On gaining a retired spot beneath the trees, Catesby, without giving his antagonist time to divest himself of the heavy horseman's cloak with which he was encumbered, and scarcely to draw his sword, assaulted him. The combat was furious on both sides, but it was evident that the young merchant was no match for his adversary. He maintained his ground, however, for some time with great resolution; but, being hotly pressed, in retreating to avoid a thrust, his foot caught in the long grass, and he fell. Catesby would have passed his sword through his body, if it had not been turned aside by another weapon. It was that of Guy Fawkes, who, followed by Martin Heydocke, had staggered towards the scene of strife, reaching it just in time to save the life of Humphrey Chetham.

“Heaven be praised! I am not too late!” he exclaimed. “Put up your blade, Catesby; or, turn it against me.”

ToC

CHAPTER XVIII.

“So far from having any enmity towards Father Garnet,” observed Chetham, “my anxious desire was to preserve him; and with that view, I was repairing to Dr. Dee, when I encountered Mr. Catesby in the hall, and before I could offer any explanation, I was forced by his violence and insults into this combat.”

“Is this the truth, Catesby?” asked Fawkes,

“Something near it,” rejoined the latter; “but perhaps Mr. Chetham will likewise inform you by whose agency Viviana was transported hither from the Collegiate Church?”

“That inquiry ought rather to be made of the lady herself, sir," rejoined Chetham, coldly. “But, as I am assured she would have no objection to my answering it, I shall not hesitate to do so. She was conveyed hither by Kelley and an assistant, who departed as soon as their task was completed.”

“Indeed!” exclaimed Catesby between his ground teeth. “But how chanced it, sir, that you arrived here so opportunely?”

“I might well refuse to answer a question thus insolently put,” rejoined Chetham. “But to prevent further misunderstanding, I will tell you, that I came by Viviana's invitation at midnight; and, ascertaining from my servant, Martin Heydocke, whom I found watching by the couch of Guy Fawkes, the melancholy business on which she was engaged, I determined to await her return, which occurred about an hour afterwards, in the manner I have just related.”

“I was in the court-yard when Mistress Viviana was brought back," interposed Martin Heydocke, who was standing at a respectful distance from the group; “and, after Kelley had delivered her to my charge, I heard him observe in an under tone to his companion, 'Let us ride back as fast as we can, and see what they have done with the prisoners.'"

“They made sure of their prey before it was captured,” observed Catesby, bitterly. “But we have disappointed them. Dee and his associate may yet have reason to repent their perfidy.”

“You will do well not to put yourself again in their power,” observed Humphrey Chetham. “If you will be counselled by me, you and Guy Fawkes will seek safety in instant flight.”

“And leave you with Viviana?” rejoined Catesby, sarcastically.

“She is in no present danger,” replied Chetham. “But, if it is thought fitting or desirable, I will remain with her.”

“I do not doubt it,” returned Catesby, with a sneer; “but it is neither fitting nor desirable. And, hark ye, young sir, if you have indulged any expectations with regard to Viviana Radcliffe, it is time you were undeceived. She will never wed one of your degree, nor of your faith.”

“I have her own assurance she will never wed at all,” replied Chetham, in an offended tone. “But had she not crushed my hopes by declaring she was vowed to a convent, no menaces of yours, who have neither right nor title thus to interfere, should induce me to desist from my suit.”

“Either resign all pretensions to her hand, or prepare to renew the combat,” cried Catesby, fiercely.

“No more of this,” interposed Guy Fawkes. “Let us return to the house, and adjust our differences there.”

“I have no further business here,” observed Humphrey Chetham. “Having taken leave of Viviana,” he added, with much emotion, “I do not desire to meet her again.”

“It is well, sir,” rejoined Catesby: “yet, stay!—you mean us no treachery?”

“If you suspect me, I will remain,” replied Humphrey Chetham.

“On no account,” interposed Guy Fawkes. “I will answer for him with my life.”

“Perhaps, when I tell you I have procured the liberation of Father Oldcorne,” returned Chetham, “and have placed him in security in Ordsall cave, you will admit that you have done me wrong.”

“I have been greatly mistaken in you, sir, I must own,” observed Catesby, advancing towards him, and extending his hand. But Humphrey Chetham folded his arms upon his breast, and bowing coldly, withdrew. He was followed by Martin Heydocke, and presently afterwards the tramp of his horse's feet was heard crossing the drawbridge.

ToC

CHAPTER XIX.

“Do not despair, father,” said Catesby, in as cheerful a tone as he could assume, “the worst is over. Viviana is in safety. Father Oldcorne has escaped, and is within a short distance of us, and Guy Fawkes is fully able to undertake a journey of any distance. You are our sole concern. But I am assured, if you will allow me to exercise the slight surgical skill I possess in your behalf, that you will be able to accompany us.”

“Do with me what you please, my son,” groaned Garnet. “But, if my case is as desperate as I believe it, I entreat you not to bestow any further care upon me, and, above all, not to expose yourself to risk on my account. Our enemies are sure to pursue us,—and what matter if I am captured? They will wreak their vengeance on a worthless carcass,—for such I shall soon be. But it would double the anguish I now endure, if you and Fawkes were to fall into their hands. Go, then, and leave me here to perish. My dying moments will be cheered by the conviction that the great enterprise—for which alone I desire to live—will not be unaccomplished.”

“There is no need to leave you, father,” replied Catesby, “nor shall any consideration induce me to do so, till I have rendered you every aid that circumstances will permit.”

“My son,” replied Garnet, faintly, “the most efficacious balm you can apply will be the certainty that you are in safety. You say Viviana is here. Fly with Fawkes, and leave me to her care.”

“She must go with us,” observed Catesby, uneasily.

“Not so, my son,” returned Garnet; “her presence will only endanger you. She must not go. And you must abandon all hopes of an union with her.”

“I would as soon abandon the great design itself,” returned Catesby, moodily.

“If you persist in this, you will ruin it,” rejoined Garnet. “Think of her no more. Bend your thoughts exclusively on the one grand object, and be what you are chosen to be, the defender and deliverer of our holy Church.”

“I would gladly act as you advise me, father,” replied Catesby; “but I am spell-bound by this maiden.”

“This is idle from you, my son,” replied Garnet, reproachfully. “Separate yourself from her, and you will soon regain your former mastery over yourself.”

“Well, well, father,” rejoined Catesby, “the effort, at least, shall be made. But her large possessions, which would be so useful to our cause, and which, if I wedded her, would be wholly devoted to it,—think of what we lose, father.”

“I have thought of it, my son,” replied Garnet; “but the consideration does not alter my opinion: and if I possess any authority over you, I strictly enjoin you not to proceed farther in the matter. Viviana never can be yours.”

“She shall be, nevertheless,” muttered Catesby, “and before many hours have elapsed,—if not by her own free will, by force. I have ever shown myself obedient to your commands, father,” he added aloud, “and I shall not transgress them now.”

“Heaven keep you in this disposition, my dear son!” exclaimed Garnet, with a look of distrust: “and let me recommend you to remove yourself as soon as possible out of the way of temptation.”

Catesby muttered an affirmative, and taking Garnet in his arms, conveyed him carefully to his own chamber, and placing him on a couch, examined his wounds, which were not so serious as either he or the sufferer imagined, and with no despicable skill—for the experiences of a soldier's life had given him some practice—bandaged his broken arm, and fomented his bruises.

This done, Garnet felt so much easier, that he entreated Catesby to send Viviana to him, and to make preparations for his own immediate departure. Feigning acquiescence, Catesby quitted the room, but with no intention of complying with the request. Not a moment he felt must be lost if he would execute his dark design, and, after revolving many wild expedients, an idea occurred to him. It was to lure Viviana to the cave where Father Oldcorne was concealed; and he knew enough of the pliant disposition of the latter to be certain he would assent to his scheme. No sooner did this plan occur to him than he hurried to the cell, and found the priest, as Chetham had stated. As he had foreseen, it required little persuasion to induce Oldcorne to lend his assistance to the forced marriage, and he only feared the decided opposition they should encounter from Viviana.

“Fear nothing, then, father,” said Catesby; “in this solitary spot no one will hear her cries. Whatever resistance she may make, perform the ceremony, and leave the consequences to me.”

“The plan is desperate, my son,” returned Oldcorne, “but so are our fortunes. And, as Viviana will not hear reason, we have no alternative. You swear that if you are once wedded to her, all her possessions shall be devoted to the furtherance of the great cause.”

“All, father—I swear it,” rejoined Catesby, fervently.

“Enough,” replied Oldcorne. “The sooner it is done, the better.”

It was then agreed between them that the plan least likely to excite suspicion would be for Oldcorne to proceed to the Hall, and under some plea prevail upon Viviana to return with him to the cave. Acting upon this arrangement, they left the cell together, shaping their course under the trees to avoid observation; and while Oldcorne repaired to the Hall, Catesby proceeded to the stable, and saddling the only steed left, rode back to the cave, and concealing the animal behind the brushwood, entered the excavation. Some time elapsed before the others arrived, and as in his present feverish state of mind moments appeared ages, the suspense was almost intolerable. At length, he heard footsteps approaching, and, with a beating heart, distinguished the voice of Viviana. The place was buried in profound darkness; but Oldcorne struck a light, and set fire to a candle in a lantern. The feeble glimmer diffused by it was not sufficient to penetrate the recesses of the cavern; and Catesby, who stood at the farther extremity, was completely sheltered from observation.

“And now, father,” observed Viviana, seating herself with her back towards Catesby, upon the stone bench once used by the unfortunate prophetess, “I would learn the communication you desire to make to me. It must be something of importance since you would not disclose it at the Hall.”

“It is, daughter,” replied Oldcorne, who could scarcely conceal his embarrassment. “I have brought you hither, where I am sure we shall be uninterrupted, to confer with you on a subject nearest my heart. Your lamented father being taken from us, I, as his spiritual adviser, aware of his secret wishes and intentions, conceive myself entitled to assume his place.”

“I consider you in the light of a father, dear sir,” replied Viviana, “and will follow your advice as implicitly as I would that of him I have lost.”

“Since I find you so tractable, child,” returned Oldcorne, reassured by her manner, “I will no longer hesitate to declare the motive I had in bringing you hither. You will recollect that I have of late strongly opposed your intention of retiring to a convent.”

“I know it, father,” interrupted Viviana; “but——”

“Hear me out,” continued Oldcorne; “recent events have strengthened my disapproval of the step. You are now called upon to active duties, and must take your share in the business of life,—must struggle and suffer like others,—and not shrink from the burthen imposed upon you by Heaven.”

“I do not shrink from it, father,” replied Viviana: “and if I were equal to the active life you propose, I would not hesitate to embrace it, but I feel I should sink under it.”

“Not if you had one near you who could afford you that support which feeble woman ever requires,” returned Oldcorne.

“What mean you, father?” inquired Viviana, fixing her dark eyes full upon him.

“That you must marry, daughter,” returned Oldcorne, “unite yourself to some worthy man, who will be to you what I have described.”

“And was it to tell me this that you brought me here?” asked Viviana, in a slightly offended tone.

“It was, daughter,” replied Oldcorne; “but I have not yet done. It is not only needful you should marry, but your choice must be such as I, who represent your father, and have your welfare thoroughly at heart, can approve.”

“You can find me a husband, I doubt not?” remarked Viviana, coldly.

“I have already found one,” returned Oldcorne: “a gentleman suitable to you in rank, religion, years,—for your husband should be older than yourself, Viviana.”

“I will not affect to misunderstand you, father,” she replied; “you mean Mr. Catesby.”

“You have guessed aright, dear daughter,” rejoined Oldcorne.

“I thought I had made myself sufficiently intelligible on this point before, father,” she returned.

“True,” replied Oldcorne; “but you are no longer, as I have just laboured to convince you, in the same position you were when the subject was formerly discussed.”

“To prevent further misunderstanding, father,” rejoined Viviana, “I now tell you, that in whatever position I may be placed, I will never, under any circumstances, wed Mr. Catesby.”

“What are your objections to him, daughter?” asked Oldcorne.

“They are numberless,” replied Viviana; “but it is useless to particularize them. I must pray you to change the conversation, or you will compel me to quit you.”

“Nay, daughter, if you thus obstinately shut your ears to reason, I must use very different language towards you. Armed with parental authority, I shall exact obedience to my commands.”

“I cannot obey you, father,” replied Viviana, bursting into tears,—"indeed, indeed I cannot. My heart, I have already told you, is another's.”

“He who has robbed you of it is a heretic,” rejoined Oldcorne, sternly, “and therefore your union with him is out of the question. Promise me you will wed Mr. Catesby, or, in the name of your dead father, I will invoke a curse upon your head. Promise me, I say.”

“Never,” replied Viviana, rising. “My father would never have enforced my compliance, and I dread no curse thus impiously pronounced. You are overstepping the bounds of your priestly office, sir. Farewell.”

As she moved to depart, a strong grasp was laid on her arm, and turning, she beheld Catesby.

“You here, sir?” she cried, in great alarm.

“Ay,” replied Catesby. “At last you are in my power, Viviana.”

“I would fain misunderstand you, sir,” she rejoined, trembling; “but your looks terrify me. You mean no violence?”

“I mean that Father Oldcorne shall wed us,—and that too without a moment's delay,” replied Catesby, sternly.

“Monster!” shrieked Viviana, “you will not,—dare not commit this foul offence. And if you dare, Father Oldcorne will not assist you. Ah! what means that sign? I cannot be mistaken in you, father? You cannot be acting in concert with this wicked man? Save me from him!—save me.”

But the priest kept aloof, and taking a missal from his vest, hastily turned over the leaves. Viviana saw that her appeal to him was vain.

“Let me go!” she shrieked, struggling with Catesby. “You cannot force me to wed you whether I will or not; and I will die rather than consent. Let me go, I say? Help!—help!” And she made the cavern ring with her screams.

“Heed her not, father,” shouted Catesby, who still held her fast, “but proceed with the ceremony.”

Oldcorne, however, appeared irresolute, and Viviana perceiving it, redoubled her cries.

“This will be no marriage, father,” she said, “even if you proceed with it. I will protest against it to all the world, and you will be deprived of your priestly office for your share in so infamous a transaction.”

“You will think otherwise anon, daughter,” replied Oldcorne, advancing towards them with the missal in his hand.

“If it be no marriage,” observed Catesby, significantly, “the time will come when you may desire to have the ceremony repeated.”

“Mr. Catesby,” cried Viviana, altering her manner, as if she had taken a sudden resolution, “one word before you proceed with your atrocious purpose, which must end in misery to us all. There are reasons why you can never wed me.”

“Ha!” exclaimed Catesby, starting.

“Is it so, my son?” asked Oldcorne, uneasily.

“Pshaw!” exclaimed Catesby. “She knows not what she says. Proceed, father.”

“I have proofs that will confound you,” cried Viviana, breaking from him. And darting towards the light, she took from her bosom the packet given her by Guy Fawkes, and tore it open. A letter was within it, and a miniature.

Opening the letter, she cast her eye rapidly over its contents, and then looking up, exclaimed in accents of delirious joy, “Saved! saved! Father Oldcorne, this man is married already.”

Catesby, who had watched her proceedings in silent astonishment, and was now advancing towards her, recoiled as if a thunderbolt had fallen at his feet.

“Can this be true?” cried the priest, in astonishment.

“Let your own eyes convince you,” rejoined Viviana, handing him the letter.

“I am satisfied,” returned Oldcorne, after he had glanced at it. “We have both been spared the commission of a great crime. Mr. Catesby, it appears from this letter that you have a wife living in Spain.”

“It is useless to deny it,” replied Catesby. “But, as you were ignorant of the matter, the offence (if any) would have lain wholly at my door; nor should I have repented of it, if it had enabled me to achieve the object I have in view.”

“Thank Heaven it has gone no further!” exclaimed Oldcorne. “Daughter, I humbly entreat your forgiveness.”

“How came that packet in your possession?” demanded Catesby fiercely of Viviana.

“It was given me by Guy Fawkes,” she replied.

“Guy Fawkes!” exclaimed Catesby. “Has he betrayed his friend?”

“He has proved himself your best friend, by preventing you from committing a crime, which would have entailed wretchedness on yourself and me,” returned Viviana.

“I have done with him, and with all of you,” cried Catesby, with a fierce glance at Oldcorne. “Henceforth, pursue your projects alone. You shall have no further assistance from me. I will serve the Spaniard. Englishmen are not to be trusted.”

So saying, he rushed out of the cavern, and seeking his horse, mounted him, and rode off at full speed.

“How shall I obtain your forgiveness for my conduct in this culpable affair, dear daughter?” said Oldcorne, with an imploring look at Viviana.

“By joining me in thanksgivings to the Virgin for my deliverance," replied Viviana, prostrating herself before the stone cross.

Oldcorne knelt beside her, and they continued for some time in earnest prayer. They then arose, and quitting the cave, proceeded to the Hall.

ToC

CHAPTER XX.

“I cannot but approve your resolution,” returned Oldcorne; “for though so long a journey may be inconvenient, and retard your recovery, yet every hour you remain here is fraught with additional peril. I will accompany you. We shall both be safer in the capital; and perhaps Viviana, now she will be no longer exposed to the persecutions of Catesby, will form one of the party.”

“I should not wonder,” replied Garnet. “I shall be deeply concerned if Catesby has really abandoned the enterprise. But I cannot think it. I did all I could to dissuade him from prosecuting this union, knowing how hopeless it was, and little thinking he would be rash enough to seek to accomplish it by force, or that he would find an assistant in you.”

“Say no more about it, father, I entreat you,” rejoined Oldcorne. “The scheme failed, as it deserved to do; and I sincerely repent the share I was induced by Catesby's artful representations to take in it. If we have lost our leader we have still Guy Fawkes, who is a host in himself, and as true as the steel that hangs by his side.”

“We cannot spare Catesby,” replied Garnet. “With many faults, he has one redeeming quality, courage. I am not sorry he has been thwarted in his present scheme, as if he returns to us, as I doubt not he will, it will fix his mind steadily on the one object, which should be ever before it. Give me your arm, father. I am glad to find I can walk, though feebly. That is well,” he added, as they emerged upon the gallery; “I shall be able to reach Viviana's chamber without further assistance. Do you descend, and see that Martin Heydocke is on the watch.”

In obedience to the injunctions of his superior, Oldcorne went in search of Martin Heydocke, who had been stationed in the court-yard to give timely notice of any hostile approach; but not finding him there, he proceeded towards the drawbridge. Garnet, meanwhile, had reached the door of Viviana's chamber, which was slightly ajar, and he was about to pass through it, when he perceived that she was on her knees before Guy Fawkes, whom she was addressing in the most passionate terms. The latter was seated at a table, with his head upon his hand, in a thoughtful posture. Surprised at the sight, and curious to hear what Viviana could be saying, Garnet drew back to listen.

“When you quit this house,” were the first words that caught the listener's ear, “we shall never meet again; and oh! let me have the consolation of thinking that, in return for the devoted attachment you have shown me, and the dangers from which you have preserved me, I have preserved you from one equally imminent. Catesby, from whatever motive, has abandoned the conspiracy. Do you act likewise, and the whole dreadful scheme will fall to the ground.”

“Catesby cannot abandon it,” replied Fawkes. “He is bound by ties that no human power can sunder. And, however he may estrange himself from us now, when the time for action arrives, rest assured he will not be absent.”

“It may be so,” replied Viviana; “but I deny that the oath either he or you have taken is binding. The deed you have sworn to do is evil, and no vow, however solemnly pronounced, can compel you to commit crime. Avoid this sin—avoid further connexion with those who would work your undoing, and do not stain your soul with guilt from which it will never be cleansed.”

“You seek in vain to move me,” replied Guy Fawkes, firmly. “My purpose is unalterable. The tempest that clears away the pestilence destroys many innocent lives, but it is not the less wholesome on that account. Our unhappy land is choked with the pestilence of heresy, and must be freed from it, cost what it will, and suffer who may. The wrongs of the English Catholics imperatively demand redress; and, since it is denied us, we must take it. Oppression can go no farther; nor endurance hold out longer. If this blow be not struck we shall have no longer a religion. And how comes it, Viviana, that you, a zealous Catholic, whose father perished by these very oppressors, and who are yourself in danger from them, can seek to turn me from my purpose?”

“Because I know it is wrongful,” she replied. “I have no desire to avenge the death of my slaughtered father, still less to see our religion furthered by the dreadful means you propose. In his own due season, the Lord will redress our wrongs.”

“The Lord has appointed me one of the ministers of his vengeance,” cried Fawkes, in a tone of enthusiasm.

“Do not deceive yourself,” returned Viviana, “it is not by Heaven, but by the powers of darkness, that you are incited to this deed. Do not persevere in this fatal course,” she continued, clasping her hands together, and gazing imploringly in his face, “do not—do not!”

Guy Fawkes continued in the same attitude as before, with his gaze turned upwards, and apparently lost in thought.

“Have I no power to move you?” cried Viviana, her eyes streaming with tears.

“None whatever,” replied Guy Fawkes, firmly.

“Then you are lost,” she rejoined.

“If it is Heaven's will, I am,” answered Fawkes; “but at least I believe I am acting rightly.”

“And rest assured you are so, my son,” cried Garnet, throwing open the door, and stepping into the room. “I have overheard your conversation, and I applaud your resolution.”

“You need have no fears of me, father,” replied Fawkes. “I do not lightly undertake a project; but once embarked in it nothing can turn me aside.”

“In this case your determination is wisely formed, my son,” returned Garnet; “and if Viviana will ever give me an opportunity of fully discussing the matter, I am sure I can satisfy her you are in the right.”

“I will discuss it with you whenever you think proper,” she replied. “But no arguments will ever convince me that your project is approved by Heaven.”

“Let it pass now, daughter,” rejoined Garnet; “enough has been said on the subject. I came hither to tell Guy Fawkes, that if our enemies permit us to pass the night without molestation (as Heaven grant they may!) I think I shall be strong enough to set out with him to-morrow, when I propose we should journey together to London.”

“Agreed,” replied Fawkes.

“Father Oldcorne will accompany us,” pursued Garnet.

“And I, too, will go with you, if you will permit me,” said Viviana. “I cannot remain here; and I have no further fears of Mr. Catesby. Doctor Dee told me my future fate was strangely mixed up with that of Guy Fawkes. I know not how it may be, but I will not abandon him while there is a hope to cling to.”

“Viviana Radcliffe,” rejoined Guy Fawkes, coldly, “deeply as I feel the interest you take in me, I think it right to tell you that no efforts you can use will shake me from my purpose. If I live, I will execute my design.”

“While I live, I will urge you to it,” remarked Garnet.

“And while I live, I will dissuade you from it,” added Viviana. “We shall see who will obtain the victory.”

“We shall,” replied Garnet, smiling confidently.

“Hear me further,” continued Viviana; “I do not doubt that your zeal is disinterested; yet still, your mode of life, and the difficulties in which you are placed, may not unnaturally influence your conduct. That this may no longer be the case, I here place part of my fortune at your disposal. I require little or nothing myself. But I would, if possible, save one to whom I owe so much, and whom I value so much, from destruction.”

“I fully appreciate your generosity—to give it its lightest term—Viviana,” returned Guy Fawkes, in a voice of deep emotion. “Under any circumstances I should reject it,—under the present, I do so the more positively, because the offer, kind as it is, seems to imply that my poverty leads me to act contrary to my principles. Gold has no power over me: I regard it as dross; and when I could easily have won it, I neglected the opportunity. As no reward would ever induce me to commit an action my conscience disapproved, so none will deter me from a purpose which I regard as my duty.”

“Enough,” replied Viviana, sadly. “I will no longer question your motives, or oppose your plan, but will pray Heaven to open your eyes to the truth.”

“Your conduct is in all respects worthy of you, daughter,” observed Garnet, kindly.

“You have rejected one offer,” continued Viviana, looking at Fawkes; “but I trust you will not decline that I am about to propose to you.”

“What is it?” asked Fawkes, in some surprise.

“It is that I may be permitted to regard you as a father,” replied Viviana, with some hesitation. “Having lost my own father, I feel I need some protector, and I would gladly make choice of you, if you will accept the office.”

“I willingly accede to your request, and am much flattered by it, Viviana,” replied Fawkes. “I am a homeless man, and a friendless, and the affection of such a being as yourself will fill up the only void in my heart. But I am wedded to the great cause. I can never be more to you than a father.”

“Nay, I ask nothing more,” she replied, blushing deeply.

“Having thus arranged the terms upon which we shall travel,” observed Garnet, with a smile, “nothing is needed but to prepare for our journey. We start early to-morrow morning.”

“I shall be ready at daybreak,” replied Viviana.

“And I am ready now,” added Guy Fawkes. “In my opinion, we run great risk in remaining here another night. But be it as you will.”

At this moment they were interrupted by the entrance of Father Oldcorne, who with a countenance of great alarm informed them he could nowhere find Martin Heydocke.

“Do you suspect any treachery on his part?” asked Garnet of Viviana.

“I have always found him trustworthy,” she answered; “and his father was my father's oldest servant. I cannot think he would betray us. At the same time, I must admit his disappearance at this juncture looks suspicious.”

“If my strength were equal to it,” returned Guy Fawkes, “I would keep watch throughout the night; but that might prevent me from accompanying you to-morrow. My advice, I repeat, is—to set out at once.”

This opinion, however, was overruled by Garnet and Viviana, who did not think the danger so urgent, and attributed the absence of Martin Heydocke to some unimportant cause. Guy Fawkes made no further remonstrance, and it was agreed they should start, as originally proposed, at daybreak.

The party then separated, and Viviana wandered alone over the old house, taking a farewell, which she felt would be her last, of every familiar object. Few things were as she had known them, but even in their present forlorn state they were dear to her; and the rooms she trod, though dismantled, were the same she had occupied in childhood.

There is no pang more acute to a sensitive nature than that occasioned by quitting an abode or spot endeared by early recollections and associations, to which we feel a strong presentiment we shall never return. Viviana experienced this feeling in its full force, and she lingered in each room as if she had not the power to leave it. Her emotions at length became so overpowering, that to relieve them she strolled forth into the garden. Here, new objects awakened her attention, and recalled happier times with painful distinctness. Twilight was fast deepening, and, viewed through this dim and softened medium, everything looked as of old, and produced a tightening and stifling sensation in her breast, that nothing but a flood of tears could remove.

The flowers yielded forth their richest scents, and the whole scene was such as she had often beheld it in times long ago, when sorrow was wholly unknown to her. Perfumes, it is well known, exercise a singular influence over the memory. A particular odour will frequently call up an event and a long train of circumstances connected with the time when it was first inhaled. Without being aware whence it arose, Viviana felt a tide of recollections pressing upon her, which she would have willingly repressed, but which it was out of her power to control. Her tears flowed abundantly, and at length, with a heart somewhat lightened of its load, she arose from the bench on which she had thrown herself, and proceeded along a walk to gather a few flowers as memorials of the place.

In this way, she reached the further end of the garden, and was stooping to pluck a spray of some fragrant shrub, when she perceived the figure of a man behind a tree at a little distance from her. From his garb, which was that of a soldier, she instantly knew he was an enemy, and, though greatly alarmed, she had the courage not to scream, but breaking off the branch, she uttered a careless exclamation, and slowly retraced her steps. She half expected to hear that the soldier was following her, and prepared to start off at full speed to the house; but, deceived by her manner, he did not stir. On reaching the end of the walk, she could not resist the inclination to look back, and glancing over her shoulder, perceived the man watching her. But as she moved, he instantly withdrew his head.

Her first step on reaching the house was to close and fasten the door; her next to hasten to Guy Fawkes's chamber, where she found him, together with Garnet and Oldcorne. All three were astounded at the intelligence, agreeing that an attack was intended, and that a large force was, in all probability, concealed in the garden awaiting only the arrival of night to surprise and seize them. The disappearance of the younger Heydocke was no longer a mystery. He had been secured and carried off by the hostile party, to prevent him from giving the alarm. The emergency was a fearful one, and it excited consternation amongst all except Guy Fawkes, who preserved his calmness.

“I foresaw we should be attacked to-night,” he said, “and I am therefore not wholly unprepared. Our only chance is to steal out unobserved; for resistance would be in vain, as their force is probably numerous, and I am as helpless as an infant, while Father Garnet's broken arm precludes any assistance from him. The subterranean passage leading from the oratory to the further side of the moat having been stopped up by the pursuivant and his band, it will be necessary to cross the drawbridge, and as soon as it grows sufficiently dark, we must make the attempt. We have no horses, and must trust to our own exertions for safety. Catesby would now be invaluable. It is not his custom to desert his friends at the season of their greatest need.”

“Great as is my danger,” observed Viviana, “I would rather, so far as I am concerned, that he were absent, than owe my preservation to him. I have no fears for myself.”

“And my only fears are for you,” rejoined Fawkes.

Half an hour of intense anxiety was now passed by the party. Garnet was restless and uneasy. Oldcorne betrayed his agitation by unavailing lamentations, by listening to every sound, and by constantly rushing to the windows to reconnoitre, until he was checked by Fawkes, who represented to him the folly of his conduct. Viviana, though ill at ease, did not allow her terror to appear, but endeavoured to imitate the immoveable demeanour of Guy Fawkes, who always became more collected in proportion to the danger by which he was threatened.

At the expiration of the time above mentioned, it had become quite dark, and desiring his companions to follow him, Guy Fawkes drew his sword, and, grasping Viviana's hand, led the way down stairs. Before opening the door, he listened intently, and, hearing no sound, issued cautiously forth. The party had scarcely gained the centre of the court, when a caliver was discharged at them, which, though it did no damage, served as a signal to the rest of their foes. Guy Fawkes, who had never relinquished his hold of Viviana, now pressed forward as rapidly as his strength would permit, and the two priests followed. But loud shouts were raised on the drawbridge, and it was evident it was occupied by the enemy.

Uncertain what to do, Guy Fawkes halted, and was about to return to the house, when a shout from behind told him their retreat was intercepted. In this dilemma there was nothing for it but to attempt to force a passage across the drawbridge, or to surrender at discretion; and though Guy Fawkes would not at other seasons have hesitated to embrace the former alternative, he knew that his strength was not equal to it now.

While he was internally resolving not to yield himself with life, and supporting Viviana, who clung closely to him, the clatter of hoofs was heard rapidly approaching along the avenue, and presently afterwards two horsemen galloped at full speed toward the drawbridge. The noise had likewise attracted the attention of the enemy; who, apprehensive of a rescue, prepared to stop them. But the tremendous pace of the riders rendered this impossible. A few blows were exchanged, a few shots fired, and they had crossed the drawbridge.

“Who goes there?” shouted Guy Fawkes, as the horsemen approached him.

“It is the voice of Guy Fawkes,” cried the foremost, whose tones proclaimed it was Catesby. “They are here,” he cried, reining in his steed.

“Where is Viviana?” vociferated his companion, who was no other than Humphrey Chetham.

“Here—here,” replied Guy Fawkes.

With the quickness of thought, the young merchant was by her side, and in another moment she was placed on the saddle before him, and borne at a headlong pace across the drawbridge.

“Follow me,” cried Catesby. “I will clear a passage for you. Once across the drawbridge, you are safe. A hundred yards down the avenue, on the right, you will find a couple of horses tied to a tree. Quick! quick!”

As he spoke, a shot whizzed past his head, and a tumultuous din in the rear told that their pursuers were close upon them. Striking spurs into his steed, Catesby dashed forward, and dealing blows right and left, cleared the drawbridge of its occupants, many of whom leaped into the moat to escape his fury. His companions were close at his heels, and got over the bridge in safety.

“Fly!—fly!” cried Catesby,—"to the horses—the horses! I will check all pursuit.”

So saying, and while the others flew towards the avenue, he faced his opponents, and making a desperate charge upon them, drove them backwards. In this conflict, though several shots were fired, and blows aimed at him on all sides, he sustained no injury, but succeeded in defending the bridge sufficiently long to enable his friends to mount.

He then rode off at full speed, and found the party waiting for him at the end of the avenue. Father Oldcorne was seated on the same steed as his superior. After riding with them upwards of a mile, Humphrey Chetham dismounted, and resigning his horse to Viviana, bade her farewell, and disappeared.

“And now to London!” cried Catesby, striking into a road on the right, and urging his steed to a rapid pace.

“Ay, to London!—to the Parliament House!” echoed Fawkes, following him with the others.

END OF THE FIRST BOOK.