"This is strange sophistry," returned Chetham; "and you may deceive

yourself by it, but you cannot deceive me. You love as all ardent

natures do love. But in what way do you mean to prove your affection?"

"Perhaps, by the sacrifice of my life," she answered.

"I can tell you who is the object of your affections!" said Chetham. "It

is Guy Fawkes."

"I will not deny it," replied Viviana; "he is."

"Hear me, then," exclaimed Chetham, who appeared inexpressibly relieved

by the discovery he had made; "in my passage across the river with him

last night, our conversation turned on the one subject ever nearest my

heart, yourself,--and Guy Fawkes not only bade me not despair, but

promised to aid my suit."

"And he kept his word," replied Viviana, "for, while announcing your

proposed visit, he urged me strongly in your behalf."

"Then he knows not of your love for him?" demanded Chetham.

"He not only knows it not, but never shall know it from me,--nor must he

know it from you, sir," rejoined Viviana, energetically.

"Fear it not," said Chetham, sighing. "It is a secret I shall carefully

preserve."

"And now that you are in possession of it," she answered, "I no longer

feel your presence as a restraint. Let me still regard you as a friend."

"Be it so," replied Humphrey Chetham, mournfully; "and _as_ a friend let

me entreat you to quit this place, and abandon your present associates.

I will not seek to turn your heart from Fawkes--nor will I try to regain

the love I have lost. But let me implore you to pause ere you

irretrievably mix yourself up with the fortunes of one so desperate. I

am too well aware that he is engaged in a fearful plot against the

State,--though I know not its precise nature."

"You will not betray him?" she cried.

"I will not, though he is my rival," returned Chetham. "But others

may--nay, perhaps have done so already."

"Whom do you suspect?" demanded Viviana, in the greatest alarm.

"I fear Doctor Dee," replied the young merchant; "but I know nothing

certainly. My servant, Martin Heydocke, who is in the Doctor's

confidence, intimated as much to me, and I have reason to think that his

journey to town, under the pretext of searching for you, is undertaken

for the purpose of tracing out the conspirators, and delivering them to

the Government."

"Is he arrived in London?" inquired Viviana, eagerly.

"I should think not," returned Chetham. "I passed him, four days ago, on

this side Leicester, in company with Kelley and Topcliffe."

"If the wretch Topcliffe was with him, your conjectures are too well

founded," she replied. "I must warn Guy Fawkes instantly of his danger."

"Command my services in any way," said Chetham.

"I know not what to do," cried Viviana, after a pause, during which she

betrayed the greatest agitation. "I dare not seek him out;--and yet, if

I do not, he may fall into the hands of the enemy. I must see him at all

hazards."

"Suffer me to go with you," implored Chetham. "You may rely upon my

secrecy. And now I have a double motive for desiring to preserve

Fawkes."

"You are, indeed, truly noble-hearted and generous," replied Viviana;

"and I would fully confide in you. But, if you were to be seen by the

others, you would be certainly put to death. Not even Fawkes could save

you."

"I will risk it, if you desire it, and it will save _him_," replied the

young merchant, devotedly. "Nay, I will go alone."

"That were to insure your destruction," she answered. "No--no--it must

not be. I will consult with Father Oldcorne."

With this, she hurried out of the room, and returned in a short time

with the priest.

"Father Oldcorne is of opinion that our friends must be apprised of

their danger," she said. "And he thinks it needful we should both go to

their retreat, that no hindrance may be offered to our flight, in case

such a measure should be resolved upon."

"You cannot accompany us, my son," added Oldcorne; "for though I am as

fully assured of your fidelity as Viviana, and would confide my life to

you, there are those who will not so trust you, and who might rejoice in

the opportunity of removing you."

"Viviana!" exclaimed Chetham, looking entreatingly at her.

"For my sake,--if not for your own,--do not urge this further," she

returned. "There are already dangers and difficulties enow without

adding to them. You would be safer amid a horde of robbers than amidst

these men."

"And it is to such persons you commit yourself?" cried Chetham,

reproachfully. "Oh! be warned by me, ere it is too late! Abandon them!"

"It is too late, already," replied Viviana. "The die is cast."

"Then I can only lament it," returned Chetham, sadly. "Suffer me, at

least, to accompany you to some place near their retreat, that you may

summon me in case of need."

"There can be no objection to that, Viviana," observed Oldcorne;

"provided Humphrey Chetham will promise not to follow us."

"Readily," replied the young merchant.

"I am unwilling to expose him to further risk on my account," said

Viviana. "But be it as you will."

It was then agreed, that they should not set out till nightfall, but

proceed, as soon as it grew dark, to Lambeth, where Humphrey Chetham

undertook to procure a boat for their conveyance across the river.

The hour of departure at length arrived. Viviana, who had withdrawn to

her own room, appeared in her travelling habit, and was about to set

forth with her companions, when they were all startled by a sudden and

loud knocking at the door.

"We are discovered," she cried. "Doctor Dee has found out our retreat."

"Fear nothing," rejoined Chetham, drawing his sword, while his example

was imitated by Martin Heydocke; "they shall not capture you while I

live."

As he spoke, the knocking was repeated, and the door shaken so violently

as to threaten to burst its fastenings.

"Extinguish the light," whispered Chetham, "and let Father Oldcorne

conceal himself. We have nothing to fear."

"Where shall I fly?" cried Oldcorne despairingly. "It will be impossible

to raise the flag, and seek refuge in the vault."

"Fly to my room," cried Viviana. And finding he stood irresolute, as if

paralysed with terror, she took his arm, and dragged him away. The next

moment the door was burst open with a loud crash, and several armed men,

with their swords drawn, followed by Topcliffe, and another middle-aged

man, of slight stature, and rather under-sized, but richly dressed, and

bearing all the marks of exalted rank, rushed into the room.

"You are my prisoner!" cried Topcliffe, rushing up to Chetham, who had

planted himself, with Martin Heydocke, at the foot of the stairs. "I

arrest you in the King's name!"

"You are mistaken in your man, sir," cried Chetham, fiercely. "I have

committed no offence. Lay a hand upon me, at your peril!"

"How is this?" cried Topcliffe. "Humphrey Chetham here!"

"Ay," returned the young merchant; "you have fallen upon the wrong

house."

"Not so, sir," replied Topcliffe. "I am satisfied from your presence

that I am right. Where _you_ are, Viviana Radcliffe is not far off.

Throw down your arms. You can offer no resistance to my force, and your

zeal will not benefit your friends, while it will place your own safety

in jeopardy."

But Chetham fiercely refused compliance, and after a few minutes'

further parley, the soldiers were about to attack him, when Viviana

opened a door above, and slowly descended the stairs. At her appearance

the young merchant, seeing that further resistance would be useless,

sheathed his sword, and she passed between him and Heydocke, and

advanced towards the leaders of the band.

"What means this intrusion?" she asked.

"We are come in search of two Jesuit priests, whom we have obtained

information are hidden here," replied Topcliffe;--"as well as of certain

other Papists, disaffected against the State, for whose apprehension I

hold a warrant."

"You are welcome to search the house," replied Viviana. "But there is no

one within it except those you see."

As she said this, Chetham, who gazed earnestly at her, caught her eye,

and from a scarcely-perceptible glance, felt certain that the priest,

through her agency, had effected his escape. But the soldiers had not

waited for her permission to make the search. Rushing up-stairs they

examined the different chambers,--there were two small rooms besides

that occupied by Viviana,--and found several of the priests'

habiliments; but though they examined every corner with the minutest

attention, sounded the walls, peered up the chimneys, underneath the

bed, and into every place, likely and unlikely, they could find no other

traces of those they sought, and were compelled to return to their

leader with tidings of their ill success. Topcliffe, with another party,

continued his scrutiny below, and discovering the moveable flag in the

hearth, descended into the vault, where he made certain of discovering

his prey. But no one was there; and, the powder and arms having been

removed, he gained nothing by his investigations.

Meanwhile, his companion,--and evidently from his garb, and the

deference paid him, though he was addressed by no title which could lead

to the absolute knowledge of his rank, his superior,--seated himself,

and put many questions in a courteous but authoritative tone to Viviana

respecting her residence in this solitary abode,--the names of her

companions,--where they were,--and upon what scheme they were engaged.

To none of these questions would she return an answer, and her

interrogator, at last, losing patience, said,

"I hold it my duty, to inform you that you will be carried before the

Council, and if you continue thus obstinate, means will be taken--and

those none of the gentlest--to extort the truth from you."

"You may apply the torture to me," replied Viviana, firmly; "but it will

wrest nothing from me."

"That remains to be seen," replied the other; "I only trust you will not

compel me to put my threat into execution."

At this moment Topcliffe emerged from the vault, and the soldiers

returned from their unsuccessful search above.

"They have escaped us now," remarked Topcliffe to his superior. "But I

will conceal a party of men on the premises, who will be certain to

capture them on their return."

Viviana uttered an exclamation of irrepressible uneasiness, which did

not escape her auditors.

"I am right, you see," observed Topcliffe, significantly, to his

companion.

"You are so," replied the other.

As this was said, Viviana hazarded a look at Humphrey Chetham, the

meaning of which he was not slow to comprehend. He saw that she wished

him to make an effort to escape, that he might warn her companions, and

regardless of the consequence, be prepared to obey her. While those

around were engaged in a last fruitless search, he whispered his

intentions to Martin Heydocke, and only awaited a favourable opportunity

to put them in execution. It occurred sooner than he expected. Before

quitting the premises, Topcliffe determined to visit the upper rooms

himself, and he took several of the men with him.

Chetham would have made an attempt to liberate Viviana, but, feeling

certain it would be unsuccessful, he preferred obeying her wishes to his

own inclinations. Topcliffe gone, he suddenly drew his sword,--for

neither he nor Heydocke had been disarmed,--and rushing towards the

door, struck down the man next it, and followed by his servant, passed

through it before he could be intercepted. They both then flew at a

swift pace towards the marshy fields, and, owing to the darkness and

unstable nature of the ground, speedily distanced their pursuers.

Hearing the disturbance below, and guessing its cause, Topcliffe

immediately descended. But he was too late; and though he joined in the

pursuit, he was baffled like his attendants. Half an hour afterwards, he

returned to the house with an angry and disappointed look.

"He has given us the slip," he observed to his superior, who appeared

exceedingly provoked by the young merchant's flight; "But we will soon

have him again."

After giving directions to his men how to conceal themselves, Topcliffe

informed his companions that he was ready to attend him. Viviana, who

had remained motionless and silent during the foregoing scene, was taken

out of the house, and conducted towards the creek, in which lay a large

wherry manned by four rowers. She was placed within it, and as soon as

his superior was seated, Topcliffe inquired--

"Where will your lordship go first?"

"To the Star-Chamber," was the answer.

At this reply, in spite of herself, Viviana could not repress a shudder.

"All is lost!" she mentally ejaculated.

CHAPTER VI.

THE CELLAR.

It was long before the conspirators gained sufficient courage to

recommence digging the mine. Whenever holy water was thrown upon the

stones, the mysterious bell ceased tolling, but it presently began anew,

and such was the appalling effect of the sound that it completely

paralysed the listeners. Prayers were said by Garnet; hymns sung by the

others; but all was of no avail. It continued to toll on with increased

solemnity, unless checked by the same potent application as before.

The effect became speedily manifest in the altered looks and demeanour

of the conspirators, and it was evident that if something was not done

to arouse them, the enterprise would be abandoned. Catesby, equally

superstitious with his confederates, but having nerves more firmly

strung, was the first to conquer his terror. Crossing himself, he

muttered a secret prayer, and, snatching up a pick-axe, entered the

cavity, and resumed his labour.

The noise of the heavy blows dealt by him against the wall drowned the

tolling of the bell. The charm was broken. And stimulated by his

conduct, the others followed his example, and though the awful tolling

continued at intervals during the whole of their operations, it offered

no further interruption to them.

Another and more serious cause of anxiety, however, arose. As the work

advanced, without being aware of it, they approached the bank of the

river, and the water began to ooze through the sides of the

excavation,--at first, slightly, but by degrees to such an extent as to

convince them that their labour would be entirely thrown away. Large

portions of the clay, loosened by the damp, fell in upon them, nearly

burying those nearest the tumbling mass; and the floor was now in some

places more than a foot deep in water, clearly proving it would be

utterly impossible to keep the powder fit for use in such a spot.

Catesby bore these untoward circumstances with ill-concealed

mortification. For a time, he struggled against them; and though he felt

that it was hopeless, worked on like a desperate military leader

conducting a forlorn hope to certain destruction. At length, however,

the water began to make such incursions that he could no longer disguise

from himself or his companions that they were contending against

insurmountable difficulties, and that to proceed further would be

madness. He, therefore, with a heavy heart, desisted, and throwing down

his pick-axe, said it was clear that Heaven did not approve their

design, and that it must be relinquished.

"We ought to have been warned by that doleful bell," he observed in

conclusion. "I now perceive its meaning. And as I was the first to act

in direct opposition to the declared will of the Supreme Being, so now I

am the first to admit my error."

"I cannot account for that dread and mysterious sound, my son," replied

Garnet, "and can only attribute it, as you do, to Divine interference.

But whether it was intended as a warning or a guidance, I confess I am

unable to say."

"Can you longer doubt, father," returned Catesby, bitterly, "when you

look at yon excavation? It took us more than a week's incessant labour

to get through the first wall; and our toil was no sooner lightened than

these fatal consequences ensued. If we proceed, we shall drown

ourselves, instead of blowing up our foes. And even if we should escape,

were the powder stowed for one day in that damp place, it would never

explode. We have failed, and must take measures accordingly."

"I entirely concur with you, my son," replied Garnet; "we must abandon

our present plan. But do not let us be disheartened. Perhaps at this

very moment Heaven is preparing for us a victory by some unlooked-for

means."

"It may be so," replied Catesby, with a look of incredulity.

As he spoke, an extraordinary noise, like a shower of falling stones,

was heard overhead. And coupling the sound with their fears of the

encroachment of the damp, the conspirators glanced at each other in

dismay, thinking the building was falling in upon them.

"All blessed saints protect us!" cried Garnet, as the sound ceased.

"What was that?"

But no one was able to account for it, and each regarded his neighbour

with apprehension. After a short interval of silence, the sound was

heard again. There was then another pause--and again the same rushing

and inexplicable noise.

"What can it be?" cried Catesby. "I am so enfeebled by this underground

life, that trifles alarm me. Are our enemies pulling down the structure

over our heads?--or are they earthing us up like vermin?" he added to

Fawkes. "What is it?"

"I will go and see," replied the other.

"Do not expose yourself, my son," cried Garnet. "Let us abide the result

here."

"No, father," replied Fawkes. "Having failed in our scheme, what befals

me is of little consequence. I will go. If I return not, you will

understand what has happened."

Pausing for a moment to receive Garnet's benediction, he then strode

away.

Half an hour elapsed before Fawkes returned, and the interval appeared

thrice its duration in the eyes of the conspirators. When he

re-appeared, a smile sat upon his countenance, and his looks instantly

dispelled the alarm that had been previously felt.

"You bring us good news, my son?" cried Garnet.

"Excellent, father," replied Fawkes: "and you were right in saying that

at the very moment we were indulging in misgiving, Heaven was preparing

for us a victory by unforeseen and mysterious means."

Garnet raised his hands gratefully and reverentially upwards. And the

other conspirators crowded round Fawkes to listen to his relation.

"The noise we heard," he said, "arose from a very simple

circumstance,--and when you hear it, you will smile at your fears. But

you will not smile at the result to which it has led. Exactly overhead,

it appears, a cellar is situated, belonging to a person named Bright,

and the sound was occasioned by the removal of his coals, which he had

been selling off."

"Is that all?" cried Catesby. "We are indeed grown childish, to be

alarmed by such a cause."

"It appears slight now it is explained," observed Keyes, gravely; "but

how were we to know whence it arose?"

"True," returned Fawkes; "and I will now show you how the hand of Heaven

has been manifested in the matter. The noise which led me to this

investigation, and which I regard as a signal from on high, brought me

to a cellar I had never seen before, and knew not existed. _That cellar

lies immediately beneath the House of Lords._"

"Ah! I see!" exclaimed Catesby. "You think it would form a good

depository for the powder."

"If it had been built for the express purpose, it could not be better,"

returned Fawkes. "It is commodious and dry, and in an out-of-the-way

place, as you may judge, when we ourselves have never hitherto noticed

it."

"But what is all this to us, if we cannot use it?" returned Catesby.

"We _can_ use it," replied Fawkes. "It is ours."

There was a general exclamation of surprise.

"Finding, on inquiry, that Bright was about to quit the neighbourhood,"

continued Fawkes, "and did not require the place longer, I instantly

proposed to take it from him, and to create no suspicion, engaged it in

Percy's name, stating that he wanted it for his own fuel."

"You have done admirably," cried Catesby, in a tone of exultation. "The

success of the enterprise will now be entirely owing to you."

"Not to me, but to the Providence that directed me," replied Fawkes,

solemnly.

"Right, my son," returned Garnet. "And let this teach us never to

despair again."

The next day, Percy having taken possession of the cellar, it was

carefully examined, and proved, as Fawkes had stated, admirably adapted

to their purpose. Their fears were now at an end, and they looked on the

success of their project as certain. The mysterious bell no longer

tolled, and their sole remaining task was to fill up the excavation so

far as to prevent any damage from the wet.

This was soon done, and their next step was to transport the powder

during the night to the cellar. Concealing the barrels as before with

faggots and coals, they gave the place the appearance of a mere

receptacle for lumber, by filling it with old hampers, boxes without

lids, broken bottles, stone jars, and other rubbish.

They now began to think of separating, and Fawkes expressed his

intention of returning that night to the house at Lambeth. No

intelligence had reached them of Viviana's captivity, and they supposed

her still an inmate of the miserable dwelling with Father Oldcorne.

Fawkes had often thought of her, and with uneasiness, during his

toilsome labours; but they had so much engrossed him that her image was

banished almost as soon as it arose. Now that grand obstacle was

surmounted, and nothing was wanting, however, except a favourable moment

to strike the blow, he began to feel the greatest anxiety respecting

her.

Still, he thought it prudent to postpone his return to a late hour, and

it was not until near midnight that he and Catesby ventured to their

boat. As he was about to descend the steps, he heard his name pronounced

by some one at a little distance; and the next moment, a man, whom he

immediately recognised as Humphrey Chetham, rushed up to him.

"You here again!" cried Fawkes, angrily, and not unsuspiciously. "Do you

play the spy upon me?"

"I have watched for you for the last ten nights," replied Chetham

hastily. "I knew not where you were. But I found your boat here, and I

hoped you would not cross the water in any other."

"Why all this care?" demanded Fawkes. "Has aught happened?--Is Viviana

safe?--Speak, man! do not keep me longer in suspense!"

"Alas!" rejoined Chetham, "she is a prisoner."

[Illustration: _Guy Fawkes laying the train_]

"A prisoner!" ejaculated Fawkes, in a hollow voice. "Then my forebodings

were not without cause."

"How has this happened?" cried Catesby, who had listened to what was

said in silent wonder.

Chetham then hastily related all that had taken place.

"I know not what has become of her," he said, in conclusion; "but I have

heard that she was taken to the Star-Chamber by the Earl of

Salisbury,--for he, it appears, was the companion of Topcliffe,--and,

refusing to answer the interrogations of the Council, was conveyed to

the Tower, and, I fear, subjected to the torture."

"Tortured!" exclaimed Fawkes, horror-stricken; "Viviana tortured! And I

have brought her to this! Oh, God! Oh, God!"

"It is indeed an agonizing reflection," replied Humphrey Chetham, in a

sombre tone, "and enough to drive you to despair. Her last wishes,

expressed only in looks, for she did not dare to give utterance to them,

were that I should warn you not to approach the house at Lambeth, your

enemies being concealed within it. I have now fulfilled them. Farewell!"

And he turned to depart.

"Stay!" cried Catesby, arresting him. "Where is Father Oldcorne?"

"I know not," replied Humphrey Chetham. "As I have told you, Viviana by

some means contrived his escape. I have seen nothing of him."

And, hurrying away, he was lost beneath the shadow of the wall.

"Is this a troubled dream, or dread reality?" cried Fawkes to Catesby.

"I fear it is too true," returned the other, in a voice of much emotion.

"Poor Viviana!"

"Something must be done to set her free," cried Fawkes. "I will purchase

her liberty by delivering up myself."

"Your oath--remember your oath!" rejoined Catesby. "You may destroy

yourself, but not your associates."

"True--true," replied Fawkes, distractedly,--"I _do_ remember it. I am

sold to perdition."

"Anger not Heaven by these idle lamentations,--and at a time, too, when

all is so prosperous," rejoined Catesby.

"What!" cried Fawkes, fiercely, "would you have me calm, when she who

called me father, and was dear to me as a child, is taken from me by

these remorseless butchers,--subjected to their terrible

examinations,--plunged in a dismal dungeon,--and stretched upon the

rack,--and all for me--for me! I shall go mad if I think upon it!"

"You must _not_ think upon it," returned Catesby,--"at least, not here.

We shall be observed. Let us return to the house; and perhaps--though I

scarcely dare indulge the hope--some plan may be devised for her

liberation."

With this, he dragged Fawkes, who was almost frenzied with anguish,

forcibly along, and they returned to the house.

Nothing more was said that night. Catesby judged it prudent to let the

first violence of his friend's emotion expend itself before he attempted

to soothe him; and when he communicated the sad event to Garnet, the

latter strongly approved the plan. Garnet was greatly distressed at the

intelligence, and his affliction was shared by the other conspirators.

No fears were entertained by any of them that Viviana would reveal aught

of the plot, but this circumstance only added to their regrets.

"I will stake my life for her constancy," said Catesby.

"And so will I," returned Garnet. "She will die a martyr for us."

He then proposed that they should pray for her deliverance. And all

instantly assenting, they knelt down, while Garnet poured forth the most

earnest supplications to the Virgin in her behalf.

The next morning, Guy Fawkes set forth, and ascertained that Humphrey

Chetham's statement was correct, and that Viviana was indeed a prisoner

in the Tower. He repaired thither, and tried to ascertain in what part

of the fortress she was confined, in the hope of gaining admittance to

her. But as he could obtain no information and his inquiries excited

suspicion, he was compelled to return without accomplishing his object.

Crossing Tower Hill on his way back, he turned to glance at the stern

pile he had just quitted, and which was fraught with the most fearful

interest to him, when he perceived Chetham issue from the Bulwark Gate.

He would have made up to him; but the young merchant, who had evidently

seen him, though he looked sedulously another way, set off in the

direction of the river, and was quickly lost to view. Filled with the

gloomiest thoughts, Guy Fawkes proceeded to Westminster, where he

arrived without further adventure of any kind.

In the latter part of the same day, as the conspirators were conferring

together, they were alarmed by a knocking at the outer gate; and sending

Bates to reconnoitre, he instantly returned with the intelligence that

it was Lord Mounteagle. At the mention of this name, Tresham, who was

one of the party, turned pale as death, and trembled so violently that

he could scarcely support himself. Having been allowed to go forth on

that day, the visit of Lord Mounteagle at this juncture, coupled with

the agitation it occasioned him, seemed to proclaim him guilty of

treachery for the second time.

"You have betrayed us, villain!" cried Catesby, drawing his dagger; "but

you shall not escape. I will poniard you on the spot."

"As you hope for mercy, do not strike!" cried Tresham. "On my soul, I

have not seen Lord Mounteagle, and know not, any more than yourselves,

what brings him hither. Put it to the proof. Let him come in. Conceal

yourselves, and you will hear what passes between us."

"Let it be so," interposed Fawkes. "I will step within this closet, the

door of which shall remain ajar. From it I can watch him without being

observed, and if aught occurs to confirm our suspicions, he dies."

"Bates shall station himself in the passage, and stab him if he attempts

to fly," added Catesby. "Your sword, sir."

"It is here," replied Tresham, delivering it to Catesby, who handed it

to Bates. "Are you satisfied?"

"Is Lord Mounteagle alone?" inquired Catesby, without noticing the

question.

"He appears to be so," replied Bates.

"Admit him, then," rejoined Catesby.

Entering the closet with Keyes, he was followed by Fawkes, who drew his

dagger, and kept the door slightly ajar, while Garnet and the rest

retired to other hiding-places. A few moments afterwards, Bates returned

with Lord Mounteagle, and, having ushered him into the room, took his

station in the passage, as directed by Catesby. The room was very dark,

the shutters being closed, and light only finding its way through the

chinks in them; and it appeared totally so to Lord Mounteagle, who,

groping his way, stumbled forward, and exclaimed in accents of some

alarm,

"Where am I? Where is Mr. Tresham?"

"I am here," replied Tresham, advancing towards him. "How did your

lordship find me out?" he added, after the customary salutations were

exchanged.

"My servant saw you enter this house," replied Mounteagle, "and, knowing

I was anxious to see you, waited for some hours without, in the

expectation of your coming forth. But as this did not occur, he

mentioned the circumstance to me on his return, and I immediately came

in quest of you. When I knocked at the gate, I scarcely knew what to

think of the place, and began to fear you must have fallen into the

hands of cut-throats; and, now that I have gained admittance, my

wonder--and I may add my uneasiness--is not diminished. Why do you hide

yourself in this wretched place?"

"Be seated," replied Tresham, placing a chair for Lord Mounteagle, with

his back to the closet, while he took one opposite him, and near a

table, on which some papers were laid. "Your lordship may remember," he

continued, scarcely knowing what answer to make to the question, "that I

wrote to you some time ago, to say that a conspiracy was hatching among

certain of our party against the State."

"I have reason to remember it," replied Mounteagle. "The letter was laid

before the Earl of Salisbury, and inquiries instituted in consequence.

But, owing to your disappearance, nothing could be elicited. What plot

had you discovered?"

At this moment, Tresham, who kept his eye fixed on the closet, perceived

the door noiselessly open, and behind it the figure of Guy Fawkes, with

the dagger in his hand.

"I was misinformed as to the nature of the plot," he stammered.

"Was it against the King's life?" demanded Mounteagle.

"No," rejoined Tresham; "as far as I could learn, it was an

insurrection."

"Indeed!" exclaimed Mounteagle, sceptically. "My information, then,

differed from yours. Who were the parties you suspected?"

"As I _wrongfully_ suspected them," replied Tresham, evasively, "your

lordship must excuse my naming them."

"Was Catesby--or Winter--or Wright--or Rookwood--or Sir Everard Digby

concerned in it?" demanded Mounteagle.

"Not one of them," asseverated Tresham.

"They are the persons _I_ suspect," replied Mounteagle; "and they are

suspected by the Earl of Salisbury. But you have not told me what you

are doing in this strange habitation. Are you ferreting out a plot, or

contriving one?"

"Both," replied Tresham.

"How?" cried Mounteagle.

"I am plotting for myself, and counterplotting the designs of others,"

replied Tresham, mysteriously.

"Is this place, then, the rendezvous of a band of conspirators?" asked

Mounteagle, uneasily.

Tresham nodded in the affirmative.

"Who are they?" continued Mounteagle. "There is no need of concealment

with me."

As this was said, Tresham raised his eyes, and saw that Guy Fawkes had

stepped silently forward, and placed himself behind Mounteagle's chair.

His hand grasped his dagger, and his gaze never moved from the object of

his suspicion.

"Who are they?" repeated Mounteagle. "Is Guy Fawkes one of them?"

"Assuredly not," replied Tresham. "Why should you name him? I never

mentioned him to your lordship."

"I think you did," replied Mounteagle. "But I am certain you spoke of

Catesby."

And Tresham's regards involuntarily wandered to the closet, when he

beheld the stern glance of the person alluded to fixed upon him.

"You have heard of Viviana Radcliffe's imprisonment, I suppose?" pursued

Mounteagle, unconscious of what was passing.

[Illustration: _Guy Fawkes keeping watch upon Tresham and Lord

Mounteagle._]

[Illustration: _Viviana examined by the Earl of Salisbury, and the Privy

Council in the Star Chamber_]

"I have," replied Tresham.

"The Earl of Salisbury expected he would be able to wring all from her,

but he has failed," observed Mounteagle.

"I am glad of it," observed Tresham.

"I thought you were disposed to serve him?" remarked Mounteagle.

"So I am," replied Tresham. "But, if secrets are to be revealed, I had

rather be the bearer of them than any one else. I am sorry for Viviana."

"I could procure her liberation, if I chose," observed Mounteagle.

"Say you so?" cried Fawkes, clapping him on the shoulder; "then you stir

not hence till you have procured it!"

CHAPTER VII.

THE STAR-CHAMBER.

Viviana, as has already been intimated, after her capture at the house

at Lambeth, was conveyed to the Star-Chamber. Here she was detained

until a late hour on the following day, when she underwent a long and

rigorous examination by certain members of the Privy Council, who were

summoned for that purpose by the Earl of Salisbury. Throughout this

arduous trial she maintained the utmost composure, and never for a

single moment lost her firmness. On all occasions, her matchless beauty

and dignity produced the strongest impression on the beholders; but on

no occasion had they ever produced so strong an effect as the present.

Her features were totally destitute of bloom, but their very paleness,

contrasted as it was with her large dark eyes, which blazed with

unwonted brilliancy, as well as with her jet-black hair, so far from

detracting from her loveliness, appeared to add to it.

As she was brought before the Council, who were seated round a table,

and remained standing at a short distance from them, guarded by

Topcliffe and two halberdiers, a murmur of admiration pervaded the

group,--nor was this feeling lessened as the examination proceeded.

Once, when the Earl of Salisbury adverted to the unworthy position in

which she, the daughter of the proud and loyal Sir William Radcliffe,

had placed herself, a shade passed over her brow, and a slight

convulsion agitated her frame. But the next moment she recovered

herself, and said,

"However circumstances may appear against me, and whatever opinion your

lordships may entertain of my conduct, the King has not a more loyal

subject than myself, nor have any of you made greater efforts to avert

the danger by which he is threatened."

"Then you admit that his Majesty is in danger?" cried the Earl of

Salisbury, eagerly.

"I admit nothing," replied Viviana. "But I affirm that I am his true and

loyal subject."

"You cannot expect us to believe your assertion," replied the Earl;

"unless you approve it by declaring all you know touching this

conspiracy."

"I have already told you, my lord," she returned, "that my lips are

sealed on that subject."

"You disclaim, then, all knowledge of a plot against the King's life,

and against his government?" pursued Salisbury.

Viviana shook her head.

"You refuse to give up the names of your companions, or to reveal their

intentions?" continued the Earl.

"I do," she answered, firmly.

"Your obstinacy will not save them," rejoined the Earl, in a severe

tone, and after a brief pause. "Their names and their atrocious designs

are known to us."

"If such be the case," replied Viviana, "why interrogate me on the

subject?"

"Because--but it is needless to give a reason for the course which

justice requires me to pursue," returned the Earl. "You are implicated

in this plot, and nothing can save you from condign punishment but a

frank and full confession.

"Nothing _can_ save me then, my lord," replied Viviana; "but Heaven

knows I shall perish unjustly."

A consultation was then held by the lords of the council, who whispered

together for a few minutes. Viviana regarded them anxiously, but

suffered no expression of uneasiness to escape her. As they again turned

towards her, she saw from their looks, some of which exhibited great

commiseration for her, that they had come to a decision (she could not

doubt what) respecting her fate. Her heart stopped beating, and she

could scarcely support herself. Such, however, was the control she

exercised over herself that, though filled with terror, her demeanour

remained unaltered. She was not long kept in suspense. Fixing his

searching gaze upon her, the Earl of Salisbury observed in a severe

tone,

"Viviana Radcliffe, I ask you for the last time whether you will avow

the truth?"

No answer was returned.

"I will not disguise from you," continued the Earl, "that your youth,

your beauty, your constancy, and, above all, your apparent innocence,

have deeply interested me, as well as the other noble persons here

assembled to interrogate you, and who would willingly save you from the

sufferings you will necessarily undergo, from a mistaken fidelity to

the heinous traitors with whom you are so unhappily leagued. I would

give you time to reflect did I think the delay would answer any good

purpose. I would remind you that no oath of secresy, however solemn, can

be binding in an unrighteous cause. I would tell you that your first

duty is to your prince and governor, and that it is as great a crime, as

unpardonable in the eyes of God as of man, to withhold the revelation of

a conspiracy against the State, should it come to your knowledge, as to

conspire against it yourself. I would lay all this before you. I would

show you the magnitude of your offence, the danger in which you stand,

and the utter impossibility of screening your companions, who, ere long,

will be confronted with you,--did I think it would avail. But, as you

continue obstinate, justice must take its course."

"I am prepared for the worst, my lord," replied Viviana, humbly. "I

thank your lordship for your consideration: but I take you all to

witness that I profess the utmost loyalty and devotion for my sovereign,

and that, whatever may be my fate, those feelings will remain unchanged

to the last."

"Your manner and your words are so sincere, that, were not your conduct

at variance with them, they might convince us," returned the Earl. "As

it is, even if we could credit your innocence, we are bound to act as if

you were guilty. You will be committed to the Tower till his Majesty's

pleasure is known. And I grieve to add, if you still continue obstinate,

the severest measures will be resorted to, to extract the truth from

you."

As he concluded, he attached his signature to a warrant which was lying

on the table before him, and traced a few lines to Sir William Waad,

lieutenant of the Tower.

This done, he handed the papers to Topcliffe, and waving his hand,

Viviana was removed to the chamber in which she had been previously

confined, and where she was detained under a strict guard, until

Topcliffe, who had left her, returned to say that all was in readiness,

and bidding her follow him, led the way to the river-side, where a

wherry, manned by six rowers, was waiting for them.

The night was profoundly dark, and, as none of the guard carried

torches, their course was steered in perfect obscurity. But the rowers

were too familiar with the river to require the guidance of light.

Shooting the bridge in safety, and pausing only for a moment to give the

signal of their approach to the sentinels on the ramparts, they passed

swiftly under the low-browed arch of Traitor's Gate.

CHAPTER VIII.

THE JAILER'S DAUGHTER.

As Viviana set foot on those fatal stairs, which so many have trod, and

none without feeling that they took their first step towards the

scaffold, she involuntarily shrank backward. But it was now too late to

retreat; and she surrendered her hand to Topcliffe, who assisted her up

the steps. Half-a-dozen men-at-arms, with a like number of warders

bearing torches, were present; and as it was necessary that Topcliffe

should deliver his warrant into Sir William Waad's own hands, he

committed his prisoner to the warders, with instructions to them to take

her to the guard-room near the By-ward Tower, while he proceeded to the

lieutenant's lodgings.

It was the first time Viviana had beheld the terrible pile in which she

was immured, though she was well acquainted with its history, and with

the persecutions which many of the professors of her faith had endured

within it during the recent reign of Elizabeth; and as the light of the

torches flashed upon the grey walls of the Bloody Tower, and upon the

adjoining ramparts, all the dreadful tales she had heard rushed to her

recollection. But having recovered the first shock, the succeeding

impressions were powerless in comparison, and she accompanied the

warders to the guard-room without expressing any outward emotion. Here a

seat was offered her, and as the men considerately withdrew, she was

able to pursue her reflections unmolested. They were sad enough, and it

required all her firmness to support her.

When considering what was likely to befal her in consequence of her

adherence to the fortunes of Fawkes and his companions, she had often

pictured some dreadful situation like the present, but the reality far

exceeded her worst anticipations. She had deemed herself equal to any

emergency, but as she thought upon the dark menaces of the Earl of

Salisbury, she felt it would require greater fortitude than she had

hitherto displayed to bear her through her trial. Nor were her

meditations entirely confined to herself. While trembling for the

perilous situation of Guy Fawkes, she reproached herself that she could

not requite even in thought the passionate devotion of Humphrey Chetham.

"What matters it now," she thought, "that I cannot love him? I shall

soon be nothing to him, or to any one. And yet I feel I have done him

wrong, and that I should be happier if I _could_ requite his attachment.

But the die is cast. It is too late to repent, or to retreat. My heart

acquits me of having been influenced by any unworthy motive, and I will

strive to endure the keenest pang without a murmur."

Shortly after this, Topcliffe returned with Sir William Waad. On their

entrance, Viviana arose, and the lieutenant eyed her with some

curiosity. He was a middle-aged man, tall, stoutly-built, and having

harsh features, stamped with an expression of mingled cunning and

ferocity. His eyes had a fierce and bloodthirsty look, and were

overshadowed by thick and scowling brows. Saluting the captive with

affected courtesy, he observed,

"So you refuse to answer the interrogations of the Privy Council, madam,

I understand. I am not sorry for it, because I would have the merit of

wringing the truth from you. Those who have been most stubborn outside

these walls, have been the most yielding within them."

"That will not be my case," replied Viviana, coldly.

"We shall see," returned the lieutenant, with a significant glance at

Topcliffe.

Ordering her to follow him, he then proceeded along the ward in the

direction of the Bloody Tower, and passing beneath its arched gateway,

ascended the steps on the left, and led her to his lodgings. Entering

the habitation, he mounted to the upper story, and tracking a long

gallery, brought her to a small circular chamber in the Bell Tower. Its

sole furniture were a chair, a table, and a couch.

"Here you will remain for the present," observed the lieutenant, smiling

grimly, and placing a lamp on the table. "It will depend upon yourself

whether your accommodations are better hereafter."

With this, he quitted the cell with his attendants, and barred the door

outside.

Left alone, Viviana, who had hitherto restrained her anguish, suffered

it to find vent in tears. Never had she felt so utterly forlorn and

desolate. All before her was threatening and terrible, full of dangers,

real and imaginary; nor could she look back upon her past career without

something like remorse.

"Oh, that Heaven would take me to itself!" she murmured, clasping her

hands in an agony of distress, "for I feel unequal to my trials. Oh,

that I had perished with my dear father! For what dreadful fate am I

reserved?--Torture,--I will bear it, if I _can_. But death by the hands

of the public executioner,--it is too horrible to think of! Is there no

way to escape _that_?"

As this hideous thought occurred to her, she uttered a loud and

prolonged scream, and fell senseless on the floor. When she recovered it

was daylight; and, weak and exhausted, she crept to the couch, and

throwing herself upon it, endeavoured to forget her misery in sleep.

But, as is usually the case with the afflicted, it fled her eyelids, and

she passed several hours in the severest mental torture, unrelieved by a

single cheering thought.

About the middle of the day, the door of the cell was opened by an old

woman with a morose and forbidding countenance, attended by a younger

female, who resembled her in all but the expression of her features (her

look was gentle and compassionate), and who appeared to be her daughter.

Without paying any attention to Viviana, the old woman took a small loaf

of bread and other provisions from a basket she had brought with her,

and placed them on the table. This done, she was about to depart, when

her daughter, who had glanced uneasily at the couch, observed in a

kindly tone,

"Shall we not inquire whether we can be of service to the poor young

lady, mother?"

"Why should we concern ourselves about her, Ruth?" returned the old

woman, sharply. "If she wants anything, she has a tongue, and can speak.

If she desires further comforts," she added, in a significant tone,

"they must be _paid_ for."

"I desire nothing but death," groaned Viviana.

"The poor soul is dying, I believe," cried Ruth, rushing to the couch.

"Have you no cordial-water about you, mother?"

"Truly have I," returned the old woman; "and I have other things

besides. But I must be paid for them."

As she spoke she drew from her pocket a small, square, Dutch-shaped

bottle.

"Give it me," cried Ruth, snatching it from her. "I am sure the young

lady will pay for it."

"You are very kind," said Viviana, faintly. "But I have no means of

doing so."

"I knew it," cried the old woman, fiercely. "I knew it. Give me back the

flask, Ruth. She shall not taste a drop. Do you not hear, she has no

money, wench? Give it me, I say."

"Nay, mother, for pity's sake," implored Ruth.

"Pity, forsooth!" exclaimed the old woman, derisively. "If I, and thy

father, Jasper Ipgreve, had any such feeling, it would be high time for

him to give up his post of jailer in the Tower of London. Pity for a

_poor_ prisoner! Thou a jailer's daughter, and talk so. I am ashamed of

thee, wench. But I thought this was a rich Catholic heiress, and had

powerful and wealthy friends."

"So she is," replied Ruth; "and though she may have no money with her

now, she can command any amount she pleases. I heard Master Topcliffe

tell young Nicholas Hardesty, the warder, so. She is the daughter of the

late Sir William Radcliffe, of Ordsall Hall, in Lancashire, and sole

heiress of his vast estates."

"Is this so, sweet lady?" inquired the old woman, stepping towards the

couch. "Are you truly Sir William Radcliffe's daughter?"

"I am," replied Viviana. "But I have said I require nothing from you.

Leave me."

"No--no, dear young lady," rejoined Dame Ipgreve, in a whining tone,

which was infinitely more disagreeable to Viviana than her previous

harshness, "I cannot leave you in this state. Raise her head, Ruth,

while I pour a few drops of the cordial down her throat."

"I will not taste it," replied Viviana, putting the flask aside.

"You would find it a sovereign restorative," replied Dame Ipgreve, with

a mortified look; "but as you please. I will not urge you against your

inclination. The provisions I have been obliged to bring you are too

coarse for a daintily-nurtured maiden like you,--but you shall have

others presently."

"It is needless," rejoined Viviana. "Pray leave me."

"Well, well, I am going," rejoined Dame Ipgreve, hesitating. "Do you

want to write to any one? I can find means of conveying a letter

secretly out of the Tower."

"Ah!" exclaimed Viviana, raising herself. "And yet no--no--I dare not

trust you."

"You may," replied the avaricious old woman,--"provided you pay me

well."

"I will think of it," returned Viviana. "But I have not strength to

write now."

"You must not give way thus,--indeed, you must not, dear lady," said

Ruth, in a voice of great kindness. "It will not be safe to leave you.

Suffer me to remain with you."

"Willingly," replied Viviana; "most willingly."

"Stay with her, then, child," said Dame Ipgreve. "I will go and prepare

a nourishing broth for her. Take heed and make a shrewd bargain with her

for thy attendance," she added in a hasty whisper, as she retired.

Greatly relieved by the old woman's departure, Viviana turned to Ruth,

and thanked her in the warmest terms for her kindness. A few minutes

sufficed to convert the sympathy which these two young persons evidently

felt towards each other into affectionate regard, and the jailer's

daughter assured Viviana, that so long as she should be detained, she

would devote herself to her.

By this time the old woman had returned with a mess of hot broth, which

she carried with an air of great mystery beneath her cloak. Viviana was

prevailed upon by the solicitations of Ruth to taste it, and found

herself much revived in consequence. Her slight meal ended, Dame Ipgreve

departed, with a promise to return in the evening with such viands as

she could manage to introduce unobserved, and with a flask of wine.

"You will need it, sweet lady, I fear," she said; "for my husband tells

me you are in peril of the torture. Oh! it is a sad thing, that such as

you should be so cruelly dealt with! But we will take all the care of

you we can. You will not forget to requite us. You must give me an order

on your steward, or on some rich Catholic friend. I am half a Papist

myself,--that is, I like one religion as well as the other,--and I like

those best, whatever their creed may be, who pay best. That is my maxim:

and it is the same with my husband. We do all we can to scrape together

a penny for our child."

"No more of this, good mother," interrupted Ruth. "It distresses the

lady! I will take care she wants nothing."

"Right, child, right," returned Dame Ipgreve;--"do not forget what I

told you," she added in a whisper.

And she quitted the cell.

Ruth remained with Viviana during the rest of the day, and it was a

great consolation to the latter to find that her companion was of the

same faith as herself,--having been converted by Father Poole, a Romish

priest who was confined in the Tower during the latter part of

Elizabeth's reign, and whose sufferings and constancy for his religion

had made a powerful impression on the jailer's daughter. As soon as

Viviana ascertained this, she made Ruth, so far as she thought prudent,

a confidante in her misfortunes, and after beguiling some hours in

conversation, they both knelt down and offered up fervent prayers to the

Virgin. Ruth then departed, promising to return in the evening with her

mother.

Soon after it became dark, Dame Ipgreve and her daughter reappeared, the

former carrying a lamp, and the latter a basket of provisions. Ruth's

countenance was so troubled, that Viviana was certain that some fresh

calamity was at hand.

"What is the matter?" she hastily demanded.

"Make your meal first, dear young lady," replied Dame Ipgreve. "Our news

might take away your appetite, and you will have to pay for your supper,

whether you eat it or not."

"You alarm me greatly," cried Viviana, anxiously. "What ill news do you

bring?"

"I will not keep you longer in suspense, madam," said Ruth. "You are to

be examined to-night by the lieutenant and certain members of the Privy

Council, and if you refuse to answer their questions, I lament to say

you will be put to the torture."

"Heaven give me strength to endure it!" ejaculated Viviana, in a

despairing tone.

"Eat, madam, eat," cried Dame Ipgreve, pressing the viands upon her.

"You will never be able to go through with the examination, if you

starve yourself in this way."

"Are you sure," inquired Viviana, appealing to Ruth, "that it will take

place so soon?"

"Quite sure," replied Ruth. "My father has orders to attend the

lieutenant at midnight."

"Let me advise you to conceal nothing," insinuated the old woman. "They

are determined to wring the truth from you,--and they _will_ do so."

"You are mistaken, good woman," replied Viviana, firmly. "I will die

before I utter a word."

"You think so now," returned Dame Ipgreve, maliciously. "But the sight

of the rack and the thumbscrews will alter your tone. At all events,

support nature."

"No," replied Viviana; "as I do not desire to live, I will use no effort

to sustain myself. They may kill me if they please."

"Misfortune has turned her brain," muttered the old woman. "I must take

care and secure my dues. Well, madam, if you will not eat the supper I

have provided, it cannot be helped. I must find some one who will. You

must pay for it all the same. My husband, Jasper Ipgreve, will be

present at your interrogation, and I am sure, for my sake, he will use

you as lightly as he can. Come, Ruth, you must not remain here longer."

"Oh, let her stay with me," implored Viviana. "I will make it well worth

your while to grant me the indulgence."

"What will you give?" cried the old woman, eagerly. "But no--no--I dare

not leave her. The lieutenant may visit you, and find her, and then I

should lose my place. Come along, Ruth. She shall attend you after the

interrogation, madam. I shall be there myself."

"Farewell, madam," sobbed Ruth, who was almost drowned in tears. "Heaven

grant you constancy to endure your trial!"

"Be ruled by me," said the old woman. "Speak out, and secure your own

safety."

She would have continued in the same strain, but Ruth dragged her away.

And casting a commiserating glance at Viviana, she closed the door.

The dreadful interval between their departure and midnight was passed by

Viviana in fervent prayer. As she heard through the barred embrasure of

her dungeon the deep strokes of the clock toll out the hour of twelve,

the door opened, and a tall, gaunt personage, habited in a suit of rusty

black, and with a large bunch of keys at his girdle, entered the cell.

"You are Jasper Ipgreve?" said Viviana, rising.

"Right," replied the jailer. "I am come to take you before the

lieutenant and the council. Are you ready?"

Viviana replied in the affirmative, and Ipgreve quitting the cell,

outside which two other officials in sable habiliments were stationed,

led the way down a short spiral staircase, which brought them to a

narrow vaulted passage. Pursuing it for some time, the jailer halted

before a strong door, cased with iron, and opening it, admitted the

captive into a square chamber, the roof of which was supported by a

heavy stone pillar, while its walls were garnished with implements of

torture. At a table on the left sat the lieutenant and three other

grave-looking personages. Across the lower end of the chamber a thick

black curtain was stretched, hiding a deep recess; and behind it, as was

evident from the glimmer that escaped from its folds, there was a

light. Certain indistinct, but ominous sounds, issuing from the recess,

proved that there were persons within it, and Viviana's quaking heart

told her what was the nature of their proceedings.

She had ample time to survey this dismal apartment and its occupants,

for several minutes elapsed before a word was addressed to her by her

interrogators, who continued to confer together in an under tone, as if

unconscious of her presence. During this pause, broken only by the

ominous sounds before mentioned, Viviana scanned the countenances of the

group at the table, in the hope of discerning in them some glimpses of

compassion; but they were inscrutable and inexorable, and scarcely less

dreadful to look upon than the hideous implements on the walls.

Viviana wished the earth would open and swallow her, that she might

escape from them. Anything was better than to be left at the mercy of

such men. At certain times, and not unfrequently at the most awful

moments, a double current of thought will flow through the brain, and at

this frightful juncture it was so with Viviana. While shuddering at all

she saw around her, nay, dwelling upon it, another and distinct train of

thought led her back to former scenes of happiness, when she was

undisturbed by any but remote apprehensions of danger. She thought of

her tranquil residence at Ordsall,--of the flowers she had tended in the

garden,--of her father, and of his affection for her,--of Humphrey

Chetham, and of her early and scarce-acknowledged attachment to

him,--and of his generosity and devotion, and how she had requited it.

And then, like a sullen cloud darkening the fair prospect, arose the

figure of Guy Fawkes--the sombre enthusiast--who had unwittingly

exercised such a baneful influence upon her fortunes.

"Had he not crossed my path," she mentally ejaculated, "I might have

been happy--might have loved Humphrey Chetham--might, perhaps, have

wedded him!"

These reflections were suddenly dispersed by the lieutenant, who, in a

stern tone, commenced his interrogations.

As upon her previous examination, Viviana observed the utmost caution,

and either refused to speak, or answered such questions only as affected

herself. At first, in spite of all her efforts, she trembled violently,

and her tongue clove to the roof of her mouth. But after a while, she

recovered her courage, and regarded the lieutenant with a look as

determined as his own.

"It is useless to urge me farther," she concluded. "I have said all I

will say."

"Is it your pleasure, my lords," observed Sir William Waad to the

others, "to prolong the examination?"

His companions replied in the negative, and the one nearest him

remarked, "Is she aware what will follow?"

"I am," replied Viviana, resolutely, "and I am not to be intimidated."

Sir William Waad then made a sign to Ipgreve, who immediately stepped

forward and seized her arm. "You will be taken to that recess," said the

lieutenant, "where the question will be put to you. But, as we shall

remain here, you have only to utter a cry if you are willing to avow the

truth, and the torture shall be stayed. And it is our merciful hope that

this may be the case."

Summoning up all her resolution, and walking with a firm footstep,

Viviana passed with Ipgreve behind the curtain. She there beheld two men

and a woman--the latter was the jailer's wife, who instantly advanced to

her, and besought her to confess.

"There is no help for it, if you refuse," she urged; "not all your

wealth can save you."

"Mind your own business, dame," interposed Ipgreve, angrily, "and assist

her to unrobe."

Saying this, he stepped aside with the two men, one of whom was the

chirurgeon, and the other the tormentor, while Dame Ipgreve helped to

take off Viviana's gown. She then tied a scarf over her shoulders, and

informed her husband she was ready.

The recess was about twelve feet high, and ten wide. It was crossed near

the roof, which was arched and vaulted, by a heavy beam, with pulleys

and ropes at either extremity. But what chiefly attracted the

unfortunate captive's attention was a couple of iron gauntlets attached

to it, about a yard apart. Upon the ground under the beam, and

immediately beneath that part of it where the gauntlets were fixed, were

laid three pieces of wood, of a few inches in thickness, and piled one

upon another.

"What must I do?" inquired Viviana, in a hollow voice, but with

unaltered resolution, of the old woman.

"Step upon those pieces of wood," replied Dame Ipgreve, leading her

towards them.

Viviana obeyed, and as soon as she had set foot upon the pile, the

tormentor placed a joint-stool beside her, and mounting it, desired her

to place her right hand in one of the gauntlets. She did so, and the

tormentor then turned a screw, which compressed the iron glove so

tightly as to give her excruciating pain. He then got down, and Ipgreve

demanded if he should proceed.

A short pause ensued; but, notwithstanding her agony, Viviana made no

answer. The tormentor then placed the stool on the left side, and

fastened the hand which was still at liberty within the other gauntlet.

The torture was dreadful--and the fingers appeared crushed by the

pressure. Still Viviana uttered no cry. After another short pause,

Ipgreve said,

"You had better let us stop here. This is mere child's play compared

with what is to come."

No answer being returned, the tormentor took a mallet and struck one of

the pieces of wood from under Viviana's feet. The shock was dreadful,

and seemed to dislocate her wrists, while the pressure on the hands was

increased in a tenfold degree. The poor sufferer, who was resting on the

points of her feet, felt that the removal of the next piece of wood

would occasion almost intolerable torture. Her constancy, however, did

not desert her, and, after the question had been repeated by Ipgreve,

the second block was struck away. She was now suspended by her hands,

and the pain was so exquisite, that nature gave way, and uttering a

piercing scream, she fainted.

On recovering, she found herself stretched upon a miserable pallet, with

Ruth watching beside her. A glance round the chamber, which was of solid

stone masonry, with a deep embrasure on one side, convinced her that she

had been removed to some other prison.

"Where am I?" she asked, in a faint voice.

"In the Well Tower, madam," replied Ruth: "one of the fortifications

near the moat, and now used as a prison-lodging. My father dwells within

it, and you are under his custody."

"Your father," cried Viviana, shuddering as she recalled the sufferings

she had recently undergone. "Will he torture me again?"

"Not if I can prevent it, dear lady," replied Ruth. "But hush! here

comes my mother. Not a word before her."

As Ruth spoke, Dame Ipgreve, who had been lingering at the door, entered

the room. She affected the greatest solicitude for Viviana--felt her

pulse--looked at the bandages fastened round her swollen and crippled

fingers, and concluded by counselling her not to persist in refusing to

speak.

"I dare not tell you what tortures are in store for you," she said, "if

you continue thus obstinate. But they will be a thousand times worse

than what you endured last night."

"When will my next interrogation take place?" inquired Viviana.

"A week hence, it may be,--or it may be sooner," returned the old woman.

"It depends upon the state you are in--and somewhat upon the fees you

give my husband, for he has a voice with the lieutenant."

"I would give him all I possess, if he could save me from further

torture," cried Viviana.

"Alas! alas!" replied Dame Ipgreve, "you ask more than can be done. He

would save you if he could. But you will not let him. However, we will

do all we can to mitigate your sufferings--all we can--provided you pay

us. Stay with her, child," she added, with a significant gesture to her

daughter, as she quitted the room, "stay with her."

"My heart bleeds for you, madam," said Ruth, in accents of the deepest

commiseration, as soon as they were alone. "You may depend upon my

fidelity. If I can contrive your escape, I will,--at any risk to

myself."

"On no account," replied Viviana. "Do not concern yourself about me

more. My earthly sufferings, I feel, will have terminated before further

cruelty can be practised upon me."

"Oh! say not so, madam," returned Ruth. "I hope--nay, I am sure you will

live long and happily."

Viviana shook her head, and Ruth, finding her very feeble, thought it

better not to continue the conversation. She accordingly applied such

restoratives as were at hand, and observing that the eyes of the

sufferer closed as if in slumber, glided noiselessly out of the chamber,

and left her.

In this way a week passed. At the expiration of that time, the

chirurgeon pronounced her in so precarious a state, that if the torture

were repeated he would not answer for her life. The interrogation,

therefore, was postponed for a few days, during which the chirurgeon

constantly visited her, and by his care, and the restoratives she was

compelled to take, she rapidly regained her strength.

One day, after the chirurgeon had departed, Ruth cautiously closed the

door, and observed to her,

"You are now so far recovered, madam, as to be able to make an attempt

to escape. I have devised a plan, which I will communicate to you

to-morrow. It must not be delayed, or you will have to encounter a

second and more dreadful examination."

"I will not attempt it if you are exposed to risk," replied Viviana.

"Heed me not," returned Ruth. "One of your friends has found out your

place of confinement, and has spoken to me about you."

"What friend?" exclaimed Viviana, starting. "Guy Fawkes?--I mean----"

And she hesitated, while her pale cheeks were suffused with blushes.

"He is named Humphrey Chetham," returned Ruth. "Like myself, he would

risk his life to preserve you."

"Tell him he must not do so," cried Viviana, eagerly. "He has done

enough--too much for me already. I will not expose him to further

hazard. Tell him so, and entreat him to abandon the attempt."

"But I shall not see him, dear lady," replied Ruth. "Besides, if I read

him rightly, he is not likely to be turned aside by any selfish

consideration."

"You are right, he is not," groaned Viviana. "But this only adds to my

affliction. Oh! if you _should_ see him, dear Ruth, try to dissuade him

from his purpose."

"I will obey you, madam," replied the jailer's daughter. "But I am well

assured it will be of no avail."

After some further conversation, Ruth retired, and Viviana was left

alone for the night. Except the slumber procured by soporific potions,

she had known no repose since she had been confined within the Tower;

and this night she felt more than usually restless. After ineffectually

endeavouring to compose herself, she arose, and hastily robing

herself--a task she performed with no little difficulty, her fingers

being almost useless--continued to pace her narrow chamber.

It has been mentioned that on one side of the cell there was a deep

embrasure. It was terminated by a narrow and strongly-grated loophole,

looking upon the moat. Pausing before it, Viviana gazed forth. The night

was pitchy dark, and not even a solitary star could be discerned; but as

she had no light in her chamber, the gloom outside was less profound

than that within.

While standing thus, buried in thought, and longing for daybreak,

Viviana fancied she heard a slight sound as of some one swimming across

the moat. Thinking she might be deceived, she listened more intently,

and as the sound continued, she felt sure she was right in her

conjecture. All at once the thought of Humphrey Chetham flashed upon

her, and she had no doubt it must be him. Nor was she wrong. The next

moment, a noise was heard as of some one clambering up the wall; a hand

grasped the bars of the loophole, which was only two or three feet above

the level of the water; and a low voice, which she instantly recognised,

pronounced her name.

"Is it Humphrey Chetham?" she asked, advancing as near as she could to

the loophole.

"It is," was the reply. "Do not despair. I will accomplish your

liberation. I have passed three days within the Tower, and only

ascertained your place of confinement a few hours ago. I have contrived

a plan for your escape, with the jailer's daughter, which she will make

known to you to-morrow."

"I cannot thank you sufficiently for your devotion," replied Viviana, in

accents of the deepest gratitude. "But I implore you to leave me to my

fate. I am wretched enough now, Heaven knows, but if aught should happen

to you, I shall be infinitely more so. If I possess any power over

you,--and that I do so, I well know,--I entreat, nay, I command, you to

desist from this attempt."

"I have never yet disobeyed you, Viviana," replied the young merchant,

passionately--"nor will I do so now. But if you bid me abandon you, I

will plunge into this moat, never to rise again."

His manner, notwithstanding the low tone in which he spoke, was so

determined, that Viviana felt certain he would carry his threat into

execution; she therefore rejoined in a mournful tone,

"Well, be it as you will. It is in vain to resist our fate, I am

destined to bring misfortune to you."

"Not so," replied Chetham. "If I _can_ save you, I would rather die than

live. The jailer's daughter will explain her plan to you to-morrow.

Promise me to accede to it."

Viviana reluctantly assented.

"I shall quit the Tower at daybreak," pursued Chetham; "and when you are

once out of it, hasten to the stairs beyond the wharf at Petty Wales. I

will be there with a boat. Farewell!"

As he spoke, he let himself drop into the water, but his foot slipping,

the plunge was louder than he intended, and attracted the attention of a

sentinel on the ramparts, who immediately called out to know what was

the matter, and not receiving any answer, discharged his caliver in the

direction of the sound.

Viviana, who heard the challenge and the shot, uttered a loud scream,

and the next moment Ipgreve and his wife appeared. The jailer glanced

suspiciously round the room; but after satisfying himself that all was

right, and putting some questions to the captive, which she refused to

answer, he departed with his wife, and carefully barred the door.

It is impossible to imagine greater misery than Viviana endured the

whole of the night. The uncertainty in which she was kept as to

Chetham's fate was almost insupportable, and the bodily pain she had

recently endured appeared light when compared with her present mental

torture. Day at length dawned; but it brought with it no Ruth. Instead

of this faithful friend, Dame Ipgreve entered the chamber with the

morning meal, and her looks were so morose and distrustful, that Viviana

feared she must have discovered her daughter's design. She did not,

however, venture to make a remark, but suffered the old woman to depart

in silence.

Giving up all for lost, and concluding that Humphrey Chetham had either

perished, or was, like herself, a prisoner, Viviana bitterly bewailed

his fate, and reproached herself with being unintentionally the cause of

it. Later in the day, Ruth entered the cell. To Viviana's eager

inquiries she replied, that Humphrey Chetham had escaped. Owing to the

darkness, the sentinel had missed his aim, and although the most

rigorous search was instituted throughout the fortress, he had contrived

to elude observation.

"Our attempt," pursued Ruth, "must be made this evening. The lieutenant

has informed my father that you are to be interrogated at midnight, the

chirurgeon having declared that you are sufficiently recovered to

undergo the torture (if needful) a second time. Now listen to me. The

occurrence of last night has made my mother suspicious, and she watches

my proceedings with a jealous eye. She is at this moment with a female

prisoner in the Beauchamp Tower, or I should not be able to visit you.

She has consented, however, to let me bring in your supper. You must

then change dresses with me. Being about my height, you may easily pass

for me, and I will take care there is no light below, so that your

features will not be distinguished."

Viviana would have checked her, but the other would not be interrupted.

"As soon as you are ready," she continued, "you must lock the door upon

me. You must then descend the short flight of steps before you, and pass

as quickly as you can through the room where you will see my father and

mother. As soon as you are out of the door, turn to the left, and go

straight forward to the By-ward Tower. Show this pass to the warders. It

is made out in my name, and they will suffer you to go forth. Do the

same with the warders at the next gate,--the Middle Tower,--and again at

the Bulwark Gate. That passed, you are free."

"And what will become of you?" asked Viviana, with a bewildered look.

"Never mind me," rejoined Ruth: "I shall be sufficiently rewarded if I

save you. And now, farewell. Be ready at the time appointed."

"I cannot consent," returned Viviana.

"You have no choice," replied Ruth, breaking from her, and hurrying out

of the room.

Time, as it ever does, when expectation is on the rack, appeared to pass

with unusual slowness. But as the hour at length drew near, Viviana

wished it farther off. It was with the utmost trepidation that she heard

the key turn in the lock, and beheld Ruth enter the cell with the

evening meal.

Closing the door, and setting down the provisions, the jailer's daughter

hastily divested herself of her dress, which was of brown serge, as well

as of her coif and kerchief, while Viviana imitated her example. Without

pausing to attire herself in the other's garments, Ruth then assisted

Viviana to put on the dress she had just laid aside, and arranged her

hair and the head-gear so skilfully, that the disguise was complete.

Hastily whispering some further instructions to her, and explaining

certain peculiarities in her gait and deportment, she then pressed her

to her bosom, and led her to the door. Viviana would have remonstrated,

but Ruth pushed her through it, and closed it.

There was now no help, so Viviana, though with great pain to herself,

contrived to turn the key in the lock. Descending the steps, she found

herself in a small circular chamber, in which Ipgreve and his wife were

seated at a table, discussing their evening meal. The sole light was

afforded by a few dying embers on the hearth.

"What! has she done, already?" demanded the old woman, as Viviana

appeared. "Why hast thou not brought the jelly with thee, if she has not

eaten it all, and those cates, which Master Pilchard, the chirurgeon,

ordered her? Go and fetch them directly. They will finish our repast

daintily; and there are other matters too, which I dare say she has not

touched. She will pay for them, and that will make them the sweeter. Go

back, I say. What dost thou stand there for, as if thou wert

thunderstruck? Dost hear me, or not?"

"Let the wench alone, dame," growled Ipgreve. "You frighten her."

"So I mean to do," replied the old woman; "she deserves to be

frightened. Hark thee, girl, we must get an order from her on some

wealthy Catholic family without delay--for I don't think she will stand

the trial to-night."

"Nor I," added Ipgreve, "especially as she is to be placed on the rack."

"She has a chain of gold round her throat, I have observed," said the

old woman; "we must get that."

"I have it," said Viviana, in a low tone, and imitating as well as she

could the accents of Ruth. "Here it is."

"Did she give it thee?" cried the old woman, getting up, and grasping

Viviana's lacerated fingers with such force, that she had difficulty in

repressing a scream. "Did she give it thee, I say?"

"She gave it me for you," gasped Viviana. "Take it."

While the old woman held the chain to the fire, and called to her

husband to light a lamp, that she might feast her greedy eyes upon it,

Viviana flew to the door.

Just as she reached it, the shrill voice of Dame Ipgreve arrested her.

"Come back!" cried the dame. "Whither art thou going at this time of

night? I will not have thee stir forth. Come back, I say."

"Pshaw! let her go," interposed Ipgreve. "I dare say she hath an

appointment on the Green with young Nicholas Hardesty, the warder. Go,

wench. Be careful of thyself, and return within the hour."

"If she does not, she will rue it," added the dame. "Go, then, and I

will see the prisoner."

Viviana required no further permission. Starting off as she had been

directed on the left, she ran as fast as her feet could carry her; and,

passing between two arched gateways, soon reached the By-ward Tower.

Showing the pass to the warder, he chucked her under the chin, and,

drawing an immense bolt, opened the wicket, and gallantly helped her to

pass through it. The like good success attended her at the Middle Tower,

and at the Bulwark Gate. Scarcely able to credit her senses, and

doubting whether she was indeed free, she hurried on till she came to

the opening leading to the stairs at Petty Wales. As she hesitated,

uncertain what to do, a man advanced towards and addressed her by name.

It was Humphrey Chetham. Overcome by emotion, Viviana sank into his

arms, and in another moment she was placed in a wherry, which was

ordered to be rowed towards Westminster.

CHAPTER IX.

THE COUNTERPLOT.

Startled, but not dismayed--for he was a man of great courage--by the

sudden address and appearance of Guy Fawkes, Lord Mounteagle instantly

sprang to his feet, and drawing his sword, put himself into a posture of

defence.

"You have betrayed me," he cried, seizing Tresham with his left hand;

"but if I fall, you shall fall with me."

"You have betrayed yourself, my lord," rejoined Guy Fawkes; "or rather,

Heaven has placed you in our hands as an instrument for the liberation

of Viviana Radcliffe. You must take an oath of secrecy--a binding

oath,--such as, being a good Catholic, you cannot break,--not to divulge

what has come to your knowledge. Nay, you must join me and my

confederates, or you quit not this spot with life."

"I refuse your terms," replied Mounteagle, resolutely; "I will never

conspire against the monarch to whom I have sworn allegiance. I will not

join you. I will not aid you in procuring Viviana Radcliffe's release.

Nor will I take the oath you propose. On the contrary, I arrest you as a

traitor, and I command you, Tresham, in the King's name, to assist me in

his capture."

But suddenly extricating himself from the grasp imposed upon him, and

placing Guy Fawkes between him and the Earl, Tresham rejoined,--

"It is time to throw off the mask, my good lord and brother. I can

render you no assistance. I am sworn to this league, and must support

it. Unless you assent to the conditions proposed,--and which for your

own sake I would counsel you to do,--I must, despite our near

relationship, take part against you,--even," he added, significantly,

"if your destruction should be resolved upon."

"I will sell my life dearly, as you shall find," replied Mounteagle.

"And, but for the sake of my dear lady, your sister, I would stab you

where you stand."

"Your lordship will find resistance in vain," replied Guy Fawkes,

keeping his eye steadily fixed upon him. "We seek not your life, but

your co-operation. You are a prisoner."

"A prisoner!" echoed Mounteagle, derisively. "You have not secured me

yet."

And as he spoke, he rushed towards the door, but his departure was

checked by Bates, who presented himself at the entrance of the passage

with a drawn sword in his hand. At the same moment, Catesby and Keyes

issued from the closet, while Garnet and the other conspirators likewise

emerged from their hiding-places. Hearing the noise behind him, Lord

Mounteagle turned, and beholding the group, uttered an exclamation of

surprise and rage.

"I am fairly entrapped," he said, sheathing his sword, and advancing

towards them. "Fool that I was, to venture hither!"

"These regrets are too late, my lord," replied Catesby. "You came hither

of your own accord. But being here, nothing, except compliance with our

demands, can ensure your departure."

"Yes, one thing else," thought Mounteagle,--"cunning. It shall go hard

if I cannot outwit you. Tresham will act with me. I know his treacherous

nature too well to doubt which way he will incline. Interest, as well as

relationship, binds him to me. He will acquaint me with their plans. I

need not, therefore, compromise myself by joining them. If I take the

oath of secrecy, it will suffice--and I will find means of eluding the

obligation. I may thus make my own bargain with Salisbury. But I must

proceed cautiously. Too sudden a compliance might awaken their

suspicions."

"My lord," said Catesby, who had watched his countenance narrowly, and

distrusted its expression, "we must have no double-dealing. Any attempt

to play us false will prove fatal to you."

"I have not yet consented to your terms, Mr. Catesby," replied

Mounteagle, "and I demand a few moments' reflection before I do so."

"What say you, gentlemen?" said Catesby. "Do you agree to his lordship's

request?"

There was a general answer in the affirmative.

"I would also confer for a moment alone with my brother Tresham," said

Mounteagle.

"That cannot be, my lord," rejoined Garnet, peremptorily. "And take heed

you meditate no treachery towards us, or you will destroy yourself here

and hereafter."

"I have no desire to speak with him, father," observed Tresham. "Let him

declare what he has to say before you all."

Mounteagle looked hard at him, but he made no remark.

"In my opinion, we ought not to trust him," observed Keyes. "It is plain

he is decidedly opposed to us. And if the oath is proposed to him, he

may take it with some mental reservation."

"_I_ will guard against that," replied Garnet.

"If I take the oath, I will keep it, father," rejoined Mounteagle. "But

I have not yet decided."

"You must do so, then, quickly, my lord," returned Catesby. "You shall

have five minutes for reflection. But first, you must deliver up your

sword."

The Earl started.

"We mean _you_ no treachery, my lord," observed Keyes, "and expect to be

dealt with with equal fairness."

Surrendering his sword to Catesby, Mounteagle then walked to the farther

end of the room, and leaning against the wall, with his back to the

conspirators, appeared buried in thought.

"Take Tresham aside," whispered Catesby to Wright. "I do not wish him to

overhear our conference. Watch him narrowly, and see that no signal

passes between him and Lord Mounteagle."

Wright obeyed; and the others gathering closely together, began to

converse in a low tone.

"It will not do to put him to death," observed Garnet. "From what he

stated to Tresham, it appears that his servant was aware of his coming

hither. If he disappears, therefore, search will be immediately made,

and all will be discovered. We must either instantly secure ourselves by

flight, and give up the enterprise, or trust him."

"You are right, father," replied Rookwood. "The danger is imminent."

"We are safe at present," observed Percy, "and may escape to France or

Flanders before information can be given against us. Nay, we may carry

off Mounteagle with us, for that matter. But I am loth to trust him."

"So am I," rejoined Catesby. "I do not like his looks."

"There is no help," said Fawkes. "We _must_ trust him, or give up the

enterprise. He may materially aid us, and has himself asserted that he

can procure Viviana's liberation from the Tower."

"Pshaw!" exclaimed Catesby, impatiently. "What has that to do with the

all-important question we are now considering?"

"Much," returned Fawkes. "And I will not move further in the matter

unless that point is insisted on."

"You have become strangely interested in Viviana of late," observed

Catesby, sarcastically. "Could I suspect you of so light a passion, I

should say you loved her."

A deep flush dyed Fawkes's swarthy cheeks, but he answered in a voice of

constrained calmness,

"I _do_ love her,--as a daughter."

"Humph!" exclaimed the other, drily.

"Catesby," rejoined Fawkes, sternly, "you know me well--too well, to

suppose I would resort to any paltry subterfuge. I am willing to let

what you have said pass. But I counsel you not to jest thus in future."

"Jest!" exclaimed Catesby. "I was never more serious in my life."

"Then you do me wrong," retorted Fawkes, fiercely; "and you will repeat

the insinuation at your peril."

"My sons--my sons," interposed Garnet, "what means this sudden--this

needless quarrel, at a moment when we require the utmost calmness to

meet the danger that assails us? Guy Fawkes is right. Viviana _must_ be

saved. If we desert her, our cause will never prosper. But let us

proceed step by step, and first decide upon what is to be done with Lord

Mounteagle."

"I am filled with perplexity," replied Catesby.

"Then I will decide for you," replied Percy. "Our project must be

abandoned."

"Never," replied Fawkes, energetically. "Fly, and secure your own

safety. I will stay and accomplish it alone."

"A brave resolution!" exclaimed Catesby, tendering him his hand, which

the other cordially grasped. "I will stand by you to the last. No--we

have advanced too far to retreat."

"Additional caution will be needful," observed Keyes. "Can we not make

it a condition with Lord Mounteagle to retire, till the blow is struck,

to his mansion at Hoxton?"

"That would be of no avail," replied Garnet. "We must trust him wholly,

or not at all."

"There I agree with you, father," said Percy. "Let us propose the oath

of secrecy to him, and detain him here until we have found some secure

retreat, utterly unknown to him, or to Tresham, whence we can correspond

with our friends. A few days will show whether he has betrayed us or

not. We need not visit this place again till the moment for action

arrives."

"You need not visit it again at all," rejoined Fawkes. "Everything is

prepared, and I will undertake to fire the train. Prepare for what is to

follow the explosion, and leave the management of that to me."

"I cannot consent to such a course, my son," said Garnet. "The whole

risk will thus be yours."

"The whole glory will be mine, also, father," rejoined Fawkes,

enthusiastically. "I pray you, let me have my own way."

"Well, be it as you will, my son," returned Garnet, with affected

reluctance. "I will not oppose the hand of Heaven, which clearly points

you out as the chief agent in this mighty enterprise. In reference to

what Percy has said about a retreat till Lord Mounteagle's

trust-worthiness can be ascertained," he added to Catesby, "I have just

bethought me of a large retired house on the borders of Enfield Chase,

called White Webbs. It has been recently taken by Mrs. Brooksby, and her

sister, Anne Vaux, and will afford us a safe asylum."

"An excellent plan, father," cried Catesby. "Since Guy Fawkes is willing

to undertake the risk, we will leave Lord Mounteagle in his charge, and

go there at once."

"What must be done with Tresham?" asked Percy. "We cannot take him with

us, nor must he know of our retreat."

"Leave him with me," said Fawkes.

"You will be at a disadvantage," observed Catesby, "should he take part,

as there is reason to fear he may do, with Lord Mounteagle."

"They are both unarmed," returned Fawkes; "but were it otherwise, I

would answer with my head for their detention."

"All good saints guard you, my son!" exclaimed Garnet. "Henceforth, we

resign the custody of the powder to you."

"It will be in safe keeping," replied Fawkes.

The party then advanced towards Lord Mounteagle, who, hearing their

approach, instantly faced them.

"Your decision, my lord?" demanded Catesby.

"You shall have it in a word, sir," replied Mounteagle, firmly.

"I will _not_ join you, but I will take the required oath of secrecy."

"Is this your final resolve, my lord?" rejoined Catesby.

"It is," replied the Earl.

"It must content us," observed Garnet; "though we hoped you would have

lent your active services to further a cause, having for its sole object

the restoration of the church to which you belong."

"I know not the means whereby you propose to restore it, father,"

replied Mounteagle, "and I do not desire to know them. But I guess that

they are dark and bloody, and as such I can take no part in them."

"And you refuse to give us any counsel or assistance?" pursued Garnet.

"I will not betray you," replied Mounteagle. "I can say nothing

further."

"I would rather he promised too little, than too much," whispered

Catesby to Garnet. "I begin to think him sincere."

"I am of the same opinion, my son," returned Garnet.

"One thing you _shall_ do, before _I_ consent to set you free, on any

terms, my lord," observed Guy Fawkes. "You shall engage to procure the

liberation of Viviana Radcliffe from the Tower. You told Tresham you

could easily accomplish it."

"I scarcely knew what I said," replied Mounteagle, with a look of

embarrassment.

"You spoke confidently, my lord," rejoined Fawkes.

"Because I had no idea I should be compelled to make good my words,"

returned the Earl. "But as a Catholic, and related by marriage to

Tresham, who is a suspected person, any active exertions in her behalf

on my part might place me in jeopardy."

"This excuse shall not avail you, my lord," replied Fawkes. "You must

weigh your own safety against hers. You stir not hence till you have

sworn to free her."

"I must perforce assent, since you will have no refusal," replied

Mounteagle. "But I almost despair of success. If I can effect her

deliverance, I swear to do so."

"Enough," replied Fawkes.

"And now, gentlemen," said Catesby, appealing to the others, "are you

willing to let Lord Mounteagle depart upon the proposed terms?"

"We are," they replied.

"I will administer the oath at once," said Garnet; "and you will bear in

mind, my son," he added, in a stern tone to the Earl, "that it will be

one which cannot be violated without perdition to your soul."

"I am willing to take it," replied Mounteagle.

Producing a primer, and motioning the Earl to kneel before him, Garnet

then proposed an oath of the most solemn and binding description. The

other repeated it after him, and at its conclusion placed the book to

his lips.

"Are you satisfied?" he asked, rising.

"I am," replied Garnet.

"And so am I," thought Tresham, who stood in the rear, "--that he will

perjure himself."

"Am I now at liberty to depart?" inquired the Earl.

"Not yet, my lord," replied Catesby. "You must remain here till

midnight."

Lord Mounteagle looked uneasy, but seeing remonstrance would be useless,

he preserved a sullen silence.

"You need have no fear, my lord," said Catesby. "But we must take such

precautions as will ensure our safety, in case you intend us any

treachery."

"You cannot doubt me, sir, after the oath I have taken," replied

Mounteagle, haughtily. "But since you constitute yourself my jailer, I

must abide your pleasure."

"If I _am_ your jailer, my lord," rejoined Catesby, "I will prove to you

that I am not neglectful of my office. Will it please you to follow me?"

The Earl bowed in acquiescence; and Catesby, marching before him to a

small room, the windows of which were carefully barred, pointed to a

chair, and instantly retiring, locked the door upon him. He then

returned to the others, and taking Guy Fawkes aside, observed in a low

tone,

"We shall set out instantly for White Webbs. You will remain on guard

with Tresham, whom you will, of course, keep in ignorance of our

proceedings. After you have set the Earl at liberty, you can follow us

if you choose. But take heed you are not observed."

"Fear nothing," replied Fawkes.

Soon after this, Catesby, and the rest of the conspirators, with the

exception of Guy Fawkes and Tresham, quitted the room, and the former

concluded they were about to leave the house. He made no remark,

however, to his companion; but getting between him and the door, folded

his arms upon his breast, and continued to pace backwards and forwards

before it.

"Am I a prisoner, as well as Lord Mounteagle?" asked Tresham, after a

pause.

"You must remain with me here till midnight," replied Fawkes. "We shall

not be disturbed."

"What! are the others gone?" cried Tresham.

"They are," was the reply.

Tresham's countenance fell, and he appeared to be meditating some

project, which he could not muster courage to execute.

"Be warned by the past, Tresham," said Fawkes, who had regarded him

fixedly for some minutes. "If I find reason to doubt you, I will put it

out of your power to betray us a second time."

"You have no reason to doubt me," replied Tresham, with apparent

candour. "I only wondered that our friends should leave me without any

intimation of their purpose. It is for me, not you, to apprehend some

ill design. Am I not to act with you further?"

"That depends upon yourself, and on the proofs you give of your

sincerity," replied Fawkes. "Answer me frankly. Do you think Lord

Mounteagle will keep his oath?"

"I will stake my life upon it," replied Tresham.

The conversation then dropped, and no attempt was made on either side to

renew it. In this way several hours passed, when at length the silence

was broken by Tresham, who requested permission to go in search of some

refreshment; and Guy Fawkes assenting, they descended to the lower room,

and partook of a slight repast.

Nothing further worthy of note occurred. On the arrival of the appointed

hour, Guy Fawkes signified to his companion that he might liberate Lord

Mounteagle; and immediately availing himself of the permission, Tresham

repaired to the chamber, and threw open the door. The Earl immediately

came forth, and they returned together to the room in which Guy Fawkes

remained on guard.

"You are now at liberty to depart, my lord," said the latter; "and

Tresham can accompany you, if he thinks proper. Remember that you have

sworn to procure Viviana's liberation."

"I do," replied the Earl.

And he then quitted the house with Tresham.

"You have had a narrow escape, my lord," remarked the latter as they

approached Whitehall, and paused for a moment under the postern of the

great western gate.

"True," replied the Earl; "but I do not regret the risk I have run. They

are now wholly in my power."

"You forget your oath, my lord," said Tresham.

"If I do," replied the Earl, "I but follow your example. You have broken

one equally solemn, equally binding, and would break a thousand more

were they imposed upon you. But I will overthrow this conspiracy, and

yet not violate mine."

"I see not how that can be, my lord," replied Tresham.

"You shall learn in due season," replied the Earl. "I have had plenty of

leisure for reflection in that dark hole, and have hit upon a plan

which, I think, cannot fail."

"I hope I am no party to it, my lord," rejoined Tresham. "I dare not

hazard myself among them further."

"I cannot do without you," replied Mounteagle; "but I will ensure you

against all danger. It will be necessary for you, however, to act with

the utmost discretion, and keep a constant guard upon every look and

movement, as well as upon your words. You must fully regain the

confidence of these men, and lull them into security."

"I see your lordship's drift," replied Tresham. "You wish them to

proceed to the last point, to enhance the value of the discovery."

"Right," replied the Earl. "The plot must not be discovered till just

before its outbreak, when its magnitude and danger will be the more

apparent. The reward will then be proportionate. Now, you understand me,

Tresham."

"Fully," replied the other.

"Return to your own house," rejoined Mounteagle. "We need hold no

further communication together till the time for action arrives."

"And that will not be before the meeting of Parliament," replied

Tresham; "for they intend to whelm the King and all his nobles in one

common destruction."

"By Heaven! a brave design!" cried Mounteagle. "It is a pity to mar it.

I knew it was a desperate and daring project, but should never have

conceived aught like this. Its discovery will indeed occasion universal

consternation."

"It may benefit you and me to divulge it, my lord," said Tresham; "but

the disclosure will deeply and lastingly injure the Church of Rome."

"It would injure it more deeply if the plot succeeded," replied

Mounteagle, "because all loyal Catholics must disapprove so horrible and

sanguinary a design. But we will not discuss the question further,

though what you have said confirms my purpose, and removes any misgiving

I might have felt as to the betrayal. Farewell, Tresham. Keep a watchful

eye upon the conspirators, and communicate with me should any change

take place in their plans. We may not meet for some time. Parliament,

though summoned for the third of October, will, in all probability, be

prorogued till November."

"In that case," replied Tresham, "you will postpone your disclosure

likewise till November?"

"Assuredly," replied Mounteagle. "The King must be convinced of his

danger. If it were found out now, he would think lightly of it. But if

he has actually set foot upon the mine which a single spark might kindle

to his destruction, he will duly appreciate the service rendered him.

Farewell! and do not neglect my counsel."

CHAPTER X.

WHITE WEBBS.

Tarrying for a short time within the house after the departure of the

others, Guy Fawkes lighted a lantern, and concealing it beneath his

cloak, proceeded to the cellar, to ascertain that the magazine of powder

was safe. Satisfied of this, he made all secure, and was about to return

to the house, when he perceived a figure approaching him. Standing

aside, but keeping on his guard for fear of a surprise, he would have

allowed the person to pass, but the other halted, and after a moment's

scrutiny addressed him by name in the tones of Humphrey Chetham.

"You seem to haunt this spot, young sir," said Fawkes, in answer to the

address. "This is the third time we have met hereabouts."

"On the last occasion," replied Chetham, "I told you Viviana was a

prisoner in the Tower. I have now better news for you. She is free."

"Free!" exclaimed Fawkes, joyfully. "By Lord Mounteagle's

instrumentality?--But I forget. He has only just left me."

"She has been freed by _my_ instrumentality," replied the young

merchant. "She escaped from the Tower a few hours ago."

"Where is she?" demanded Guy Fawkes, eagerly.

"In a boat at the stairs near the Parliament House," replied Chetham.

"Heaven and Our Lady be praised!" exclaimed Fawkes. "This is more than I

hoped for. Your news is so good, young sir, that I can scarce credit

it."

"Come with me to the boat, and you shall soon be satisfied of the truth

of my statement," rejoined Chetham.

And followed by Guy Fawkes, he hurried to the river side, where a wherry

was moored. Within it sat Viviana, covered by the tilt.

Assisting her to land, and finding she was too much exhausted to walk,

Guy Fawkes took her in his arms, and carried her to the house he had

just quitted.

Humphrey Chetham followed as soon as he had dismissed the waterman.

Placing his lovely burthen in a seat, Guy Fawkes instantly went in

search of such restoratives as the place afforded. Viviana was extremely

faint, but after she had swallowed a glass of wine, she revived, and,

looking around her, inquired where she was.

"Do not ask," replied Fawkes; "let it suffice you are in safety. And

now," he added, "perhaps, Humphrey Chetham will inform me in what manner

he contrived your escape. I am impatient to know."

The young merchant then gave the required information, and Viviana added

such particulars as were necessary to the full understanding of the

story. Guy Fawkes could scarcely control himself when she related the

tortures she had endured, nor was Chetham less indignant.

"You rescued me just in time," said Viviana. "I should have sunk under

the next application."

"Thank Heaven! you have escaped it," exclaimed Fawkes. "You owe much to

Humphrey Chetham, Viviana."

"I do, indeed," she replied.

"And can you not requite it?" he returned. "Can you not make him

happy?--Can you not make _me_ happy?"

Viviana's pale cheek was instantly suffused with blushes, but she made

no answer.

"Oh, Viviana!" cried Humphrey Chetham, "you hear what is said. If you

could doubt my love before, you must be convinced of it now. A hope will

make me happy. Have I that?"

"Alas! no," she answered. "It would be the height of cruelty, after your

kindness, to deceive you. You have not."

The young merchant turned aside to hide his emotion.

"Not even a hope!" exclaimed Guy Fawkes, "after what he has done.

Viviana, I cannot understand you. Does gratitude form no part of your

nature?"

"I hope so," she replied, "nay, I am sure so,--for I feel the deepest

gratitude towards Humphrey Chetham. But gratitude is not love, and must

not be mistaken for it."

"I understand the distinction too well," returned the young merchant,

sadly.

"It is more than I do," rejoined Guy Fawkes; "and I will frankly confess

that I think the important services Humphrey Chetham has rendered you

entitle him to your hand. It is seldom--whatever poets may feign,--that

love is so strongly proved as his has been; and it ought to be

adequately requited."

"Say no more about it, I entreat," interposed Chetham.

"But I will deliver my opinion," rejoined Guy Fawkes, "because I am sure

what I advise is for Viviana's happiness. No one can love her better

than you. No one is more worthy of her. Nor is there any one to whom I

so much desire to see her united."

"Oh, Heaven!" exclaimed Viviana. "This is worse than the torture."

"What mean you?" exclaimed Fawkes, in astonishment.

"She means," interposed Chetham, "that this is not the fitting season to

urge the subject--that she will never marry."

"True--true," replied Viviana. "If I ever did marry--I _ought_ to select

you."

"You ought," replied Fawkes. "And I know nothing of the female heart, if

it can be insensible to youth, devotion, and manly appearance like that

of Humphrey Chetham."

"You _do_ know nothing of it," rejoined Chetham, bitterly. "Women's

fancies are unaccountable."

"Such is the received opinion," replied Fawkes; "but as I am ignorant of

the sex, I can only judge from report. You are the person I should

imagine she would love--nay, to be frank, whom I thought she _did_

love."

"No more," said Humphrey Chetham. "It is painful both to Viviana and to

me."

"This is not a time for delicacy," rejoined Guy Fawkes. "Viviana has

given me the privilege of a father with her. And where her happiness is

so much concerned as in the present case, I should imperfectly discharge

my duty if I did not speak out. It would sincerely rejoice me, and I am

sure contribute materially to her own happiness, if she would unite

herself to you."

"I cannot--I cannot," she rejoined. "I will never marry."

"You hear what she says," remarked Chetham. "Do not urge the matter

further."

"I admire maiden delicacy and reserve," replied Fawkes; "but when a man

has acted as you have done, he deserves to be treated with frankness. I

am sure Viviana loves you. Let her tell you so."

"You are mistaken," replied Chetham; "and it is time you should be

undeceived. She loves another."

"Is this so?" cried Fawkes, in astonishment.

She made no answer.

"Whom do you love?" he asked.

Still, no answer.

"I will tell you whom she loves--and let her contradict me if I am

wrong," said Chetham.

"Oh, no!--no!--in pity spare me!" cried Viviana.

"Speak!"--thundered Fawkes. "Who is it?"

"Yourself," replied Chetham.

"What!" exclaimed Fawkes, recoiling,--"love _me_! I will not believe it.

She loves me as a father--but nothing more--nothing more. But you were

right. Let us change the subject. A more fitting season may arrive for

its discussion."

After some further conversation, it was agreed that Viviana should be

taken to White Webbs; and leaving her in charge of Humphrey Chetham, Guy

Fawkes went in search of a conveyance to Enfield.

Traversing the Strand,--every hostel in which was closed,--he turned up

Wych-street, immediately on the right of which there was a large inn

(still in existence), and entering the yard, discovered a knot of

carriers moving about with lanterns in their hands. To his inquiries

respecting a conveyance to Enfield, one of them answered, that he was

about to return thither with his waggon at four o'clock,--it was then

two,--and should be glad to take him and his friends. Overjoyed at the

intelligence, and at once agreeing to the man's terms, Guy Fawkes

hurried back to his companions, and, with the assistance of Humphrey

Chetham, contrived to carry Viviana (for she was utterly unable to

support herself) to the inn-yard, where she was immediately placed in

the waggon, on a heap of fresh straw.

About an hour after this, but long before daybreak, the carrier attached

his horses to the waggon, and set out. Guy Fawkes and Humphrey Chetham

were seated near Viviana, but little was said during the journey, which

occupied about three hours. By this time it was broad daylight; and as

the carrier stopped at the door of a small inn, Guy Fawkes alighted, and

inquired the distance to White Webbs.

"It is about a mile and a half off," replied the man. "If you pursue

that lane, it will bring you to a small village about half a mile from

this, where you are sure to find some one who will gladly guide you to

the house, which is a little out of the road, on the borders of the

forest."

He then assisted Viviana to alight, and Humphrey Chetham descending at

the same time, the party took the road indicated--a winding country lane

with high hedges, broken by beautiful timber--and proceeding at a slow

pace, they arrived in about half an hour at a little cluster of

cottages, which Guy Fawkes guessed to be the village alluded to by the

carrier. As they approached it, a rustic leaped a hedge, and was about

to cross to another field, when Guy Fawkes calling to him, inquired the

way to White Webbs.

"I am going in that direction," replied the man. "If you desire it, I

will show you the road."

"I shall feel much indebted to you, friend," returned Fawkes, "and will

reward you for your trouble."

"I want no reward," returned the countryman, trudging forward.

Following their guide, after a few minutes' brisk walking they reached

the borders of the forest, and took their way along a patch of

greensward that skirted it. In some places their track was impeded by

gigantic thorns and brushwood, while at others avenues opened upon them,

affording them peeps into the heart of the wood. It was a beautiful

sylvan scene. And as at length they arrived at the head of a long glade,

at the farther end of which a herd of deer were seen, with their

branching antlers mingling with the overhanging boughs, Viviana could

not help pausing to admire it.

"King James often hunts within the forest," observed the countryman.

"Indeed, I heard one of the rangers say it was not unlikely he might be

here to-day. He is at Theobald's Palace now."

"Indeed!" exclaimed Fawkes. "Let us proceed. We lose time. Are we far

from the house?"

"Not above a quarter of a mile," was the answer. "You will see it at the

next turn of the road."

As the countryman had intimated, they speedily perceived the roof and

tall chimneys of an ancient house above the trees, and as it was now

impossible to mistake the road, Guy Fawkes thanked their guide for his

trouble, and would have rewarded him, but he refused the gratuity, and

leaping a hedge, disappeared.