“I told you your time would not be thrown away, Sir Henry,” he observed; “here is Father Garnet. It is well you yielded yourself to-night, father,” he added, to Garnet, with his customary cynical chuckle; “for Sir Henry had resolved to depart to-morrow.”

“Indeed!” groaned Garnet. “Help me to a chair.”

While this was passing, Oldcorne was brought down by two of the troopers, and the unfortunate priests were conveyed to an adjoining chamber, where they were placed in a bed, their stiffened limbs chafed, and cordials administered to them. They were reduced, however, to such extremity of weakness, that it was not judged prudent to remove them till the third day, when they, together with their two servants, Owen and Chambers, who were as much enfeebled as themselves, were conveyed to Worcester.

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CHAPTER IX.

“You may leave us,” said Salisbury to the officer, “but remain without.”

“And be ready to enter at a moment's notice,” added his companion, without altering his position.

The officer bowed, and retired with his followers.

“Your surrender of yourself at this time, Viviana Radcliffe,” said the Earl, “weighs much in your favour; and if you are disposed freely to declare all you know of the conspiracy, it is not impossible that the King may extend his mercy towards you.”

“I do not desire it, my lord,” she replied. “In surrendering myself, I have no other aim than to satisfy the laws I have outraged. I do not seek to defend myself, but I desire to offer an explanation to your lordship. Circumstances, which it is needless to detail, drew me into connexion with the conspirators, and I became unwillingly the depositary of their dark design.”

“You were guilty of misprision of treason in not revealing it,” remarked the Earl.

“I am aware of it,” she rejoined; “but this, I take heaven to witness, is the extent of my criminality. I held the project in the utmost abhorrence, and used every argument I was mistress of to induce its contrivers to abandon it.”

“If such were the case,” demanded the Earl, “what withheld you from disclosing it?”

“I will now confess what torture could not wring from me before,” she replied. “I was restrained from the disclosure by a fatal passion.”

“I suspected as much,” observed the Earl, with a sneer. “For whom?”

“For Guy Fawkes,” returned Viviana.

“God's mercy! Guy Fawkes!” ejaculated the Earl's companion, starting to his feet. And turning as he spoke, and facing her, he disclosed heavy but not unintellectual features, now charged with an expression of the utmost astonishment. “Did you say Guy Fawkes, mistress?”

“It is the King,” whispered Humphrey Chetham.

“Since I know in whose presence I stand, sire,” replied Viviana, “I will answer the interrogation. Guy Fawkes was the cause of my concealing my acquaintance with the plot. And more, I will confess to your Majesty, that much as I abhor the design, if he had not been a conspirator, I should never have loved him. His sombre and enthusiastic character first gave him an interest in my eyes, which, heightened by several important services which he rendered me, soon ripened into love. Linked to his fortunes, shrouded by the same gloomy cloud that enveloped him, and bound by a chain from which I could not extricate myself, I gave him my hand. But the moment of our union was the moment of our separation. We have not met since, and shall meet no more, unless to part for ever.”

“A strange history!” exclaimed James, in a tone that showed he was not unmoved by the relation.

“I beseech your Majesty to grant me one boon,” cried Viviana, falling at his feet. “It is to be allowed a single interview with my husband—not for the sad gratification of beholding him again—not for the indulgence of my private sorrows—but that I may endeavour to awaken a feeling of repentance in his breast, and be the means of saving his soul alive.”

“My inclinations prompt me to grant the request, Salisbury,” said the King, irresolutely. “There can be no risk in doing it—eh?”

“Not under certain restrictions, my liege,” replied the Earl.

“You shall have your wish, then, mistress,” said James, “and I trust your efforts may be crowned with success. Your husband is a hardy traitor—a second Jacques Clement—and we never think of him without the floor shaking beneath our feet, and a horrible smell of gunpowder assailing our nostrils. Blessed be God for our preservation! But whom have we here?” he added, turning to Humphrey Chetham. “Another conspirator come to surrender himself?”

“No, my liege,” replied Chetham; “I am a loyal subject of your Majesty, and a stanch Protestant.”

“If we may take your word for it, doubtless,” replied the King, with an incredulous look. “But how come you in this lady's company?”

“I will hide nothing from your Majesty,” replied Chetham. “Long before Viviana's unhappy acquaintance with Fawkes—for such I must ever consider it—my affections had been fixed upon her, and I fondly trusted she would not prove indifferent to my suit. Even now, sire, when all hope is dead within me, I have not been able to overcome my passion, but love her as devotedly as ever. When, therefore, she desired my escort to London to surrender herself, I could not refuse the request.”

“It is the truth, my liege,” added Viviana. “I owe Humphrey Chetham (for so this gentleman is named) an endless debt of gratitude; and not the least of my present distresses is the thought of the affliction I have occasioned him.”

“Dismiss it from your mind, then, Viviana,” rejoined Chetham. “It will not mitigate my sorrows to feel that I have added to yours.”

“Your manner and looks seem to give a warranty for loyalty, young sir," said the King. “But I must have some assurance of the truth of your statement before you are set at large.”

“I am your willing prisoner, my liege,” returned Chetham. “But I have a letter for the Earl of Salisbury, which may vouch perhaps for me.”

And as he spoke, he placed a letter in the Earl's hands, who broke open the seal, and hastily glanced at its contents.

“It is from Doctor Dee,” he said, “from whom, as your Majesty is aware, we have received much important information relative to this atrocious design. He answers for this young man's loyalty.”

“I am glad to hear it,” rejoined the King. “It would have been mortifying to be deceived by so honest a physiognomy.”

“Your Majesty will be pleased to attach your signature to this warrant for Viviana Radcliffe's committal to the Tower,” said Salisbury, placing a paper before him.

James complied, and the Earl summoned the guard.

“Have I your Majesty's permission to attend this unfortunate lady to the fortress?” cried Chetham, prostrating himself before the King.

James hesitated, but glancing at the Earl, and reading no objection in his looks, he assented.

Whispering some private instructions to the officer respecting Chetham, Salisbury delivered the warrant to him. Viviana and her companion were then removed to a small chamber adjoining the guard-room, where they remained for nearly an hour, at the expiration of which time the officer again appeared, and conducted them to the palace-stairs, where a large wherry awaited them, in which they embarked.

James did not remain long with his councillor, and as soon as he had retired, Salisbury summoned a confidential attendant, and told him to acquaint Lord Mounteagle, who was in an adjoining apartment, that he was now able to receive him. The attendant departed, and presently returned with the nobleman in question. As soon as they were alone, and Salisbury had satisfied himself they could not be overheard, he observed to the other,

“Since Tresham's committal to the Tower yesterday, I have received a letter from the lieutenant, stating that he breathes nothing but revenge against yourself and me, and threatens to betray us, if he is not released. It will not do to let him be examined by the Council; for though we can throw utter discredit on his statement, it may be prejudicial to my future designs.”

“True, my lord,” replied Mounteagle. “But how do you propose to silence him?”

“By poison,” returned Salisbury. “There is a trusty fellow in the Tower, a jailer named Ipgreve, who will administer it to him. Here is the powder,” he added, unlocking a coffer, and taking out a small packet; “it was given me by its compounder, Doctor Dee. It is the same, I am assured, as the celebrated Italian poison prepared by Pope Alexander the Sixth; is without scent or taste; and destroys its victim without leaving a trace of its effects.”

“I must take heed how I offend your lordship,” observed Mounteagle.

“Nay,” rejoined Salisbury, with a ghastly smile, “it is for traitors like Tresham, not true men like you, to fear me.”

“I understand the distinction, my lord,” replied the other.

“I must intrust the entire management of this affair to you,” pursued Salisbury.

“To me!” exclaimed Mounteagle. “Tresham is my brother-in-law. I can take no part in his murder.”

“If he lives, you are ruined,” rejoined Salisbury, coldly. “You must sacrifice him or yourself. But I see you are reasonable. Take this powder, and proceed to the Tower. See Ipgreve alone, and instruct him to drug Tresham's wine with it. A hundred marks shall be his reward when the deed is done.”

“My soul revolts from the deed,” said Mounteagle, as he took the packet. “Is there no other way of silencing him?”

“None whatever,” replied Salisbury, sternly. “His blood be upon his own head.”

With this, Mounteagle took his departure.

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CHAPTER X.

“Time may work a change,” she rejoined; “though I ought not to say so, for I feel it would work none in me. Suffer me to give you one piece of counsel. Devote yourself resolutely to the business of life, and you will speedily regain your peace of mind.”

“I will follow your instructions implicitly,” replied Chetham; “but have little hope of the result you promise me.”

“Let the effort be made,” she rejoined;—"and now promise me to quit London to-morrow. Return to your native town, employ yourself in your former occupations; and strive not to think of the past, except as a troubled dream from which you have fortunately awakened. Do not let us prolong our parting, or your resolution may waver. Farewell!”

So saying, she extended her hand towards him, and he pressed it passionately to his lips.

“Farewell, Viviana!” he cried, with a look of unutterable anguish. “May Heaven support you in your trials!”

“One of them I am now enduring,” she replied, in a broken voice. “Farewell for ever, and may all good angels bless you!”

At this moment, the officer appeared, and announcing the approach of the lieutenant, told Chetham that his time had expired. Without hazarding another look at Viviana, the young merchant tore himself away, and followed the officer out of the Tower.

Obedient to Viviana's last request, he quitted London on the following day, and acting upon her advice, devoted himself on his return to Manchester sedulously to his mercantile pursuits. His perseverance and integrity were crowned with entire success, and he became in due season the wealthiest merchant of the town. But the blighting of his early affections tinged his whole life, and gave a melancholy to his thoughts and an austerity to his manner originally foreign to them. True to his promise, he died unmarried. His long and worthy career was marked by actions of the greatest benevolence. In proportion as his means increased, his charities were extended, and he truly became “a father to the fatherless and the destitute.” To him the town of Manchester is indebted for the noble library and hospital bearing his name; and for these admirable institutions by which they so largely benefit, his memory must ever be held in veneration by its inhabitants.

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CHAPTER XI.

“She cannot escape thence without your connivance,” he said; “and you shall answer to me for her safe custody with your life.”

“If she escapes again, your worship shall hang me in her stead," rejoined Ipgreve.

“My instructions from the Earl of Salisbury state that it is the King's pleasure that she be allowed a short interview with Guy Fawkes,” said the lieutenant, in a low tone. “Let her be taken to his cell to-morrow.”

The jailer bowed, and motioning the guard to follow him with Viviana, he led the way along the inner ward till he arrived at a small strong door in the wall a little to the north of the Beauchamp Tower, which he unlocked, and descended into a low cavernous-looking vault. Striking a light, and setting fire to a torch, he then led the way along a narrow gloomy passage, which brought them to a circular chamber, from which other passages diverged, and selecting one of them, threaded it till he came to the door of a cell.

“Here is your dungeon,” he said to Viviana, as he drew back the heavy bolts, and disclosed a small chamber, about four feet wide and six long, in which there was a pallet. “My dame will attend you soon.”

With this, he lighted a lamp, and departing with the guard, barred the door outside. Viviana shuddered as she surveyed the narrow dungeon in which she was placed. Roof, walls, and floor were of stone; and the aspect of the place was so dismal and tomb-like, that she felt as if she were buried alive. Some hours elapsed before Dame Ipgreve made her appearance. She was accompanied by Ruth, who burst into tears on beholding Viviana. The jailer's wife had brought a few blankets and other necessaries with her, together with a loaf of bread and a jug of water. While disposing the blankets on the couch, she never ceased upbraiding Viviana for her former flight. Poor Ruth, who was compelled to assist her mother, endeavoured by her gestures and looks to convey to the unfortunate captive that she was as much devoted to her as ever. Their task completed, the old woman withdrew, and her daughter, casting a deeply-commiserating look at Viviana, followed her, and the door was barred without.

Determined not to yield to despondency, Viviana knelt down, and addressed herself to Heaven; and, comforted by her prayers, threw herself on the bed, and sank into a peaceful slumber. She was awakened by hearing the bolts of her cell withdrawn, and the next moment Ruth stood before her.

“I fear you have exposed yourself to great risk in thus visiting me," said Viviana, tenderly embracing her.

“I would expose myself to any risk for you, sweet lady,” replied Ruth. “But, oh! why do I see you here again? The chief support of Guy Fawkes during his sufferings has been the thought that you were at liberty.”

“I surrendered myself in the hope of beholding him again,” rejoined Viviana.

“You have given a fond, but fatal proof of your affection,” returned Ruth. “The knowledge that you are a captive will afflict him more than all the torments he has endured.”

“What torments has he endured, Ruth?” inquired Viviana with a look of anguish.

“Do not ask me to repeat them,” replied the jailer's daughter. “They are too dreadful to relate. When you behold his shattered frame and altered looks, you will comprehend what he has undergone.”

“Alas!” exclaimed Viviana, bursting into tears, “I almost fear to behold him.”

“You must prepare for a fearful shock,” returned Ruth. “And now, madam, I must take my leave. I will endeavour to see you again to-morrow, but dare not promise to do so. I should not have been able to visit you now, but that my father is engaged with Lord Mounteagle.”

“With Lord Mounteagle!” cried Viviana. “Upon what business?

“Upon a foul business,” rejoined Ruth. “No less than the destruction of Mr. Tresham, who is now a prisoner in the Tower. Lord Mounteagle came to the Well Tower this evening, and I accidentally overheard him propose to my father to administer poison to the person I have named.”

“I do not pity their victim,” returned Viviana. “He is a double-dyed traitor, and will meet with the fate he deserves.”

“Farewell, madam,” said Ruth. “If I do not see you again, you will know that you have one friend in this fortress who deeply sympathizes with your afflictions.”

So saying, she withdrew, and Viviana heard the bolts slipped gently into their sockets.

Vainly, after Ruth's visit, did she try to compose herself. Sleep fled her eyes, and she was haunted all night by the image of Fawkes, haggard and shattered by torture, as he had been described by the jailer's daughter. Day and night were the same to her, and she could only compute progress of the time by her own feelings, judging by which, she supposed it to be late in the day when she was again visited. The bolts of her cell being withdrawn, two men clad in long black gowns, and having hoods drawn over their faces, entered it. They were followed by Ipgreve; and Viviana, concluding she was about to be led to the torture, endeavoured to string herself to its endurance. Though he guessed what was passing in her breast, Jasper Ipgreve did not care to undeceive her, but motioning the hooded officials to follow him with her, quitted the cell. Seizing each a hand, the attendants led her after him along a number of intricate passages, until he stopped before the door of a cell, which he opened.

“Be brief in what you have to say,” he cried, thrusting her forward. “I shall not allow you much time.”

Viviana no sooner set foot in the cell than she felt in whose presence she stood. On a stool at the further end of the narrow chamber, with his head upon his breast, and a cloak wrapped around his limbs, sat Fawkes. A small iron lamp, suspended by a rusty chain from the ceiling, served to illumine his ghastly features. He lifted his eyes from the ground on her entrance, and recognising her, uttered a cry of anguish. Raising himself by a great effort, he opened his arms, and she rushed into them. For some moments, both continued silent. Grief took away their utterance; but at length, Guy Fawkes spoke.

“My cup of bitterness was not sufficiently full,” he said. “This alone was wanting to make it overflow.”

“I fear you will blame me,” she replied, “when you learn that I have voluntarily surrendered myself.”

Guy Fawkes uttered a deep groan.

“I am the cause of your doing so,” he said.

“You are so,” she replied. “But you will forgive me when you know my motive. I came here to urge you to repentance. Oh! if you hope that we shall meet again hereafter—if you hope that we shall inherit joys which will requite us for all our troubles, you will employ the brief time left you on earth in imploring forgiveness for your evil intentions.”

“Having had no evil intentions,” replied Fawkes, coldly, “I have no pardon to ask.”

“The Tempter who led you into the commission of sin under the semblance of righteousness, puts these thoughts into your heart,” replied Viviana. “You have escaped the commission of an offence which must have deprived you of the joys of heaven, and I am thankful for it. But if you remain impenitent, I shall tremble for your salvation.”

“My account will soon be settled with my Maker,” rejoined Fawkes; “and he will punish or reward me according to my deserts. I have acted according to my conscience, and can never repent that which I believe to be a righteous design.”

“But do you not now see that you were mistaken,” returned Viviana,—"do you not perceive that the sword which you raised against others has been turned against yourself,—and that the Great Power whom you serve and worship has declared himself against you?”

“You seek in vain to move me,” replied Fawkes. “I am as insensible to your arguments as to the tortures of my enemies.”

“Then Heaven have mercy upon your soul!” she rejoined.

“Look at me, Viviana,” cried Fawkes, “and behold the wreck I am. What has supported me amid my tortures—in this dungeon—in the presence of my relentless foes?—what, but the consciousness of having acted rightly? And what will support me on the scaffold except the same conviction? If you love me, do not seek to shake my faith! But it is idle to talk thus. You cannot do so. Rest satisfied we shall meet again. Everything assures me of it. Wretched as I appear in this solitary cell, I am not wholly miserable, because I am buoyed up by the certainty that my actions are approved by Heaven.”

“I will not attempt to destroy the delusion, since it is productive of happiness to you,” replied Viviana. “But if my earnest, heartfelt prayers can conduce to your salvation, they shall not be wanting.”

As she spoke, the door of the cell was opened by Jasper Ipgreve, who stepped towards her, and seized her roughly by the hand.

“Your time has expired, mistress,” he said; “you must come with me.”

“A minute longer,” implored Fawkes.

“Not a second,” replied Ipgreve.

“Shall we not meet again?” cried Viviana, distractedly.

“Ay, the day before your execution,” rejoined Ipgreve. “I have good news for you,” he added, pausing for a moment, and addressing Fawkes. “Mr. Tresham, who I told you has been brought to the Tower, has been taken suddenly and dangerously ill.”

“If the traitor perishes before me, I shall die content,” observed Fawkes.

“Then rest assured of it,” said Viviana. “The task of vengeance is already fulfilled.”

She was then forced away by Ipgreve, and delivered by him to the hooded officials outside, who hurried her back to her dungeon.

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CHAPTER XII.

He found Ipgreve with his wife and daughter, and telling him he desired a moment's private speech with him, the jailer dismissed them. Suspecting that the new-comer's errand related in some way to Viviana, Ruth contrived to place herself in such a situation that she could overhear what passed. A moment's scrutiny of Jasper's villanous countenance satisfied Mounteagle that the Earl of Salisbury was not mistaken in his man; and, as soon as he supposed they were alone, he unhesitatingly opened his plan to him. As he expected, Jasper exhibited no reluctance to undertake it; and, after some further discussion, it was agreed to put it in execution without delay.

“The sooner Mr. Tresham is silenced the better,” said Jasper; “for he threatens to make disclosures to the Council that will bring some noble persons,” with a significant look at Mounteagle, “into trouble.”

“Where is he confined?” demanded the other.

“In the Beauchamp Tower,” replied Ipgreve.

“I will visit him at once,” said Mounteagle; “and when I have conferred with him, will call for wine. Bring two goblets, and in that which you give to Tresham place this powder.”

Ipgreve nodded assent, and with a grim smile took the packet. Shortly after this, they quitted the Well Tower together, and passing under the archway of the Bloody Tower, crossed the green, and entered the fortification in which the traitor was confined. Tresham was treated with far greater consideration than the other conspirators, being allowed the use of the large room on the upper floor of the Beauchamp Tower, which was seldom allotted to any persons except those of the highest distinction. When they entered, he was pacing to and fro within his chamber in great agitation; but he immediately stopped on seeing Mounteagle, and rushed towards him.

“You bring me my liberation?” he said.

“It is impossible to effect it at present,” returned the other. “But make yourself perfectly easy. Your confinement will not be of long duration.”

“I will not be trifled with,” cried Tresham, furiously. “If I am examined by the Council, look to yourselves. As I hope for salvation, the truth shall out.”

“Leave us,” said Mounteagle, with a significant look at the jailer, who quitted the chamber.

“Hark'e, Mounteagle,” said Tresham, as soon as they were alone, “I have been your tool thus far. But if you propose to lead me blindfold to the scaffold, you are greatly mistaken. You think that you have me safe within these walls; that my voice cannot be heard; and that I cannot betray you. But you are deceived—fearfully deceived, as you will find. I have your letters—the Earl of Salisbury's letters, proving that you were both aware of the plot—and that you employed me to watch its progress, and report it to you. I have also letters from Doctor Dee, the warden of Manchester, detailing his acquaintance with the conspiracy, and containing descriptions of the persons of Fawkes and Catesby, which I showed to the Earl of Salisbury.—These letters are now in my possession, and I will deliver them to the Council, if I am not released.”

“Deliver them to me, and I swear to you, you shall be set free,” said Mounteagle.

“I will not trust you,” rejoined Tresham. “Liberate me, and they are yours. But I will not rob myself of vengeance. I will confound you and the false Earl of Salisbury.”

“You wrong us both by your unjust suspicions,” said Mounteagle.

“Wrong you!” echoed Tresham, contemptuously. “Where is my promised reward? Why am I in this dungeon? Why am I treated like a traitor? If you meant me fairly, I should not be here, but like yourself at liberty, and in the enjoyment of the King's favour. But you have duped me, villain, and shall rue it. If I am led to the scaffold, it shall be in your company.”

“Compose yourself,” rejoined Mounteagle, calmly. “Appearances, I own, are against us. But circumstances render it imperatively necessary that the Earl of Salisbury should appear to act against you. You have been charged by Guy Fawkes, when under the torture, of being a confederate in the design, and your arrest could not be avoided. I am come hither to give you a solemn assurance that no harm shall befal you, but that you shall be delivered from your thraldom in a few days—perhaps in a few hours.”

“You have no further design against me,” said Tresham, suspiciously.

“What motive could I have in coming hither, except to set your mind at rest?” rejoined Mounteagle.

“And I shall receive my reward?” demanded Tresham.

“You will receive your reward,” returned Mounteagle, with significant emphasis. “I swear it. So make yourself easy.”

“If I thought I might trust you, I should not heed my imprisonment, irksome though it be,” rejoined Tresham.

“It cannot be avoided, for the reasons I have just stated,” replied Mounteagle. “But come, no more despondency. All will be well with you speedily. Let us drown care in a bumper. What ho! jailer,” he added, opening the door, “a cup of wine!”

In a few minutes, Ipgreve made his appearance, bearing two goblets filled with wine on a salver, one of which he presented to Mounteagle, and the other to Tresham.

“Here is to your speedy deliverance from captivity!” said Mounteagle, draining the goblet. “You will not refuse that pledge, Tresham?”

“Of a surety not,” replied the other. “To my speedy deliverance!”

And he emptied the cup, while Mounteagle and the jailer exchanged significant glances.

“And now, having fully discharged my errand, I must bid you farewell," said Mounteagle.

“You will not forget your promise?” observed Tresham.

“Assuredly not,” replied the other. “A week hence, and you will make no complaint against me.—Are you sure you did not give me the wrong goblet?” he added to Ipgreve, as they descended the spiral staircase.

“Quite sure, my lord,” returned the jailer, with a grim smile.

Mounteagle immediately quitted the Tower, and hastening to Whitehall, sought out the Earl of Salisbury, to whom he related what he had done. The Earl complimented him on his skilful management of the matter; and congratulating each other upon having got rid of a dangerous and now useless instrument, they separated.

On the following day, Tresham was seized with a sudden illness, and making known his symptoms to Ipgreve, the chirurgeon who attended the prison was sent for, and on seeing him, pronounced him dangerously ill, though he was at a loss to explain the nature of his disorder. Every hour the sick man grew worse, and he was torn with racking pains. Connecting his sudden seizure with the visit of Lord Mounteagle, an idea of the truth flashed upon him, and he mentioned his suspicions to the chirurgeon, charging Jasper Ipgreve with being accessory to the deed. The jailer stoutly denied the accusation, and charged the prisoner in his turn with making a malicious statement to bring him into discredit.

“I will soon test the truth of his assertion,” observed the chirurgeon, taking a small flat piece of the purest gold from his doublet. “Place this in your mouth.”

Tresham obeyed, and Ipgreve watched the experiment with gloomy curiosity.

“You are a dead man,” said the chirurgeon to Tresham, as he drew forth the piece of gold, and perceived that it was slightly tarnished. “Poison has been administered to you.”

“Is there no remedy—no counter-poison?” demanded Tresham, eagerly.

The chirurgeon shook his head.

“Then let the lieutenant be summoned,” said Tresham; “I have an important confession to make to him. I charge this man,” pointing to the jailer, “with giving poisoned wine to me. Do you hear what I say to you?”

“I do,” replied the chirurgeon.

“But he will never reveal it,” said Ipgreve, with great unconcern. “I have a warrant from the Earl of Salisbury for what I have done.”

“What!” cried Tresham, “can murder be committed here with impunity?”

“You have to thank your own indiscretion for what has happened," rejoined Ipgreve. “Had you kept a close tongue in your head, you would have been safe.”

“Can nothing be done to save me?” cried the miserable man, with an imploring look at the chirurgeon.

“Nothing whatever,” replied the person appealed to. “I would advise you to recommend your soul to God.”

“Will you not inform the lieutenant that I desire to speak with him?" demanded Tresham.

The chirurgeon glanced at Ipgreve, and receiving a sign from him, gave a promise to that effect.

They then quitted the cell together, leaving Tresham in a state of indescribable agony both of mind and body. Half an hour afterwards, the chirurgeon returned, and informed him that the lieutenant refused to visit him, or to hear his confession, and wholly discredited the fact of his being poisoned.

“I will take charge of your papers, if you choose to commit them to me," he said, “and will lay them before the Council.”

“No,” replied Tresham; “while life remains to me I will never part with them.”

“I have brought you a mixture which, though it cannot heal you, will, at least, allay your sufferings,” said the chirurgeon.

“I will not take it,” groaned Tresham. “I distrust you as much as the others.”

“I will leave it with you, at all events,” rejoined the chirurgeon, setting down the phial.

The noise of the bolts shot into their sockets sounded to Tresham as if his tomb were closed upon him, and he uttered a cry of anguish. He would have laid violent hands upon himself, and accelerated his own end, but he wanted courage to do so, and continued to pace backwards and forwards across his chamber as long as his strength lasted. He was about to throw himself on the couch, from which he never expected to rise again, when his eyes fell upon the phial. “What if it should be poison!” he said, “it will end my sufferings the sooner.”

And placing it to his lips, he swallowed its contents. As the chirurgeon had foretold, it alleviated his sufferings, and throwing himself on the bed he sank into a troubled slumber, during which he dreamed that Catesby appeared to him with a vengeful countenance, and tried to drag him into a fathomless abyss that yawned beneath their feet. Shrieking with agony, he awoke, and found two persons standing by his couch. One of them was the jailer, and the other appeared, from his garb, to be a priest; but a hood was drawn over his head so as to conceal his features.

“Are you come to witness my dying pangs, or to finish me?” demanded Tresham of the jailer.

“I am come for neither purpose,” replied Ipgreve; “I pity your condition, and have brought you a priest of your own faith, who, like yourself, is a prisoner in the Tower. I will leave him with you, but he cannot remain long, so make the most of your time.” And with these words, he retired.

When he was gone, the supposed priest, who spoke in feeble and faltering accents, desired to hear Tresham's confession, and having listened to it, gave him absolution. The wretched man then drew from his bosom a small packet, and offered it to the confessor, who eagerly received it.

“This contains the letters of the Earl of Salisbury and Lord Mounteagle, which I have just mentioned,” he said. “I pray you lay them before the Privy Council.”

“I will not fail to do so,” replied the confessor.

And reciting the prayer for one in extremis over the dying man, he departed.

“I have obtained the letters from him,” said Mounteagle, throwing back his hood as he quitted the chamber, and addressing the jailer. “And now you need give yourself no further concern about him, he will be dead before morning.”

Jasper Ipgreve locked the door upon the prisoner, and proceeded to the Well Tower. When he returned, he found Mounteagle's words had come to pass. Tresham was lying on the floor quite dead—his collapsed frame and distorted countenance showing the agonies in which he must have expired.

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CHAPTER XIII.

The melancholy procession was headed by Sir William Waad, who was followed by an officer of the guard and six halberdiers. Then came the executioner, carrying the gleaming implement of death with its edge turned from the prisoners. He was followed by Sir Everard Digby, whose noble figure and handsome countenance excited much sympathy among the beholders, and Ambrose Rookwood. Next came the two Winters, both of whom appeared greatly dejected. Next, John Grant and Robert Bates,—Catesby's servant, who had been captured at Holbeach. And lastly, Keyes and Fawkes.

Bitterly and justly incensed as were the multitude against the conspirators, their feelings underwent some change as they beheld the haggard countenance and shattered frame of Guy Fawkes. It was soon understood that he was the individual who had been found in the vault near the Parliament House, with the touchwood and matches in his belt ready to fire the train; and the greatest curiosity was exhibited to see him.

Just as the foremost of the conspirators reached the entrance of the Hall, a terrific yell, resembling nothing human, except the roar of a thousand tigers thirsting for blood, was uttered by the mob, and a tremendous but ineffectual attempt was made to break through the lines of the guard. Never before had so large an assemblage been collected on the spot. The whole of the space extending on one hand from Westminster Hall to the gates of Whitehall, and on the other to the Abbey, was filled with spectators; and every roof, window, and buttress was occupied. Nor was the interior of the Hall less crowded. Not an inch of room was unoccupied; and it was afterwards complained in Parliament, that the members of the house had been so pressed and incommoded, that they could not hear what was said at the arraignment.

The conspirators were first conveyed to the court of the Star-Chamber, where they remained till the Lords Commissioners had arrived, and taken their seats. The commissioners were the Earl of Nottingham, Lord High Admiral of England; the Earl of Suffolk, Steward of the Household; the Earl of Worcester, Master of the Horse; the Earl of Devonshire, Master of the Ordnance; the Earl of Northampton, Warden of the Cinque-Ports; the Earl of Salisbury, Principal Secretary of State; Sir John Popham, Lord Chief Justice; Sir Thomas Fleming, Lord Chief Baron of the Exchequer; and Sir Thomas Walmisley and Sir Peter Warburton, Knights, and both Justices of the Common Pleas.

Summoned by an usher, the conspirators were conducted to a platform covered with black cloth, which had been erected at the lower end of the Hall. A murmur of indignation, vainly sought to be repressed by the grave looks of the Commissioners, burst from the immense assemblage, as they one by one ascended the steps of the platform. Guy Fawkes was the last to mount, and his appearance was followed by a deep groan. Supporting himself against the rail of the scaffold, he surveyed the assemblage with a stern and undaunted look. As he gazed around, he could not help marvelling at the vast multitude before him. The whole of the peers and all the members of the House of Commons were present, while in a box on the left, though screened by a lattice, sat the Queen and Prince Henry; and in another on the right, and protected in the same way, the King and his courtiers.

Silence being peremptorily commanded, the indictment was read, wherein the prisoners were charged with conspiring to blow up the King and the peers with gunpowder, and with attempting to incite the Papists, and other persons, to open rebellion; to which all the conspirators, to the no small surprise of those who heard them, and were aware that they had subscribed their confessions, pleaded not guilty.

“How, sir!” cried the Lord Chief Justice, in a stern tone to Fawkes. “With what face can you pretend to deny the indictment, when you were actually taken in the cellar with the powder, and have already confessed your treasonable intentions?”

“I do not mean to deny what I have confessed, my lord,” replied Fawkes. “But this indictment contains many matters which I neither can nor will countenance by assent or silence. And I therefore deny it.”

“It is well,” replied the Lord Chief Justice. “Let the trial proceed.”

The indictment being opened by Sir Edward Philips, sergeant-at-law, he was followed by Sir Edward Coke, the attorney-general, who in an eloquent and elaborate speech, which produced an extraordinary effect upon the assemblage, expatiated upon the monstrous nature of the plot, which he characterised as “the greatest treason that ever was plotted in England, and against the greatest king that ever reigned in England;" and after narrating the origin and progress of the conspiracy, concluded by desiring that the confessions of the prisoners should be openly read. This done, the jury were ordered by the Lord Chief Justice to retire, and the injunction being obeyed, they almost instantly returned with a verdict of guilty.

A deep, dread silence then prevailed throughout the Hall, and every eye was bent upon the conspirators, all of whom maintained a composed demeanour. They were then questioned by the Lord Chief Justice whether they had anything to say why judgment of death should not be pronounced against them.

“All I have to crave of your lordships,” said Thomas Winter, “is, that being the chief offender of the two, I may die for my brother and myself.”

“And I ask only that my brother's request may not be granted,” said Robert Winter. “If he is condemned, I do not desire to live.”

“I have nothing to solicit—not even pardon,” said Keyes, carelessly. “My fortunes were always desperate, and are better now than they have ever been.”

“I desire mercy,” said Rookwood, “not from any fear of death, but because so shameful an ending will leave a perpetual stain upon my name and blood. I humbly submit myself to the King, and pray him to imitate our Supreme Judge, who sometimes punishes corporally, but not mortally.”

“I have been guilty of a conspiracy, intended but never effected,” said John Grant, “and solicit forgiveness on that plea.”

“My crime has been fidelity to my master,” said Bates. “If the King will let me live, I will serve him as faithfully as I did Mr. Catesby.”

“I would not utter a word,” said Fawkes, looking sternly round; “if I did not fear my silence might be misinterpreted. I would not accept a pardon if it were offered me. I regard the project as a glorious one, and only lament its failure.”

“Silence the vile traitor,” said the Earl of Salisbury, rising.

And as he spoke two halberdiers sprang up the steps of the scaffold, and placing themselves on either side of Fawkes, prepared to gag him.

“I have done,” he said, contemptuously regarding them.

“I have nothing to say save this,” said Sir Everard Digby, bowing to the judges. “If any of your lordships will tell me you forgive me, I shall go more cheerfully to the scaffold.”

“Heaven forgive you, Sir Everard,” said the Earl of Nottingham, returning his reverence, “as we do.”

“I humbly thank your lordship,” replied Digby.

Sentence was then passed upon the prisoners by Lord Chief Justice Popham, and they were removed from the platform.

As they issued from the Hall, and it became known to the assemblage without that they were condemned, a shout of fierce exultation rent the air, and they were so violently assailed on all sides, that they had great difficulty in reaching the wherries. The guard, however, succeeded, at length, in accomplishing their embarkation, and they were conveyed back in safety to the Tower.

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CHAPTER XIV.

Up to this time, Viviana had not been allowed another interview with Guy Fawkes. She was twice interrogated by the Privy-Council, but having confessed all she knew of the conspiracy, excepting what might implicate Garnet and Oldcorne, neither of whom she was aware had been apprehended, she was not again subjected to the torture. Her health, however, rapidly sank under her confinement, and she was soon reduced to such an extreme state of debility that she could not leave her bed. The chirurgeon having been called in by Dame Ipgreve to attend her, reported her condition to Sir William Waad, who directed that every means should be adopted for her restoration, and that Ruth Ipgreve should remain in constant attendance upon her.

Ascertaining all particulars relative to Guy Fawkes from the jailer's daughter, it was a sad satisfaction to Viviana to learn that he spent his whole time in devotion, and appeared completely resigned to his fate. It had been the Earl of Salisbury's purpose to bring Viviana to trial at the same time as the rest of the conspirators, but the chirurgeon reporting that her removal at this juncture would be attended with fatal consequences, he was compelled to defer it.

When the result of the trial was made known to Viviana by Ruth, though she had anticipated the condemnation of Guy Fawkes, she swooned away, and on her recovery, observed to Ruth, who was greatly alarmed at her looks, “I feel I am going fast. I should wish to see my husband once more before I die.”

“I fear it is impossible, madam,” replied Ruth; “but I will try to accomplish it.”

“Do so,” rejoined Viviana; “and my blessing shall rest ever on your head.”

“Have you any valuable?” inquired Ruth. “My heart bleeds to make the demand at such a moment. But it is the only way to produce an effect on the avaricious nature of my father.”

“I have nothing but this golden crucifix,” said Viviana; “and I meant to give it to you.”

“It will be better employed in this way,” rejoined Ruth, taking it from her.

Quitting the cell, she hurried to the Well Tower, and found her father, who had just returned from locking up the conspirators in their different dungeons, sitting down to his evening meal.

“What is the matter with the wench?” he cried, staring at her. “You look quite distracted. Is Viviana Radcliffe dead?”

“No; but she is dying,” replied Ruth.

“If that is the case I must go to her directly,” observed Dame Ipgreve. “She may have some valuable about her which I must secure.”

“You will be disappointed, mother,” rejoined Ruth, with a look of irrepressible disgust. “She has nothing valuable left but this golden crucifix, which she has sent to my father, on condition of his allowing Guy Fawkes to see her before she dies.”

“Give it me, wench,” cried Jasper Ipgreve; “and let her die in peace.”

“She will not die in peace unless she sees him,” replied Ruth. “Nor shall you have it, if you do not comply with her request.”

“How!” exclaimed her father, “do you dare——”

“Think not to terrify me, father,” interrupted Ruth; “I am resolute in this. Hear me,” she cried, seizing his arm, and fixing a look upon him that seemed to pierce his soul,—"hear me,” she said, in a tone so low as to be inaudible to her mother; “she shall see him, or I will denounce you as the murderer of Tresham. Now will you comply?”

“Give me the cross,” said Ipgreve.

“Not till you have earned it,” replied his daughter.

“Well, well,” he rejoined; “if it must be, it must. But I may get into trouble in the matter. I must consult Master Forsett, the gentleman jailer, who has the charge of Guy Fawkes, before I dare take him to her cell.”

“Consult whom you please,” rejoined Ruth, impatiently; “but lose no time, or you will be too late.”

Muttering imprecations on his daughter, Ipgreve left the Well Tower, and Ruth hurried back to Viviana, whom she found anxiously expecting her, and related to her what she had done.

“Oh, that I may hold out till he comes!” cried Viviana; “but my strength is failing fast.”

Ruth endeavoured to comfort her; but she was unequal to the effort, and bursting into tears, knelt down, and wept upon the pillow beside her. Half an hour had now elapsed. It seemed an age to the poor sufferers, and still the jailer came not, and even Ruth had given up all hope, when a heavy tread was heard in the passage; the door was opened; and Guy Fawkes appeared, attended by Ipgreve and Forsett.

“We will not interrupt your parting,” said Forsett, who seemed to have a touch of humanity in his composition. And beckoning to Ruth to follow him, he quitted the cell with Ipgreve.

Guy Fawkes, meanwhile, had approached the couch, and gazed with an expression of intense anguish at Viviana. She returned his glance with a look of the utmost affection, and clasped his hand between her thin fingers.

“I am now standing on the brink of eternity,” she said in a solemn tone, “and I entreat you earnestly, as you hope to insure our meeting hereafter, to employ the few days left you in sincere and hearty repentance. You have sinned—sinned deeply, but not beyond the power of redemption. Let me feel that I have saved you, and my last moments will be happy. Oh! by the love I have borne you—by the pangs I have endured for you—by the death I am now dying for you—let me implore you not to lose one moment, but to supplicate a merciful Providence to pardon your offence.”