Guy Fawkes Or The Gunpowder Treason - An Historical Romance. William Harrison Ainsworth
“Mr. Catesby,” returned Viviana, rising, “if the purpose of your visit be merely to pay unmerited compliments, I must at once put an end to it.”
“I have only obeyed the impulse of my heart,” resumed the other, passionately, “and uttered what involuntarily rose to my lips. But,” he added, checking himself, “I will not offend you with my admiration. If you have read my letter to your father, you will not require to be informed of the object of my visit.”
“I have not read it,” replied Viviana, returning him the packet with the seal unbroken. “I can give no opinion on any matter of difficulty. And I have no desire to know any secret with which my father might not desire me to be acquainted.”
“Are we overheard?” inquired Catesby, glancing suspiciously at the fire-place.
“By no one whom you would care to overhear us,” returned the maiden.
“Then it is as I supposed,” rejoined Catesby. “Father Oldcorne is concealed behind that mantel-piece?”
Viviana smiled an affirmative.
“Let him come forth, I pray you,” returned Catesby. “What I have to say concerns him as much as yourself or your father; and I would gladly have his voice in the matter.”
“You shall have it, my son,” replied a reverend personage, clad in a priestly garb, stepping from out one side of the mantel-piece, which flew suddenly open, disclosing a recess curiously contrived in the thickness of the wall. “You shall have it,” said Father Oldcorne, for he it was, approaching and extending his arms over him. “Accept my blessing and my welcome.”
Catesby received the benediction with bowed head and bended knee.
“And now,” continued the priest, “what has the bravest soldier of our church to declare to its lowliest servant?”
Catesby then briefly explained, as he had before done to the steward, why he had taken Manchester in his route to North Wales; and, after lamenting his inability to render any assistance to the unfortunate priests, he went on to state that he had accidentally learnt, from a few words let fall by the pursuivant to his attendant, that a warrant had been sent by the Earl of Salisbury for Sir William Radcliffe’s arrest.
“My father’s arrest!” exclaimed Viviana, trembling violently. “What—what is laid to his charge?”
“Felony,” rejoined Catesby, sternly—”felony, without benefit of clergy—for so it is accounted by the present execrable laws of our land,—in harbouring a Jesuit priest. If he is convicted of the offence, his punishment will be death—death on the gibbet, accompanied by indignities worse than those shown to a common felon.”
“Holy Virgin!” ejaculated Father Oldcorne, lifting up his hands, and raising his eyes to heaven.
“From what I gathered, the officers will visit this house to-night,” continued Catesby.
“Our Lady be praised, they will not find him!” cried Viviana, who had been thrown into an agony of distress. “What is to be done in this frightful emergency, holy father?” she added, turning to the priest, with a supplicating look.
“Heaven only knows, dear daughter,” replied Oldcorne. “You had better appeal for counsel to one who is more able to afford it than I am,—Mr. Catesby. Well aware of the crafty devices of our enemies, and having often eluded their snares himself, he may enable you to escape them. My own course is clear. I shall quit this roof at once, deeply and bitterly regretting that by entering it, I have placed those whom I hold so dear, and from whom I have experienced so much kindness, in such fearful jeopardy.”
“Oh, no, father!” exclaimed Viviana, “you shall not go.”
“Daughter,” replied Oldcorne, solemnly, “I have long borne the cross of Christ,—have long endured the stripes, inflicted upon me by the adversaries of our faith, in patience; and my last actions and last breath shall testify to the truth of our holy religion. But, though I could endure aught on my own account, I cannot consent to bring misery and destruction upon others. Hinder me not, dear daughter. I will go at once.”
“Hold, father!” interposed Catesby. “The step you would take may bring about what you are most anxious to avoid. If you are discovered and apprehended in this neighbourhood, suspicion will still attach to your protectors, and the secret of your departure will be wrung from some of the more timid of the household. Tarry where you are. Let the pursuivant make his search. I will engage to baffle his vigilance.”
“He speaks the truth, dear father,” returned Viviana. “You must not—shall not depart. There are plenty of hiding-places, as you know, within the mansion. Let them be as rigorous as they may in their search, they will not discover you.”
“Whatever course you adjudge best for the security of others, I will pursue,” rejoined Oldcorne, turning to Catesby. “Put me out of the question.”
“My opinion has already been given, father,” replied Catesby. “Remain where you are.”
“But, if the officers should ascertain that my father is at Chester, and pursue him thither?” cried Viviana, suddenly struck by a new cause of alarm.
“A messenger must be immediately despatched after him to give him warning,” returned Catesby.
“Will you be that messenger?” asked the maiden, eagerly.
“I would shed my heart’s best blood to pleasure you,” returned Catesby.
“Then I may count upon this service, for which, rest assured, I will not prove ungrateful,” she rejoined.
“You may,” answered Catesby. “And yet I would, on Father Oldcorne’s account, that my departure might be delayed till to-morrow.”
“The delay might be fatal,” cried Viviana. “You must be in Chester before that time.”
“Doubt it not,” returned Catesby. “Charged with your wishes, the wind shall scarcely outstrip my speed.”
So saying, he marched irresolutely towards the door, as if about to depart, when, just as he had reached it, he turned sharply round, and threw himself at Viviana’s feet.
“Forgive me, Miss Radcliffe,” he cried, “if I once again, even at a critical moment like the present, dare to renew my suit. I fancied I had subdued my passion for you, but your presence has awakened it with greater violence than ever.”
“Rise, sir, I pray,” rejoined the maiden, in an offended tone.
“Hear me, I beseech you,” continued Catesby, seizing her hand. “Before you reject my suit, consider well that in these perilous seasons, when no true Catholic can call his life his own, you may need a protector.”
“In the event you describe, Mr. Catesby,” answered Viviana, “I would at once fulfil the intention I have formed of devoting myself to Heaven, and retire to the convent of Benedictine nuns, founded by Lady Mary Percy, at Brussels.”
“You would much more effectually serve the cause of your religion by acceding to my suit,” observed Catesby, rising.
“How so?” she inquired.
“Listen to me, Miss Radcliffe,” he rejoined, gravely, “and let my words be deeply graven upon your heart. In your hands rests the destiny of the Catholic Church.”
“In mine!” exclaimed Viviana.
“In yours,” returned Catesby. “A mighty blow is about to be struck for her deliverance.”
“Ay, marry, is it,” cried Oldcorne, with sudden fervour. “Redemption draweth nigh; the year of visitation approacheth to an end; and jubilation is at hand. England shall again be called a happy realm, a blessed country, a religious people. Those who knew the former glory of religion shall lift up their hands for joy to see it returned again. Righteousness shall prosper, and infidelity be plucked up by the root. False error shall