagle's trust-worthiness can be ascertained,” he added to Catesby, “I have just bethought me of a large retired house on the borders of Enfield Chase, called White Webbs. It has been recently taken by Mrs. Brooksby, and her sister, Anne Vaux, and will afford us a safe asylum.”

“An excellent plan, father,” cried Catesby. “Since Guy Fawkes is willing to undertake the risk, we will leave Lord Mounteagle in his charge, and go there at once.”

“What must be done with Tresham?” asked Percy. “We cannot take him with us, nor must he know of our retreat.”

“Leave him with me,” said Fawkes.

“You will be at a disadvantage,” observed Catesby, “should he take part, as there is reason to fear he may do, with Lord Mounteagle.”

“They are both unarmed,” returned Fawkes; “but were it otherwise, I would answer with my head for their detention.”

“All good saints guard you, my son!” exclaimed Garnet. “Henceforth, we resign the custody of the powder to you.”

“It will be in safe keeping,” replied Fawkes.

The party then advanced towards Lord Mounteagle, who, hearing their approach, instantly faced them.

“Your decision, my lord?” demanded Catesby.

“You shall have it in a word, sir,” replied Mounteagle, firmly.

“I will not join you, but I will take the required oath of secrecy.”

“Is this your final resolve, my lord?” rejoined Catesby.

“It is,” replied the Earl.

“It must content us,” observed Garnet; “though we hoped you would have lent your active services to further a cause, having for its sole object the restoration of the church to which you belong.”

“I know not the means whereby you propose to restore it, father," replied Mounteagle, “and I do not desire to know them. But I guess that they are dark and bloody, and as such I can take no part in them.”

“And you refuse to give us any counsel or assistance?” pursued Garnet.

“I will not betray you,” replied Mounteagle. “I can say nothing further.”

“I would rather he promised too little, than too much,” whispered Catesby to Garnet. “I begin to think him sincere.”

“I am of the same opinion, my son,” returned Garnet.

“One thing you shall do, before I consent to set you free, on any terms, my lord,” observed Guy Fawkes. “You shall engage to procure the liberation of Viviana Radcliffe from the Tower. You told Tresham you could easily accomplish it.”

“I scarcely knew what I said,” replied Mounteagle, with a look of embarrassment.

“You spoke confidently, my lord,” rejoined Fawkes.

“Because I had no idea I should be compelled to make good my words," returned the Earl. “But as a Catholic, and related by marriage to Tresham, who is a suspected person, any active exertions in her behalf on my part might place me in jeopardy.”

“This excuse shall not avail you, my lord,” replied Fawkes. “You must weigh your own safety against hers. You stir not hence till you have sworn to free her.”

“I must perforce assent, since you will have no refusal,” replied Mounteagle. “But I almost despair of success. If I can effect her deliverance, I swear to do so.”

“Enough,” replied Fawkes.

“And now, gentlemen,” said Catesby, appealing to the others, “are you willing to let Lord Mounteagle depart upon the proposed terms?”

“We are,” they replied.

“I will administer the oath at once,” said Garnet; “and you will bear in mind, my son,” he added, in a stern tone to the Earl, “that it will be one which cannot be violated without perdition to your soul.”

“I am willing to take it,” replied Mounteagle.

Producing a primer, and motioning the Earl to kneel before him, Garnet then proposed an oath of the most solemn and binding description. The other repeated it after him, and at its conclusion placed the book to his lips.

“Are you satisfied?” he asked, rising.

“I am,” replied Garnet.

“And so am I,” thought Tresham, who stood in the rear, “—that he will perjure himself.”

“Am I now at liberty to depart?” inquired the Earl.

“Not yet, my lord,” replied Catesby. “You must remain here till midnight.”

Lord Mounteagle looked uneasy, but seeing remonstrance would be useless, he preserved a sullen silence.

“You need have no fear, my lord,” said Catesby. “But we must take such precautions as will ensure our safety, in case you intend us any treachery.”

“You cannot doubt me, sir, after the oath I have taken,” replied Mounteagle, haughtily. “But since you constitute yourself my jailer, I must abide your pleasure.”

“If I am your jailer, my lord,” rejoined Catesby, “I will prove to you that I am not neglectful of my office. Will it please you to follow me?”

The Earl bowed in acquiescence; and Catesby, marching before him to a small room, the windows of which were carefully barred, pointed to a chair, and instantly retiring, locked the door upon him. He then returned to the others, and taking Guy Fawkes aside, observed in a low tone,

“We shall set out instantly for White Webbs. You will remain on guard with Tresham, whom you will, of course, keep in ignorance of our proceedings. After you have set the Earl at liberty, you can follow us if you choose. But take heed you are not observed.”

“Fear nothing,” replied Fawkes.

Soon after this, Catesby, and the rest of the conspirators, with the exception of Guy Fawkes and Tresham, quitted the room, and the former concluded they were about to leave the house. He made no remark, however, to his companion; but getting between him and the door, folded his arms upon his breast, and continued to pace backwards and forwards before it.

“Am I a prisoner, as well as Lord Mounteagle?” asked Tresham, after a pause.

“You must remain with me here till midnight,” replied Fawkes. “We shall not be disturbed.”

“What! are the others gone?” cried Tresham.

“They are,” was the reply.

Tresham's countenance fell, and he appeared to be meditating some project, which he could not muster courage to execute.

“Be warned by the past, Tresham,” said Fawkes, who had regarded him fixedly for some minutes. “If I find reason to doubt you, I will put it out of your power to betray us a second time.”

“You have no reason to doubt me,” replied Tresham, with apparent candour. “I only wondered that our friends should leave me without any intimation of their purpose. It is for me, not you, to apprehend some ill design. Am I not to act with you further?”

“That depends upon yourself, and on the proofs you give of your sincerity,” replied Fawkes. “Answer me frankly. Do you think Lord Mounteagle will keep his oath?”

“I will stake my life upon it,” replied Tresham.

The conversation then dropped, and no attempt was made on either side to renew it. In this way several hours passed, when at length the silence was broken by Tresham, who requested permission to go in search of some refreshment; and Guy Fawkes assenting, they descended to the lower room, and partook of a slight repast.

Nothing further worthy of note occurred. On the arrival of the appointed hour, Guy Fawkes signified to his companion that he might liberate Lord Mounteagle; and immediately availing himself of the permission, Tresham repaired to the chamber, and threw open the door. The Earl immediately came forth, and they returned together to the room in which Guy Fawkes remained on guard.

“You are now at liberty to depart, my lord,” said the latter; “and Tresham can accompany you, if he thinks proper. Remember that you have sworn to procure Viviana's liberation.”

“I do,” replied the Earl.

And he then quitted the house with Tresham.

“You have had a narrow escape, my lord,” remarked the latter as they approached Whitehall, and paused for a moment under the postern of the great western gate.

“True,” replied the Earl; “but I do not regret the risk I have run. They are now wholly in my power.”

“You forget your oath, my lord,” said Tresham.

“If I do,” replied the Earl, “I but follow your example. You have broken one equally solemn, equally binding, and would break a thousand more were they imposed upon you. But I will overthrow this conspiracy, and yet not violate mine.”

“I see not how that can be, my lord,” replied Tresham.

“You shall learn in due season,” replied the Earl. “I have had plenty of leisure for reflection in that dark hole, and have hit upon a plan which, I think, cannot fail.”

“I hope I am no party to it, my lord,” rejoined Tresham. “I dare not hazard myself among them further.”

“I cannot do without you,” replied Mounteagle; “but I will ensure you against all danger. It will be necessary for you, however, to act with the utmost discretion, and keep a constant guard upon every look and movement, as well as upon your words. You must fully regain the confidence of these men, and lull them into security.”

“I see your lordship's drift,” replied Tresham. “You wish them to proceed to the last point, to enhance the value of the discovery.”

“Right,” replied the Earl. “The plot must not be discovered till just before its outbreak, when its magnitude and danger will be the more apparent. The reward will then be proportionate. Now, you understand me, Tresham.”

“Fully,” replied the other.

“Return to your own house,” rejoined Mounteagle. “We need hold no further communication together till the time for action arrives.”

“And that will not be before the meeting of Parliament,” replied Tresham; “for they intend to whelm the King and all his nobles in one common destruction.”

“By Heaven! a brave design!” cried Mounteagle. “It is a pity to mar it. I knew it was a desperate and daring project, but should never have conceived aught like this. Its discovery will indeed occasion universal consternation.”

“It may benefit you and me to divulge it, my lord,” said Tresham; “but the disclosure will deeply and lastingly injure the Church of Rome.”

“It would injure it more deeply if the plot succeeded,” replied Mounteagle, “because all loyal Catholics must disapprove so horrible and sanguinary a design. But we will not discuss the question further, though what you have said confirms my purpose, and removes any misgiving I might have felt as to the betrayal. Farewell, Tresham. Keep a watchful eye upon the conspirators, and communicate with me should any change take place in their plans. We may not meet for some time. Parliament, though summoned for the third of October, will, in all probability, be prorogued till November.”

“In that case,” replied Tresham, “you will postpone your disclosure likewise till November?”

“Assuredly,” replied Mounteagle. “The King must be convinced of his danger. If it were found out now, he would think lightly of it. But if he has actually set foot upon the mine which a single spark might kindle to his destruction, he will duly appreciate the service rendered him. Farewell! and do not neglect my counsel.”

CHAPTER X.

“Heaven and Our Lady be praised!” exclaimed Fawkes. “This is more than I hoped for. Your news is so good, young sir, that I can scarce credit it.”

“Come with me to the boat, and you shall soon be satisfied of the truth of my statement,” rejoined Chetham.

And followed by Guy Fawkes, he hurried to the river side, where a wherry was moored. Within it sat Viviana, covered by the tilt.

Assisting her to land, and finding she was too much exhausted to walk, Guy Fawkes took her in his arms, and carried her to the house he had just quitted.

Humphrey Chetham followed as soon as he had dismissed the waterman. Placing his lovely burthen in a seat, Guy Fawkes instantly went in search of such restoratives as the place afforded. Viviana was extremely faint, but after she had swallowed a glass of wine, she revived, and, looking around her, inquired where she was.

“Do not ask,” replied Fawkes; “let it suffice you are in safety. And now,” he added, “perhaps, Humphrey Chetham will inform me in what manner he contrived your escape. I am impatient to know.”

The young merchant then gave the required information, and Viviana added such particulars as were necessary to the full understanding of the story. Guy Fawkes could scarcely control himself when she related the tortures she had endured, nor was Chetham less indignant.

“You rescued me just in time,” said Viviana. “I should have sunk under the next application.”

“Thank Heaven! you have escaped it,” exclaimed Fawkes. “You owe much to Humphrey Chetham, Viviana.”

“I do, indeed,” she replied.

“And can you not requite it?” he returned. “Can you not make him happy?—Can you not make me happy?”

Viviana's pale cheek was instantly suffused with blushes, but she made no answer.

“Oh, Viviana!” cried Humphrey Chetham, “you hear what is said. If you could doubt my love before, you must be convinced of it now. A hope will make me happy. Have I that?”

“Alas! no,” she answered. “It would be the height of cruelty, after your kindness, to deceive you. You have not.”

The young merchant turned aside to hide his emotion.

“Not even a hope!” exclaimed Guy Fawkes, “after what he has done. Viviana, I cannot understand you. Does gratitude form no part of your nature?”

“I hope so,” she replied, “nay, I am sure so,—for I feel the deepest gratitude towards Humphrey Chetham. But gratitude is not love, and must not be mistaken for it.”

“I understand the distinction too well,” returned the young merchant, sadly.

“It is more than I do,” rejoined Guy Fawkes; “and I will frankly confess that I think the important services Humphrey Chetham has rendered you entitle him to your hand. It is seldom—whatever poets may feign,—that love is so strongly proved as his has been; and it ought to be adequately requited.”

“Say no more about it, I entreat,” interposed Chetham.

“But I will deliver my opinion,” rejoined Guy Fawkes, “because I am sure what I advise is for Viviana's happiness. No one can love her better than you. No one is more worthy of her. Nor is there any one to whom I so much desire to see her united.”

“Oh, Heaven!” exclaimed Viviana. “This is worse than the torture.”

“What mean you?” exclaimed Fawkes, in astonishment.

“She means,” interposed Chetham, “that this is not the fitting season to urge the subject—that she will never marry.”

“True—true,” replied Viviana. “If I ever did marry—I ought to select you.”

“You ought,” replied Fawkes. “And I know nothing of the female heart, if it can be insensible to youth, devotion, and manly appearance like that of Humphrey Chetham.”

“You do know nothing of it,” rejoined Chetham, bitterly. “Women's fancies are unaccountable.”

“Such is the received opinion,” replied Fawkes; “but as I am ignorant of the sex, I can only judge from report. You are the person I should imagine she would love—nay, to be frank, whom I thought she did love.”

“No more,” said Humphrey Chetham. “It is painful both to Viviana and to me.”

“This is not a time for delicacy,” rejoined Guy Fawkes. “Viviana has given me the privilege of a father with her. And where her happiness is so much concerned as in the present case, I should imperfectly discharge my duty if I did not speak out. It would sincerely rejoice me, and I am sure contribute materially to her own happiness, if she would unite herself to you.”

“I cannot—I cannot,” she rejoined. “I will never marry.”

“You hear what she says,” remarked Chetham. “Do not urge the matter further.”

“I admire maiden delicacy and reserve,” replied Fawkes; “but when a man has acted as you have done, he deserves to be treated with frankness. I am sure Viviana loves you. Let her tell you so.”

“You are mistaken,” replied Chetham; “and it is time you should be undeceived. She loves another.”

“Is this so?” cried Fawkes, in astonishment.

She made no answer.

“Whom do you love?” he asked.

Still, no answer.

“I will tell you whom she loves—and let her contradict me if I am wrong,” said Chetham.

“Oh, no!—no!—in pity spare me!” cried Viviana.

“Speak!"—thundered Fawkes. “Who is it?”

“Yourself,” replied Chetham.

“What!” exclaimed Fawkes, recoiling,—"love me! I will not believe it. She loves me as a father—but nothing more—nothing more. But you were right. Let us change the subject. A more fitting season may arrive for its discussion.”

After some further conversation, it was agreed that Viviana should be taken to White Webbs; and leaving her in charge of Humphrey Chetham, Guy Fawkes went in search of a conveyance to Enfield.

Traversing the Strand,—every hostel in which was closed,—he turned up Wych-street, immediately on the right of which there was a large inn (still in existence), and entering the yard, discovered a knot of carriers moving about with lanterns in their hands. To his inquiries respecting a conveyance to Enfield, one of them answered, that he was about to return thither with his waggon at four o'clock,—it was then two,—and should be glad to take him and his friends. Overjoyed at the intelligence, and at once agreeing to the man's terms, Guy Fawkes hurried back to his companions, and, with the assistance of Humphrey Chetham, contrived to carry Viviana (for she was utterly unable to support herself) to the inn-yard, where she was immediately placed in the waggon, on a heap of fresh straw.

About an hour after this, but long before daybreak, the carrier attached his horses to the waggon, and set out. Guy Fawkes and Humphrey Chetham were seated near Viviana, but little was said during the journey, which occupied about three hours. By this time it was broad daylight; and as the carrier stopped at the door of a small inn, Guy Fawkes alighted, and inquired the distance to White Webbs.

“It is about a mile and a half off,” replied the man. “If you pursue that lane, it will bring you to a small village about half a mile from this, where you are sure to find some one who will gladly guide you to the house, which is a little out of the road, on the borders of the forest.”

He then assisted Viviana to alight, and Humphrey Chetham descending at the same time, the party took the road indicated—a winding country lane with high hedges, broken by beautiful timber—and proceeding at a slow pace, they arrived in about half an hour at a little cluster of cottages, which Guy Fawkes guessed to be the village alluded to by the carrier. As they approached it, a rustic leaped a hedge, and was about to cross to another field, when Guy Fawkes calling to him, inquired the way to White Webbs.

“I am going in that direction,” replied the man. “If you desire it, I will show you the road.”

“I shall feel much indebted to you, friend,” returned Fawkes, “and will reward you for your trouble.”

“I want no reward,” returned the countryman, trudging forward.

Following their guide, after a few minutes' brisk walking they reached the borders of the forest, and took their way along a patch of greensward that skirted it. In some places their track was impeded by gigantic thorns and brushwood, while at others avenues opened upon them, affording them peeps into the heart of the wood. It was a beautiful sylvan scene. And as at length they arrived at the head of a long glade, at the farther end of which a herd of deer were seen, with their branching antlers mingling with the overhanging boughs, Viviana could not help pausing to admire it.

“King James often hunts within the forest,” observed the countryman. “Indeed, I heard one of the rangers say it was not unlikely he might be here to-day. He is at Theobald's Palace now.”

“Indeed!” exclaimed Fawkes. “Let us proceed. We lose time. Are we far from the house?”

“Not above a quarter of a mile,” was the answer. “You will see it at the next turn of the road.”

As the countryman had intimated, they speedily perceived the roof and tall chimneys of an ancient house above the trees, and as it was now impossible to mistake the road, Guy Fawkes thanked their guide for his trouble, and would have rewarded him, but he refused the gratuity, and leaping a hedge, disappeared.

Pursuing the road, they shortly afterwards arrived at a gate leading to the house—a large building, erected probably at the beginning of Elizabeth's reign—and entering it, they passed under an avenue of trees. On approaching the mansion, they observed that many of the windows were closed, and the whole appearance of the place was melancholy and deserted. The garden was overgrown with weeds, and the door looked as if it was rarely opened.

Not discouraged by these appearances, but rather satisfied by them of the security of the asylum, Guy Fawkes proceeded to the back of the house, and entering a court, the flags and stones of which were covered with moss, while the interstices were filled with long grass, Guy Fawkes knocked against a small door, and, after repeating the summons, it was answered by an old woman-servant, who popped her head out of an upper window, and demanded his business.

Guy Fawkes was about to inquire for Mrs. Brooksby, when another head, which proved to be that of Catesby, appeared at the window. On seeing Fawkes and his companions, Catesby instantly descended, and unfastened the door. The house proved far more comfortable within than its exterior promised; and the old female domestic having taken word to Anne Vaux that Viviana was below, the former lady, who had not yet risen, sent for her to her chamber, and provided everything for her comfort.

Guy Fawkes and Humphrey Chetham, neither of whom had rested during the night, were glad to obtain a few hours' repose on the floor of the first room into which they were shown, and they were not disturbed until the day had considerably advanced, when Catesby thought fit to rouse them from their slumbers.

Explanations were then given on both sides. Chetham detailed the manner of Viviana's escape from the Tower, and Catesby in his turn acquainted them that Father Oldcorne was in the house, having found his way thither after his escape from the dwelling at Lambeth. Guy Fawkes was greatly rejoiced at the intelligence, and shortly afterwards had the satisfaction of meeting with the priest. At noon, the whole party assembled, with the exception of Viviana, who, by the advice of Anne Vaux, kept her chamber, to recruit herself after the sufferings she had undergone.

Humphrey Chetham, of whom no suspicions were now entertained, and of whom Catesby no longer felt any jealousy, was invited to stay in the house; and he was easily induced to pass his time near Viviana, although he might not be able to see her. Long and frequent consultations were held by the conspirators, and letters were despatched by Catesby to the elder Winter at his seat, Huddington, in Worcestershire, entreating him to make every preparation for the crisis, as well as to Sir Everard Digby, to desire him to assemble as many friends as he could muster against the meeting of Parliament, at Dunchurch, in Warwickshire, under the plea of a grand hunting-party.

Arrangements were next made as to the steps to be taken by the different parties after the explosion. Catesby undertook, with a sufficient force, to seize the Princess Elizabeth, the eldest daughter of James the First, who was then at the residence of the Earl of Harrington, near Coventry, and to proclaim her queen, in case the others should fail in securing the princes. It was supposed that Henry, Prince of Wales, (who, it need scarcely be mentioned, died in his youth,) would be present with the King, his father, in the Parliament House, and would perish with him; and in this case, as Charles, Duke of York, (afterwards Charles the First,) would become successor to the throne, it was resolved that he should be seized by Percy, and instantly proclaimed. Other resolutions were decided upon, and the whole time of the conspirators was spent in maturing their projects.

And thus weeks, and even months, stole on. Viviana had completely regained her strength, and passed a life of perfect seclusion, seldom, if ever, mixing with the others. She, however, took a kindly farewell of Humphrey Chetham, before his departure for Manchester (for which place he set out about a fortnight after his arrival at White Webbs, having first sought out his servant, Martin Heydocke); but though strongly urged by Guy Fawkes, she would hold out no hopes of a change in her sentiments towards the young merchant. Meetings were occasionally held by the conspirators elsewhere, and Catesby and Fawkes had more than one interview with Tresham—but never, except in places where they were secure from a surprise.

The latter end of September had now arrived, and the meeting of Parliament was still fixed for the third of October. On the last day of the month, Guy Fawkes prepared to start for town; but before doing so he desired to see Viviana. They had not met for some weeks; nor, indeed, since Fawkes had discovered the secret of her heart, (and perhaps of his own,) had they ever met with the same freedom as heretofore. As she entered the room, in which he awaited her coming, a tremor agitated his frame, but he had nerved himself for the interview, and speedily subdued the feeling.

“I am starting for London, Viviana,” he said, in a voice of forced calmness. “You may guess for what purpose. But as I may never behold you again, I would not part with you without a confession of my weakness. I will not deny that what Humphrey Chetham stated, and which you have never contradicted—namely, that you loved me, for I must speak out—has produced a strong effect upon me. I have endeavoured to conquer it, but it will return. Till I knew you I never loved, Viviana.”

“Indeed!” she exclaimed.

“Never,” he replied. “The fairest had not power to move me. But I grieve to say—notwithstanding my struggles—I do not continue equally insensible.”

“Ah!” she ejaculated, becoming as pale as death.

“Why should I hesitate to declare my feelings? Why should I not tell you that—though blinded to it so long—I have discovered that I do love you? Why should I hesitate to tell you that I regret this, and lament that we ever met?”

“What mean you?” cried Viviana, with a terrified look.

“I will tell you,” replied Fawkes. “Till I saw you, my thoughts were removed from earth, and fixed on one object. Till I saw you, I asked not to live, but to die the death of a martyr.”

“Die so still,” rejoined Viviana. “Forget me—oh! forget me.”

“I cannot,” replied Fawkes. “I have striven against it. But your image is perpetually before me. Nay, at this very moment, when I am about to set out on the enterprise, you alone detain me.”

“I am glad of it,” exclaimed Viviana, fervently. “Oh that I could prevent you—could save you!”

“Save me!” echoed Fawkes, bitterly. “You destroy me.”

“How?” she asked.

“Because I am sworn to this project,” he rejoined; “and if I were turned from it, I would perish by my own hand.”

“Oh! say not so,” replied Viviana, “but listen to me. Abandon it, and I will devote myself to you.”

Guy Fawkes gazed at her for a moment passionately, and then, covering his face with his hands, appeared torn by conflicting emotions.

Viviana approached him, and pressing his arm, asked in an entreating voice, “Are you still determined to pursue your dreadful project?”

“I am,” replied Fawkes, uncovering his face, and gazing at her; “but, if I remain here a moment longer, I shall not be able to do so.”

“I will detain you, then,” she rejoined, “and exercise the power I possess over you for your benefit.”

“No!” he replied, vehemently. “It must not be. Farewell, for ever!”

And breaking from her, he rushed out of the room.

As he gained the passage, he encountered Catesby, who looked abashed at seeing him.

“I have overheard what has passed,” said the latter, “and applaud your resolution. Few men, similarly circumstanced, would have acted as you have done.”

“You would not,” said Fawkes, coldly.

“Perhaps not,” rejoined Catesby. “But that does not lessen my admiration of your conduct.”

“I am devoted to one object,” replied Fawkes, “and nothing shall turn me from it.”

“Remove yourself instantly from temptation, then,” replied Catesby. “I will meet you at the cellar beneath the Parliament House to-morrow night.”

With this, he accompanied Guy Fawkes to the door; and the latter, without hazarding a look behind him, set out for London, where he arrived at nightfall.

On the following night, Fawkes examined the cellar, and found it in all respects as he had left it; and, apprehensive lest some difficulty might arise, he resolved to make every preparation. He, accordingly, pierced the sides of several of the barrels piled against the walls with a gimlet, and inserted in the holes small pieces of slow-burning match. Not content with this, he staved in the tops of the uppermost tier, and scattered powder among them to secure their instantaneous ignition.

This done, he took a powder-horn, with which he was provided, and kneeling down, and holding his lantern so as to throw a light upon the floor, laid a train to one of the lower barrels, and brought it within a few inches of the door, intending to fire it from that point. His arrangements completed, he arose, and muttered,

“A vessel is provided for my escape in the river, and my companions advise me to use a slow match, which will allow me to get out of harm's way. But I will see the deed done, and if the train fails, will hold a torch to the barrels myself.”

At this juncture, a slight tap was heard without.

Guy Fawkes instantly masked his lantern, and cautiously opening the door, beheld Catesby.

“I am come to tell you that Parliament is prorogued,” said the latter. “The House does not meet till the fifth of November. We have another month to wait.”

“I am sorry for it,” rejoined Fawkes. “I have just laid the train. The lucky moment will pass.”

And, locking the door, he proceeded with Catesby to the adjoining house.

They had scarcely been gone more than a second, when two figures muffled in cloaks emerged from behind a wall.

“The train is laid,” observed the foremost, “and they are gone to the house. You might seize them now without danger.”

“That will not answer my purpose,” replied the other. “I will give them another month.”

“Another month!” replied the first speaker. “Who knows what may happen in that time? They may abandon their project.”

“There is no fear of that,” replied the other. “But you had better go and join them.”

ToC

CHAPTER XI.

“What brings you here?” demanded the latter, as they entered the house, and made fast the door behind them.

“I have just heard that Parliament is prorogued to the fifth of November,” replied Tresham, “and came to tell you so.”

“I already know it,” returned Fawkes, gloomily; “and for the first time feel some misgiving as to the issue of our enterprise.”

“Why so?” inquired Tresham.

“November is unlucky to me,” rejoined Fawkes, “and I cannot recollect a year in my life in which some ill has not befallen me during that month, especially on the fifth day. On the last fifth of November, I nearly died of a fever at Madrid. It is a strange and unfortunate coincidence that the meeting of the Parliament should be appointed for that particular day.”

“Shall I tell you what I think it portends?” hesitated Tresham.

“Do so,” replied Fawkes, “and speak boldly. I am no child to be frightened at shadows.”

“You have more than once declared your intention of perishing with our foes,” rejoined Tresham. “The design, though prosperous in itself, may be fatal to you.”

“You are right,” replied Fawkes. “I have little doubt I shall perish on that day. You are both aware of my superstitious nature, and are not ignorant that many mysterious occurrences have combined to strengthen the feeling,—such as the dying words of the prophetess, Elizabeth Orton,—her warning speech when she was raised from the dead by Doctor Dee,—and lastly, the vision at St. Winifred's Well. What if I tell you the saint has again appeared to me?”

“In a dream?” inquired Catesby, in a slightly sceptical tone.

“Ay, in a dream,” returned Fawkes. “But I saw her as plainly as if I had been awake. It was the same vapoury figure—the same transparent robes, the same benign countenance, only far more pitying than before—that I beheld at Holywell. I heard no sound issue from her lips, but I felt that she warned me to desist.”

“Do you accept the warning?” asked Tresham, eagerly.

“It is needless to answer,” replied Fawkes. “I have laid the train to-night.”

“You have infected me with your misgivings,” observed Tresham. “Would the enterprise had never been undertaken!”

“But being undertaken, it must be gone through with,” rejoined Catesby, sternly. “Hark'e, Tresham. You promised us two thousand pounds in aid of the project, but have constantly deferred payment of the sum on some plea or other.”

“Because I have not been able to raise it,” replied Tresham, sullenly. “I have tried in vain to sell part of my estates at Rushton, in Northamptonshire. I cannot effect impossibilities.”

“Tush!” cried Catesby, fiercely. “You well know I ask no impossibility. I will no longer be trifled with. The money must be forthcoming by the tenth of October, or you shall pay the penalty with your life.”

“This is the language of a cut-throat, Mr. Catesby,” replied Tresham.

“It is the only language I will hold towards you,” rejoined Catesby, contemptuously. “Look you disappoint me not, or take the consequences.”

“I must leave for Northamptonshire at once, then,” said Tresham.

“Do as you please,” returned Catesby. “Play the cut-throat yourself, and ease some rich miser of his store, if you think fit. Bring us the money, and we will not ask how you came by it.”

“Before we separate,” said Tresham, disregarding these sneers, “I wish to be resolved on one point. Who are to be saved from destruction?”

“Why do you ask?” inquired Fawkes.

“Because I must stipulate for the lives of my brothers-in-law, the Lords Mounteagle and Stourton.”

“If anything detains them from the meeting, well and good,” replied Catesby. “But no warning must be given them. That would infallibly lead to a discovery of the plot.”

“Some means might surely be adopted to put them on their guard without danger to ourselves?” urged Tresham.

“I know of none,” replied Catesby.

“Nor I,” added Fawkes. “If I did, I would warn Lord Montague, and some others whom I shall grieve to destroy.”

“We are all similarly circumstanced,” replied Catesby. “Keyes is anxious for the preservation of his patron and friend, Lord Mordaunt,—Percy, for the Earl of Northumberland. I, myself, would gladly save the young Earl of Arundel. But we must sacrifice our private feeling for the general good.”

“We must,” acquiesced Fawkes.

“We shall not meet again till the night of the tenth of October,” said Catesby, “when take care you are in readiness with the money.”

Upon this, the conversation dropped, and soon afterwards Tresham departed.

When he found himself alone, he suffered his rage to find vent in words. “Perdition seize them!” he cried, “I shall now lose two thousand pounds, in addition to what I have already advanced; and, as Mounteagle will not have the disclosure made till the beginning of November, there is no way of avoiding payment. They would not fall into the snare I laid to throw the blame of the discovery, when it takes place, upon their own indiscretion. But I must devise some other plan. The warning shall proceed from an unknown quarter. A letter, written in a feigned hand, and giving some obscure intimation of danger, shall be delivered with an air of mystery to Mounteagle. This will serve as a plea for its divulgement to the Earl of Salisbury. Well, well, they shall have the money; but they shall pay me back in other coin.”

Early on the following day, Catesby and Fawkes proceeded to White Webbs. Garnet was greatly surprised to see them, and could not conceal his disappointment at the cause of their return.

“This delay bodes no good,” he observed. “Parliament has been so often prorogued, that I begin to think some suspicion is entertained of our design.”

“Make your mind easy, then,” replied Catesby. “I have made due inquiries, and find the meeting is postponed to suit the King's convenience, who wishes to prolong his stay at Royston. He may probably have some secret motive for the delay, but I am sure it in no way concerns us.”

Everything being now fully arranged, the conspirators had only to wait patiently for the arrival of the expected fifth of November. Most of them decided upon passing the interval in the country. Ambrose Rookwood departed for Clopton, near Stratford-upon-Avon,—a seat belonging to Lord Carew, where his family were staying. Keyes went to visit Lord Mordaunt at Turvey, in Bedfordshire; and Percy and the two Wrights set out for Gothurst, in Buckinghamshire, to desire Sir Everard Digby to postpone the grand hunting-party which he was to hold at Dunsmore Heath, as an excuse for mustering a strong party of Catholics, to the beginning of November. The two Winters repaired to their family mansion, Huddington, in Worcestershire; while Fawkes and Catesby, together with the two priests, remained at White Webbs. The three latter held daily conferences together, but were seldom joined by Fawkes, who passed his time in the adjoining forest, selecting its densest and most intricate parts for his rambles.

It was now the beginning of October, and, as is generally the case in the early part of this month, the weather was fine, and the air pure and bracing. The forest could scarcely have been seen to greater advantage. The leaves had assumed their gorgeous autumnal tints, and the masses of timber, variegated in colour, presented an inexpressibly beautiful appearance. Guy Fawkes spent hours in the depths of the wood. His sole companions were the lordly stag and the timid hare, that occasionally started across his path. Since his return, he had sedulously avoided Viviana, and they had met only twice, and then no speech had passed between them. One day, when he had plunged even deeper than usual into the forest, and had seated himself on the stump of a decayed tree, with his eyes fixed on a small clear rivulet welling at his feet, he saw the reflection of a female figure in the water; and, filled with the idea of the vision of Saint Winifred, at first imagined he was about to receive another warning. But a voice that thrilled to his heart's core, soon undeceived him, and, turning, he beheld Viviana. She was habited in a riding-dress, and appeared prepared to set out upon a journey.

“So you have tracked me to my solitude,” he observed, in a tone of forced coldness. “I thought I was secure from interruption here.”

“You will forgive me, I am sure, when you know my errand,” she replied. “It is to take an eternal farewell of you.”

“Indeed!” he exclaimed. “Are you about to quit White Webbs?”

“I am,” she mournfully rejoined. “I am about to set out with Father Oldcorne for Gothurst, where I shall remain till all is over.”

“I entirely approve your determination,” returned Fawkes, after a short pause.

“I knew you would do so, or I should have consulted you upon it,” she rejoined. “And as you appear to avoid me, I would fain have departed without taking leave of you, but found it impossible to do so.”

“You well know my motive for avoiding you, Viviana,” rejoined Fawkes. “We are no longer what we were to each other. A fearful struggle has taken place within me, though I have preserved an unmoved exterior, between passion and the sense of my high calling. I have told you I never loved before, and fancied my heart immoveable as adamant. But I now find out my error. It is a prey to a raging and constant flame. I have shunned you,” he continued, with increased excitement, “because the sight of you shakes my firmness,—because I feel it sinful to think of you in preference to holier objects,—and because, after I have quitted you, your image alone engrosses my thoughts. Here, in the depths of this wood, by the side of this brook, I can commune with my soul,—can abstract myself from the world and the thoughts of the world—from you—yes, you, who are all the world to me now,—and prepare to meet my end.”

“Then you are resolved to die?” she cried.

“I shall abide the explosion, and nothing but a miracle can save me," returned Fawkes.

“And think not it will be exerted in your behalf,” she replied. “Heaven does not approve your design, and you will assuredly incur its vengeance by your criminal conduct.”

“Viviana,” replied Guy Fawkes, rising, “man cannot read my heart, but Heaven can; and the sincerity of my purpose will be recognised above. What I am about to do is for the regeneration of our holy religion; and if the welfare of that religion is dear to the Supreme Being, our cause must prosper. If the contrary, it deserves to fail, and will fail. I have ever told you that I care not what becomes of myself. I am now more than ever indifferent to life,—or rather,” he added, in a sombre tone, “I am anxious to die.”

“Your dreadful wish, I fear, will be accomplished,” replied Viviana, sadly. “I have been constantly haunted by frightful apprehensions respecting you, and my dead father has appeared to me in my dreams. His spirit, if such it were, seemed to gaze upon me with a mournful look, and, as I thought, pronounced your name in piteous accents.”

“These forebodings chime with my own,” muttered Fawkes, repressing a shudder; “but nothing shall shake me. It will inflict a bitter pang upon me to part with you, Viviana,—the bitterest I can ever feel,—and I shall be glad when it is over.”

“I echo your own wish,” she returned, “and deeply lament that we ever met. But the fate that brought us together must for ever unite us.”

“What mean you?” he inquired, gazing fixedly at her.

“There is one sad consolation which you can afford me, and which you owe me for the deep and lasting misery I shall endure on your account," replied Viviana;—"a consolation that will enable me to bear your loss with fortitude, and to devote myself wholly to Heaven.”

“Whatever I can do that will not interfere with my purpose, you may command,” he rejoined.

“What I have to propose will not interfere with it,” she answered. “Now, hear me, and put the sole construction I deserve on my conduct. Father Garnet is at a short distance from us, behind those trees, waiting my summons. I have informed him of my design, and he approves of it. It is to unite us in marriage—solemnly unite us—that though I may never live with you as a wife, I may mourn you as a widow. Do you consent?”

Guy Fawkes returned an affirmative, in a voice broken by emotion.

“The moment the ceremony is over,” pursued Viviana, “I shall start with Father Oldcorne for Gothurst. We shall never meet again in this world.”

“Unless I succeed,” said Fawkes.

“You will not succeed,” replied Viviana. “If I thought so, I should not take this step. I look upon it as an espousal with the dead.”

So saying, she hurried away, and disappearing beneath the covert, returned in a few seconds with Garnet.

“I have a strange duty to perform for you, my son,” said Garnet to Fawkes, who remained motionless and stupified; “but I am right willing to perform it, because I think it will lead to your future happiness with the fair creature who has bestowed her affections on you.”

“Do not speculate on the future, father,” cried Viviana. “You know why I asked you to perform this ceremony. You know, also, that I have made preparations for instant departure; and that I indulge no hope of seeing Guy Fawkes again.”

“All this I know, dear daughter,” returned Garnet; “but, in spite of your anticipations of ill, I still hope that your union may prove auspicious.”

“I take you to witness, father,” said Viviana, “that in bestowing my hand upon Guy Fawkes, I bestow at the same time all my possessions upon him. He is free to use them as he thinks proper,—even in the furtherance of his design against the state, which, though I cannot approve it, seems good to him.”

“This must not be,” cried Fawkes.

“It shall be,” rejoined Viviana. “Proceed with the ceremony, father.”

“Let her have her own way, my son,” observed Garnet, in a low tone. “Under any circumstances, her estates must now be necessarily yours.”

He then took a breviary from his vest, and placing them near each other, began to read aloud the marriage-service appointed by the Romish Church. And there, in that secluded spot, and under such extraordinary circumstances, with no other witnesses than the ancient trees around them, and the brook rippling at their feet, were Guy Fawkes and Viviana united. The ceremony over, Guy Fawkes pressed his bride to his breast, and imprinted a kiss upon her lips.

“I have broken my faith to Heaven, to which I was first espoused,” he cried.

“No,” she returned; “you will now return to your first and holiest choice. Think of me only as I shall think of you,—as of the dead.”

With this, the party slowly and silently returned to the house, where they found a couple of steeds, with luggage strapped to the saddles, at the door.

Father Oldcorne was already mounted, and in a few minutes Viviana was by his side. Before her departure, she bade Guy Fawkes a tender farewell; and at this trying juncture her firmness nearly deserted her. But rousing herself, she sprang upon her horse, and urging the animal into a quick pace, and followed by Oldcorne, she speedily disappeared from view. Guy Fawkes watched her out of sight, and shunning the regards of Catesby, who formed one of the group, struck into the forest, and was not seen again till the following day.

The tenth of October having arrived, Guy Fawkes and Catesby repaired to the place of rendezvous. But the night passed, and Tresham did not appear. Catesby was angry and disappointed, and could not conceal his apprehensions of treachery. Fawkes took a different view of the matter, and thought it not improbable that their confederate's absence might be occasioned by the difficulty he found in complying with their demands; and this opinion was confirmed the next morning by the arrival of a letter from Tresham, stating that he had been utterly unable to effect the sales he contemplated, and could not, therefore, procure the money till the end of the month.

“I will immediately go down to Rushton,” said Catesby, “and if I find him disposed to palter with us, I will call him to instant account. But Garnet informs me that Viviana has bestowed all her wealth upon you. Are you willing to devote it to the good cause?”

“No!” replied Fawkes, in a tone so decisive that his companion felt it would be useless to urge the matter further. “I give my life to the cause,—that must suffice.”

The subject was never renewed. At night, Catesby, having procured a powerful steed, set out upon his journey to Northamptonshire, while Fawkes returned to White Webbs.

About a fortnight passed unmarked by any event of importance. Despatches were received from Catesby, stating that he had received the money from Tresham, and had expended it in procuring horses and arms. He also added that he had raised numerous recruits on various pretences. This letter was dated from Ashby St. Leger's, the seat of his mother, Lady Catesby, but he expressed his intention of proceeding to Coughton Hall, near Alcester, in Warwickshire, the residence of Mr. Thomas Throckmorton (a wealthy Catholic gentleman), whither Sir Everard Digby had removed with his family, to be in readiness for the grand hunting-party to be held on the fifth of November on Dunsmore Heath. Here he expected to be joined by the two Wrights, the Winters, Rookwood, Keyes, and the rest of the conspirators, and undertook to bring them all up to White Webbs on Saturday the twenty-sixth of October.

By this time, Guy Fawkes had in a great degree recovered his equanimity, and left alone with Garnet, held long and frequent religious conferences with him; it being evidently his desire to prepare himself for his expected fate. He spent the greater part of the nights in solitary vigils—fasted even more rigorously than he was enjoined to do—and prayed with such fervour and frequency, that, fearing an ill effect upon his health, and almost upon his mind, which had become exalted to the highest pitch of enthusiasm, Garnet thought it necessary to check him. The priest did not fail to note that Viviana's name never passed his lips, and that in all their walks in the forest he carefully shunned the scene of his espousals.

And thus time flew by. On the evening of the twenty-sixth of October, in accordance with Catesby's intimation, the conspirators arrived. They were all assembled at supper, and were relating the different arrangements which had been made in anticipation of the important event, when Garnet observed with a look of sudden uneasiness to Catesby, “You said in one of your letters that you would bring Tresham with you, my son. Why do I not see him?”

“He sent a message to Coughton to state, that having been attacked by a sudden illness, he was unable to join us,” replied Catesby, “but as soon as he could leave his bed, he would hasten to London. This may be a subterfuge, but I shall speedily ascertain the truth, for I have sent my servant Bates to Rushton, to investigate the matter. I ought to tell you,” he added, “that he has given substantial proof of his devotion to the cause by sending another thousand pounds, to be expended in the purchase of arms and horses.”

“I hope it is not dust thrown into our eyes,” returned Garnet. “I have always feared Tresham would deceive us at the last.”

“This sudden illness looks suspicious, I must own,” said Catesby. “Has aught been heard of Lord Mounteagle?”

“Guy Fawkes heard that he was at his residence at Southwark yesterday," returned Garnet.

“So far, good,” replied Catesby. “Did you visit the cellar where the powder is deposited?” he added, turning to Fawkes.

“I did,” replied the other, “and found all secure. The powder is in excellent preservation. Before quitting the spot, I placed certain private marks against the door, by which I can tell whether it is opened during our absence.”

“A wise precaution,” returned Catesby. “And now, gentlemen,” he added, filling a goblet with wine, “success to our enterprise! Everything is prepared,” he continued, as the pledge was enthusiastically drunk; “I have got together a company of above two hundred men, all well armed and appointed, who will follow me wherever I choose to lead them. They will be stationed near Dunsmore Heath on the fifth of next month, and as soon as the event of the explosion is known, I shall ride thither as fast as I can, and, hurrying with my troops to Coventry, seize the Princess Elizabeth. Percy and Keyes will secure the person of the Duke of York, and proclaim him King; while upon the rest will devolve the arduous duty of rousing our Catholic brethren in London to rise to arms.”

“Trust to us to rouse them,” shouted several voices.

“Let each man swear not to swerve from the fulfilment of his task," cried Catesby; “swear it upon this cup of wine, in which we will all mix our blood.”

And as he spoke, he pricked his arm with the point of his sword, and suffered a few drops of blood to fall into the goblet, while the others, roused to a state of frenzied enthusiasm, imitated his example, and afterwards raised the horrible mixture to their lips, pronouncing at the same time the oath.

Guy Fawkes was the last to take the pledge, and crying in a loud voice, “I swear not to quit my post till the explosion is over,” he drained the cup.

After this, they adjourned to a room in another wing of the house, fitted up as a chapel, where mass was performed by Garnet, and the sacrament administered to the whole assemblage. They were about to retire for the night, when a sudden knocking was heard at the door. Reconnoitring the intruder through an upper window, overlooking the court, Catesby perceived it was Bates, who was holding a smoking and mud-bespattered steed by the bridle.

“Well, what news do you bring?” cried Catesby, as he admitted him. “Have you seen Tresham?”

“No,” replied Bates. “His illness was a mere pretence. He has left Rushton secretly for London.”

“I knew it,” cried Garnet. “He has again betrayed us.”

“He shall die,” said Catesby.

And the determination was echoed by all the other conspirators.

Instead of retiring to rest, they passed the night in anxious deliberation, and it was at last proposed that Guy Fawkes should proceed without loss of time to Southwark, to keep watch near the house of Lord Mounteagle, and if possible ascertain whether Tresham had visited it.

To this he readily agreed. But before setting out, he took Catesby aside for a moment, and asked, “Did you see Viviana at Coughton?”

“Only for a moment, and that just before I left the place,” was the answer. “She desired to be remembered to you, and said you were never absent from her thoughts or prayers.”

Guy Fawkes turned away to hide his emotion, and mounting one of the horses brought by the conspirators, rode off towards London.

ToC