Guy Fawkes; or, The Gunpowder Treason - William Harrison Ainsworth

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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 vanish like smoke, and they which saw it shall say where is it become? The daughters of Babylon shall be cast down, and in the dust lament their ruin. Proud heresy shall strike her sail, and groan as a beast crushed under a cart-wheel. The memory of novelties shall perish with a crack, and as a ruinous house falling to the ground. Repent, ye seducers, with speed, and prevent the dreadful wrath of the Powerable. He will come as flame that burneth out beyond the furnace. His fury shall fly forth as thunder, and pitch upon their tops that malign him. They shall perish in his fury, and melt like wax before the fire.”

      “Amen!” ejaculated Catesby, as the priest concluded. “You have spoken prophetically, father.”

      “I have but recited a prayer transmitted to me by Father Garnet," rejoined Oldcorne.

      “Do you discern any hidden meaning in it?” demanded Catesby.

      “Yea, verily my son,” returned the priest. “In the 'false error vanishing like smoke,'—in the 'house perishing with a crack,'—and in the 'fury flying forth as thunder,'—I read the mode the great work shall be brought about.”

      “And you applaud the design?” asked Catesby, eagerly.

      “Non vero factum probo, sed eventum amo,” rejoined the priest.

      “The secret is safe in your keeping, father?” asked Catesby, uneasily.

      “As if it had been disclosed to me in private confession,” replied Oldcorne.

      “Hum!” muttered Catesby. “Confessions of as much consequence to the state have ere now been revealed, father.”

      “A decree has been passed by his holiness, Clement VIII., forbidding all such revelations,” replied Oldcorne. “And the question has been recently propounded by a learned brother of our order, Father Antonio Delrio, who, in his Magical Disquisitions, putteth it thus:—'Supposing a malefactor shall confess that he himself or some other has laid Gunpowder, or the like combustible matter, under a building—'"

      “Ha!” exclaimed Catesby, starting.

      “Well!” exclaimed Catesby.

      “The point then arises,” continued Oldcorne, “whether the priest may make use of the secret thus obtained for the good of the government, and the averting of such danger; and, after fully discussing it, Father Delrio decides in the negative.”

      “Enough,” returned Catesby.

      “By whom is the blow to be struck?” asked Viviana, who had listened to the foregoing discourse in silent wonder.

      “By me,” answered Catesby. “It is for you to nerve my arm.”

      “You speak in riddles,” she replied. “I understand you not.”

      “Question Father Oldcorne, then, as to my meaning,” rejoined Catesby; “he will tell you that, allied to you, I could not fail in the enterprise on which I am engaged.”

      “It is the truth, dear daughter,” Oldcorne asseverated.

      “I will not inquire further into this mystery,” returned Viviana, “for such it is to me. But, believing what you both assert, I answer, that willingly as I would lay down my life for the welfare of our holy religion, persuading myself, as I do, that I have constancy enough to endure martyrdom for its sake,—I cannot consent to your proposal. Nay, if I must avouch the whole truth,” she continued, blushing deeply, “my affections are already engaged, though to one with whom I can never hope to be united.”

      “You have your answer, my son,” observed the priest.

      Catesby replied with a look of the deepest mortification and disappointment; and, bowing coldly to Viviana, said, “I now depart to obey your behests, Miss Radcliffe.”

      “Commend me in all duty to my dear father,” replied Viviana, “and believe that I shall for ever feel bound to you for your zeal.”

      “Neglect not all due caution, father,” observed Catesby, glancing significantly at Oldcorne. “Forewarned, forearmed.”

      “Doubt me not, my son,” rejoined the Jesuit. “My prayers shall be for you.

      Gentem auferte perfidam

       Credentium de finibus,

       Ut Christo laudes debitas

       Persolvamus alacriter.”

      After receiving a parting benediction from the priest, Catesby took his leave. His steed was speedily brought to the door by the old steward; and mounting it, he crossed the drawbridge, which was immediately raised behind him, and hastened on his journey.

       ToC

      THE

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