THE VISION.
Before daybreak on the following morning, Garnet, who had been engaged
in earnest conference with Catesby during the whole of the night,
repaired to the sacred spring for the purpose of bathing within it, and
performing his solitary devotions at the shrine of the saint. On
ascending the steps of the structure, he perceived Guy Fawkes kneeling
beside the fountain, apparently occupied in prayer; and, being unwilling
to disturb him, he paused. Finding, however, after the lapse of a few
minutes, that he did not move, he advanced towards him, and was about to
lay his hand upon his shoulder, when he was arrested by the very
extraordinary expression of his countenance. His lips were partly open,
but perfectly motionless, and his eyes, almost starting from their
sockets, were fixed upon the boiling waters of the spring. His hands
were clasped, and his look altogether was that of one whose faculties
were benumbed by awe or terror.
Aware of the fanatical and enthusiastical character of Fawkes, Garnet
had little doubt that, by keeping long vigil at the fountain, he had
worked himself into such a state of over-excitement as to imagine he
beheld some preternatural appearance; and it was with some curiosity
that he awaited the result. Glancing in the same direction, his eye
rested upon the bottom of the well, but he could discern nothing except
the glittering and blood-streaked pebbles, and the reflection of the
early sunbeams that quivered on its steaming surface. At length, a
convulsion passed over the frame of the kneeler, and heaving a deep sigh
he arose. Turning to quit the spring, he confronted Garnet, and
demanded, in a low voice--
"Have you likewise seen the vision, father?"
Garnet made no reply, but regarded him steadfastly.
"Has the blessed Winifred appeared to you, I say?" continued Fawkes.
"No," answered Garnet; "I am but just come hither. It is for you, my
son,--the favoured of Heaven,--for whom such glorious visions are
reserved. I have seen nothing. How did the saint manifest herself to
you?"
"In her earthly form," replied Fawkes; "or rather, I should say, in the
semblance of the form she bore on earth. Listen to me, father. I came
hither last night to make my couch beside the fountain. After plunging
into it, I felt marvellously refreshed, and disposed myself to rest on
that stone. Scarcely had my eyes closed when the saintly virgin appeared
to me. Oh! father, it was a vision of seraphic beauty, such as the eye
of man hath seldom seen!"
"And such only as it is permitted the elect of Heaven to see," observed
Garnet.
"Alas! father," rejoined Guy Fawkes, "I can lay little claim to such an
epithet. Nay, I begin to fear that I have incurred the displeasure of
Heaven."
"Think not so, my son," replied Garnet, uneasily. "Relate your vision,
and I will interpret it to you."
"Thus then it was, father," returned Fawkes. "The figure of the saint
arose from out the well, and gliding towards me laid its finger upon my
brow. My eyes opened, but I was as one oppressed with a nightmare,
unable to move. I then thought I heard my name pronounced by a voice so
wondrously sweet that my senses were quite ravished. Fain would I have
prostrated myself, but my limbs refused their office. Neither could I
speak, for my tongue was also enchained."
"Proceed, my son," observed Garnet; "I am curious to know what ensued."
"Father," replied Guy Fawkes, "if the form I beheld was that of Saint
Winifred,--and that it was so, I cannot doubt,--the enterprise on which
we are engaged will fail. It is _not_ approved by Heaven. The vision
warned me to desist."
"You cannot desist, my son," rejoined Garnet, sternly. "Your oath binds
you to the project."
"True," replied Fawkes; "and I have no thought of abandoning it. But I
am well assured it will not be successful."
"Your thinking so, my son, will be the most certain means of realizing
your apprehensions," replied Garnet, gravely. "But let me hear the exact
words of the spirit. You may have misunderstood them."
"I cannot repeat them precisely, father," replied Fawkes; "but I could
not misapprehend their import, which was the deepest commiseration for
our forlorn and fallen church, but a positive interdiction against any
attempt to restore it by bloodshed. 'Suffer on,' said the spirit; 'bear
the yoke patiently, and in due season God will avenge your wrongs, and
free you from oppression. You are thus afflicted that your faith may be
purified. But if you resort to violence, you will breed confusion, and
injure, not serve, the holy cause on which you are embarked.' Such,
father, was the language of the saint. It was uttered in a tone so
tender and sympathizing, that every word found an echo in my heart, and
I repented having pledged myself to the undertaking. But, when I tell
you that she added that all concerned in the conspiracy should perish,
perhaps you may be deterred from proceeding further."
"Never!" returned Garnet. "Nor will I suffer any one engaged in it to
retreat. What matter if a few perish, if the many survive? Our blood
will not be shed in vain, if the true religion of God is restored. Nay,
as strongly as the blessed Winifred herself resisted the impious
ravisher, Caradoc, will I resist all inducements to turn aside from my
purpose. It may be that the enterprise _will_ fail. It may be that we
_shall_ perish. But if we die thus, we shall die as martyrs, and our
deaths will be highly profitable to the Catholic religion."
"I doubt it," observed Fawkes.
"My son," said Garnet, solemnly, "I have ever looked upon you as one
destined to be the chief agent in the great work of redemption. I have
thought that, like Judith, you were chosen to destroy the Holofernes who
oppresses us. Having noted in you a religious fervour, and resolution
admirably fitting you for the task, I thought, and still think you
expressly chosen by Heaven for it. But, if you have any misgiving, I
beseech you to withdraw from it. I will absolve you from your oath; and,
enjoining you only to strictest secrecy, will pray you to depart at
once, lest your irresolution should be communicated to the others."
"Fear nothing from me, father," rejoined Fawkes. "I have no
irresolution, no wavering, nor shall any engaged with us be shaken by my
apprehension. You have asked me what I saw and heard, and I have told
you truly. But I will speak of it no more."
"It will be well to observe silence, my son," answered Garnet; "for
though you, like myself, are unnerved, its effect on others might be
injurious. But you have not yet brought your relation to an end. How did
the figure disappear?"
"As it arose, father," replied Fawkes. "Uttering in a sweet but solemn
voice, which yet rings in my cars, the words, 'Be warned!' it glided
back to the fountain, whose waves as it approached grew still, and
gradually melted from my view."
"But when I came hither, you appeared to be gazing at the spring," said
Garnet. "What did you then behold?"
"My first impulse on awakening about an hour ago," replied Fawkes, "was
to prostrate myself before the fountain, and to entreat the intercession
of the saint, who had thus marvellously revealed herself to me. As I
prayed, methought its clear lucid waters became turbid, and turned to
the colour of blood."
"It is a type of the blood of slaughtered brethren of our faith, which
has been shed by our oppressors," rejoined Garnet.
"Rather of our own, which shall be poured forth in this cause," retorted
Fawkes. "No matter. I am prepared to lose the last drop of mine."
"And I," said Garnet; "and, I doubt not, like those holy men who have
suffered for their faith, that we shall both win a crown of martyrdom."
"Amen!" exclaimed Fawkes. "And you think the sacrifice we are about to
offer will prove acceptable to God?"
"I am convinced of it, my son," answered Garnet. "And I take the sainted
virgin, from whose blood this marvellous spring was produced, to witness
that I devote myself unhesitatingly to the project, and that I firmly
believe it will profit our church."
As he spoke, a singular circumstance occurred, which did not fail to
produce an impression on both parties,--especially Guy Fawkes. A violent
gust of wind, apparently suddenly aroused, whistled through the slender
columns of the structure, and catching the surface of the water dashed
it in tiny waves against their feet.
"The saint is offended," observed Fawkes.
"It would almost seem so," replied Garnet, after a pause. "Let us
proceed to the chapel, and pray at her shrine. We will confer on this
matter hereafter. Meantime, swear to me that you will observe profound
secrecy respecting this vision."
"I swear," replied Guy Fawkes.
At this moment, another and more violent gust agitated the fountain.
"We will tarry here no longer," said Garnet, "I am not proof against
these portents of ill."
So saying, he led the way to the chapel. Here they were presently joined
by several of the female devotees, including Viviana, Anne Vaux, and
Lady Digby. Matins were then said, after which various offerings were
made at the shrine of the saint. Lady Digby presented a small tablet set
in gold, representing on one side the martyrdom of Saint Winifred, and
on the other the Salutation of our Lady. Anne Vaux gave a small
enamelled cross of gold; Viviana a girdle of the same metal, with a
pendant sustaining a small Saint John's head surrounded with pearls.
"Mine will be a poor soldier's offering," said Guy Fawkes, approaching
the shrine, which was hung around with the crutches, staves, and
bandages of those cured by the healing waters of the miraculous spring.
"This small silver scallop-shell, given me by a pilgrim, who died in my
arms near the chapel of Saint James of Compostella, in Spain, is the
sole valuable I possess."
"It will be as acceptable as a more costly gift, my son," replied
Garnet, placing it on the shrine.
Of all the offerings then made, that silver scallop-shell is the only
one preserved.