"You, then, are the person by whom the fire was recently lighted in the

kitchen?" he asked.

Heydocke replied in the affirmative.

"I came to bid you farewell for the night, dear daughter," said Garnet,

"and to assure you that you may rest without fear, for we have contrived

to make fast the doors. Come with me, my son," he added to the steward,

"and you shall have a comfortable meal below."

Making a profound reverence to Viviana, the old man followed him down

stairs.

Viviana continued to pace to and fro within her chamber for some time,

and then, overcome with fatigue, flung herself upon the bedstead, on

which a cloak had been thrown. Sleep soon closed her eyes, but it was

disturbed by frightful and distressing dreams, from which she was

suddenly aroused by a touch upon the arm. Starting up, she perceived the

old steward by the side of her couch, with a light in his hand.

"What brings you here, Heydocke?" she demanded, with surprise and alarm.

"You have slept soundly, my dear young mistress, or you would not

require to be informed," replied the steward. "There! do you not hear

it?" he added, as a loud knocking resounded from below.

Viviana listened for a moment, and then as if struck by a sudden idea,

hurried down stairs. She found Garnet and the others assembled in the

hall, but wholly unnerved by fright. "Hide yourselves," she said, "and

no ill shall befal you. Quick!--not a moment is to be lost!"

Having allowed them sufficient time for concealment, she demanded in a

loud voice who was without?

"Friends," was the reply.

"It is the voice of Doctor Dee," replied Heydocke.

"Indeed!" exclaimed Viviana. "Admit him instantly."

Heydocke obeyed, and throwing open the door, gave entrance to the

Doctor, who was wrapped in his long furred gown, and carried a lantern.

He was accompanied by Kelley and Humphrey Chetham.

"Your visit is singularly timed, Mr. Chetham," said Viviana, after she

had saluted the party; "but you are not the less welcome on that

account. I much desired to see you, and indeed should have sent for you

to-morrow. But how did you know I was here?"

"The only explanation I can offer you is this," replied Chetham. "I was

hastily summoned from my residence at Crumpsall by Kelley, who told me

you were at Ordsall Hall, and that Doctor Dee was about to visit you,

and desired my company. Thus summoned, I came at once."

"A strange explanation indeed!" replied Viviana.

"Close and fasten the door," said Dee, in an authoritative tone to

Kelley, and as soon as his commands were obeyed, he took Viviana's hand,

and led her to the farther end of the hall.

"My art informed me of your arrival, Viviana," he said. "I am come to

save you. You are in imminent danger."

"I well know it," she replied; "but I have no wish to fly from justice.

I am weary of my life, and would gladly resign it."

"I would call to your recollection, Viviana," pursued Dee, "that I

foretold the disastrous result of this plot, in which you have become

unhappily involved, to Guy Fawkes, and warned him not to proceed in it.

But he would not be advised, and is now a prisoner in the Tower."

"All I wish is to go thither, and die with him," rejoined Viviana.

"If you go thither, you will die before him," said Dee.

"I would do so," she replied.

"Viviana Radcliffe," returned Dee, in a compassionate tone, "I truly

grieve for you. Your attachment to this heinous traitor completely

blinds you. The friendship I entertained for your mother makes me

anxious to serve you--to see you happy. It is now in your power to be

so. But if you take another false step, your fate is decided, and you

will die an early death. I will answer for your safety--nay, what is

more, I will undertake that ere long you shall again be mistress of this

mansion, and have your estates restored to you."

"You promise fairly, sir," she replied, with a mournful smile.

"I have not yet done," pursued Dee. "All I require for the service is,

that when freed by the death of Guy Fawkes from the chain that now binds

you,--for I am aware of your ill-starred union with him,--you shall

bestow your hand upon Humphrey Chetham."

"It may not be," replied Viviana, firmly. "And if you could in truth

read the secrets of the heart, you would know that mine would instantly

reject the proposal."

"Think not it originates with me, Viviana," said Humphrey Chetham, who

had approached them unobserved. "My previous experience of your

character would alone have prevented me from becoming a party to any

such proposal, had I known it would be made. Do not, I beseech you,

sir," he added to Dee, "clog your offer with conditions which will

effectually prevent its accomplishment."

"You are true to yourself, Mr. Chetham," rejoined Viviana, "and will

not, therefore, wonder that I continue so. Were I to assent to Doctor

Dee's proposal, I should be further from happiness than I am now, even

if he could make good his words, and restore me to the station I have

forfeited. I have received a shock from which I shall never recover, and

the only haven of repose to which I look forward is the grave."

"Alas!" exclaimed Chetham, in a pitying tone.

"You will think I trespass too much upon your kindness," she pursued;

"but you can render me a great service, and it will be the last I shall

ever require from you."

"Name it!" cried Chetham, eagerly.

"I would beg you to escort me to London," she rejoined: "and to deliver

me to the lords of the council. I would willingly escape the indignities

to which T shall be exposed if I am conveyed thither as a prisoner. Will

you do this?"

"I will," replied Chetham.

"Lest you should think I have offered more than I can perform, Viviana,"

said Dee, who had listened attentively to the foregoing conversation, "I

will now tell you on what grounds I build my expectation of procuring

your pardon. The conspiracy was first revealed by me to the Earl of

Salisbury, though for his own purposes he kept it secret to the last. He

owes me a heavy debt, and shall pay it in the way I propose, if you

desire it."

"I will abide by what I have done," replied Viviana.

"You know, then, what fate awaits you?" said Dee.

"I shall not shrink from it," she rejoined.

"It is well," he replied. "Before I leave, I will give you another

caution. Father Garnet is here. Nay, attempt not to deny it. You cannot

deceive me. Besides, I desire to serve, not harm him. If he remains here

till to-morrow, he will be captured. A proclamation has been issued for

his arrest, as well as for that of Father Oldcorne. Deliver him this

warning. And now, farewell!"

With this, he took up his lantern, and followed by Kelley, quitted the

hall.

Humphrey Chetham only tarried a few moments to inform Viviana that he

would return soon after daybreak with a couple of steeds for the

journey. As soon as he was gone, Viviana communicated Dee's warning to

Garnet, who was so alarmed by it, that he resolved not to delay his own

departure a moment. Taking an affectionate leave of Viviana, and

confiding her to the care of the old steward, he set out with his three

attendants.

Faithful to his promise, Humphrey Chetham appeared at the appointed

time. Viviana bade an eternal farewell to the old steward, who was

overwhelmed with grief, and looked as if his sorrows would soon be

ended, and mounting one of the steeds brought by the young merchant,

they took the direction of London.

CHAPTER VIII.

HENDLIP.

Garnet proceeded at a rapid pace for some miles before he acquainted his

companions whither he was going. He then informed Nicholas Owen, who

rode by his side, that he should make the best of his way to Hendlip

House, the seat of Mr. Thomas Abingdon, near Droitwich, in

Worcestershire, where he knew that Father Oldcorne and Anne Vaux had

retired, and where he was certain to meet with a friendly reception and

protection. Owen, who was completely in his master's confidence, agreed

that no safer asylum could be found, and they pursued their journey with

so much ardour, that early on the following night they arrived within a

short distance of the mansion. Owen was sent forward to reconnoitre, and

returned in about half an hour with Mr. Abingdon, who embraced Garnet,

and told him he was truly happy in being able to offer him a retreat.

"And I think it will prove a secure one," he added. "There are so many

hiding-places in the old house, that if it is beset for a year you will

scarcely be discovered. Have you heard of the fate of your

confederates?"

"Alas! no, my son," replied Garnet; "and I tremble to ask it."

"It had better be told at once," rejoined Abingdon. "Catesby, Percy, and

the two Wrights, have been slain in the defence of Holbeach; while

Rookwood, Grant, and Thomas Winter, all of whom were severely wounded in

the siege, have been made prisoners, and are now on their way to the

Tower."

"A fearful catalogue of ills!" exclaimed Garnet.

"It is not yet complete," pursued Abingdon. "Sir Everard Digby has been

defeated, and made prisoner in an attempt to bring additional force to

his friends, and Keyes has been arrested in Warwickshire."

"These are woful tidings truly, my son," returned Garnet. "But Heaven's

will be done!"

He then dismissed his two attendants, to whom he gave a sum of money,

together with the steeds, and attended by Nicholas Owen, repaired to the

house with Mr. Abingdon, who admitted them through a secret door.

Hendlip House, which, unfortunately for the lovers of picturesque and

storied habitations, was pulled down a few years ago, having been

latterly used as a ladies' boarding-school, was a large and irregular

structure, with walls of immense thickness, tall stacks of chimneys,

turrets, oriel windows, and numberless projections, contrived to mask

the labyrinths and secret chambers within. Erected by John Abingdon,

father of the proprietor at the period of this history, and cofferer to

Queen Elizabeth in the early part of the reign of that princess, it was

filled with secret staircases, masked entrances, trap-doors, vaults,

subterranean passages, secret recesses, and every other description of

hiding-place. An immense gallery surrounded three sides of the

entrance-hall, containing on each side a large chimney-piece, surmounted

by a shield displaying the arms of the family--_argent_, a bend,

_gules_, three eaglets displayed, _or_. Behind each of these

chimney-pieces was a small cell, or "priest's-hole," as it was termed,

contrived in the thickness of the wall. Throughout the mansion, the

chambers were so sombre, and the passages so numerous and intricate,

that, in the words of one who described it from personal observation,

the whole place presented "a picture of gloom, insecurity, and

suspicion." Standing on an elevated situation, it commanded the country

on all sides, and could not be approached during the day-time without

alarm being given to its inmates.

Thomas Abingdon, the owner of the mansion at the period in question, and

the eldest son of its founder, was born at Thorpe, near Chertsey, in

Surrey, in 1560. He was educated at Oxford, and finished his studies at

the Universities of Paris and Rheims. A man of considerable taste and

learning, but of a plotting disposition, he became a willing tool of the

Jesuits, and immediately on his return to England, connected himself

with the different conspiracies set on foot for the liberation of the

imprisoned Queen of Scots. For these offences he was imprisoned in the

Tower for the term of six years, and only escaped death from the fact of

his being the Queen's godson, coupled with the estimation in which she

had held his father. On his liberation, he remained perfectly tranquil

till the accession of James, when he became a secret plotter against

that monarch. His concealment of the two priests, about to be related,

occasioned his being again sent to the Tower, and if it had not been for

the intercession of Lord Mounteagle, whose sister he had espoused, he

would have been executed. He was pardoned on condition of never stirring

beyond the precincts of Worcestershire, and he employed his retirement

in compiling an account of the antiquities of that county, which he left

behind him in manuscript, and of which Doctor Nash, its more recent

historian, has largely availed himself.

With a habitation so contrived, Mr. Abingdon might fairly promise his

guests a safe asylum. Conducting them along a secret passage to a

chamber of which he alone possessed the key, he left Garnet within it,

and taking Owen with him to another place of concealment, returned

shortly afterwards with Anne Vaux and Father Oldcorne. The two priests

tenderly embraced each other, and Oldcorne poured forth his tears on his

superior's shoulder. Garnet next turned to Anne Vaux, between whom and

himself, as has been before mentioned, an affectionate intimacy

subsisted, and found her quite overcome by her feelings. Supper was now

served to Garnet by a confidential servant, and after a few hours spent

in conversation with his friends, during which they discussed the

disastrous issue of the affair, and the probable fate of the

conspirators, they quitted him, and he retired to rest--but not before

he had returned thanks to Heaven for enabling him once more to lay down

his head in safety.

On the following morning, he was visited by Mrs. Abingdon, a lady of

considerable personal attractions, and Anne Vaux; and when he had

recovered from the fatigue of his journey, and the anxieties he had

recently undergone, he experienced great delight in their society. The

chamber he occupied was lighted by a small loop-hole, which enabled him

to breathe the fresh air, and gaze upon the surrounding country.

In this way, nearly two months passed on, during which, though rigorous

inquiries were made throughout the country, no clue was found by the

searchers to lead them to Hendlip; and the concealed parties began to

indulge hopes that they should escape detection altogether. Being in

constant correspondence with her brother, Lord Mounteagle, though she

did not trust him with the important secret of the concealment of the

priests, Mrs. Abingdon ascertained all that was done in reference to the

conspirators, whose trials were now approaching, and communicated the

intelligence to Garnet.

On the morning of the 20th of January, and when long quietude had bred

complete fancied security in Garnet, Anne Vaux and Mrs. Abingdon

suddenly entered his chamber, and with countenances of the utmost alarm,

informed him that Mr. Abingdon's confidential servant had just returned

from Worcester, where his master then was, and had brought word that

Topcliffe, armed with a search-warrant from the Earl of Salisbury, had

just passed through that city on his way to Holt Castle, the residence

of Sir Henry Bromley.

"It appears," said Mrs. Abingdon, "that Humphrey Littleton, who has been

apprehended and condemned to death at Worcester for harbouring his

brother and Robert Winter, has sought to procure a remission of his

sentence by betraying your retreat. In consequence of this, Topcliffe

has been sent down from London, with a warrant addressed to Sir Henry

Bromley, to aid him in searching Hendlip. My husband has given

particular orders that you are to be removed to the most secure

hiding-place without delay; and he deeply regrets that he himself cannot

return till evening, for fear of exciting suspicion."

"Take me where you please, daughter," replied Garnet, who was thrown

into great perturbation by the intelligence. "I thought myself prepared

for any emergency. But I was wofully deceived."

"Be not alarmed, father," said Anne Vaux, in an encouraging tone. "Let

them search as long as they will, they will never discover your

retreat."

"I have a strong presentiment to the contrary," replied Garnet.

At this moment, Oldcorne made his appearance, and on learning the

alarming news, was as much dismayed as his superior.

After a short consultation, and while the priests were putting aside

every article necessary to be removed, Mrs. Abingdon proceeded to the

gallery, and contrived on some plausible pretext to send away the whole

of the domestics from this part of the house. This done, she hastily

returned, and conducted the two priests to one of the large fire-places.

A raised stone about two feet high occupied the inside of the chimney,

and upon it stood an immense pair of iron dogs. Obeying Mrs. Abingdon's

directions, Garnet got upon the stone, and setting his foot on the large

iron knob on the left, found a few projections in the masonry on the

side, up which he mounted, and opening a small door, made of planks of

wood, covered with bricks, and coloured black, so as not to be

distinguishable from the walls of the chimney, crept into a recess

contrived in the thickness of the wall. This cell was about two feet

wide, and four high, and was connected with another chimney at the back,

by means of three or four small holes. Around its sides ran a narrow

stone shelf, just wide enough to afford an uncomfortable seat. Garnet

was followed by Oldcorne, who brought with him a quantity of books,

vestments, and sacred vessels used in the performance of the rites of

the Church of Rome. These articles, which afterwards occasioned them

much inconvenience, they did not dare to leave behind.

Having seen them safely bestowed, Mrs. Abingdon and her companion went

in search of provisions, and brought them a piece of cold meat and a

pasty, together with some bread, dried fruit, conserves, and a flask of

wine. They did not dare to bring more, for fear of exciting the

suspicion of the household. Their next care was to conduct Owen, and

Oldcorne's servant, Chambers, to a similar retreat in one of the other

chimneys, and to provide them with a scanty supply of provisions and a

flask of wine. All this was accomplished without being noticed by any of

the domestics.

As may be imagined, a most anxious day was passed by all parties.

Towards evening, Sir Henry Bromley, the sheriff of the county,

accompanied by Topcliffe, and attended by a troop of soldiers, appeared

at the gates of the mansion, and demanded admittance. Just at this

moment, Mr. Abingdon rode up, and affecting to know nothing of the

matter, saluted Sir Henry Bromley, with whom he was on terms of

intimacy, and inquired his business.

"You are charged with harbouring two Jesuit priests, Fathers Garnet and

Oldcorne, supposed to be connected with the late atrocious conspiracy

against the King, Mr. Abingdon," interposed Topcliffe; "and I brought a

warrant from the Earl of Salisbury, which I have delivered to Sir Henry

Bromley, commanding him to search your house for them."

"I was loth to accept the office, Mr. Abingdon," said Sir Henry Bromley,

who was a handsome, middle-aged man; "but my duty to my sovereign allows

me no alternative. I trust, though a Catholic, that you share my own

detestation of this diabolical plot, and would not shelter any of its

contrivers, or abettors."

"You judge me rightly, Sir Henry," replied Abingdon, who, meanwhile, had

received a private signal from his confidential servant that all was

safe, "I would not. I am just returned from Worcester, where I have been

for the last two days. Enter my house, I pray you, and search every

corner of it; and if you find a Jesuit priest concealed within it, you

shall hang me at my own gate."

"You must be misinformed, sir," observed Sir Henry, who was completely

imposed upon by Abingdon's unconcerned demeanour; "they cannot be here."

"Trust me, they are," returned the other, "and I should like to take him

at his word."

Giving directions to the band to environ the house, and guard all its

approaches, so as to prevent any one from escaping from it, Topcliffe

took half-a-dozen men with him, and instructed them how to act. They

first repaired to the great dining-chamber, where, in accordance with

the instructions received from the Earl of Salisbury, Topcliffe

proceeded to the further end of the room, and directed his men to break

down the wainscot. With some difficulty, the order was obeyed, and the

entrance to a vault discovered, into which Topcliffe descended but he

found nothing to repay his trouble.

Returning to the dining-chamber, he questioned Mr. Abingdon, who

secretly enjoyed his disappointment, as to the use of the vault, but the

latter professed entire ignorance of its existence. The searchers next

proceeded to the cellar, and bored the floors with a broach to a

considerable depth, to try whether there were any vaults beneath them,

but they made no discovery. Meanwhile Topcliffe hurried upstairs, and

examined the size of the rooms, to see whether they corresponded with

those below; and wherever any difference was observable, he caused the

panels to be pulled down, and holes broken in the walls. In this way,

several secret passages were discovered, one of which led to the chamber

lately occupied by Garnet.

Encouraged by this discovery, the searchers continued their operations

to a late hour, when they desisted for the night. On the following day

they resumed their task, and Sir Henry Bromley took a general survey of

the house, both externally and internally, noting the appearances

outside, and seeing that they corresponded with the rooms within. The

three extraordinary chimney-pieces in the gallery attracted Topcliffe's

attention; but the contrivances within were so well managed, that they

escaped his notice. He even got into the chimneys, and examined the

walls on either side, but could detect nothing. And, lastly, he ordered

large fires to be lighted within them, but the experiment proving

fruitless, he turned his attention elsewhere.

Mr. Abingdon had attended him during this part of the search, and,

though he preserved an unmoved exterior, he was full of apprehension,

and was greatly relieved when it was abandoned. In the course of the

same day, two other hiding-places were found in the thickness of the

walls, but nothing was discovered within them. In order to prevent any

communication with the concealed persons, Topcliffe stationed a sentinel

at the door of Mr. Abingdon's chamber, and another at that of Anne Vaux.

On the third day the search was continued more rigorously than ever.

Wainscots were taken down; walls broken open; the boards of the floor

removed; and other secret passages, vaults, and hiding-places

discovered. Some priests' vestments and articles used in the Romish

service were found in one of these places, and shown to Mr. Abingdon. He

at first denied all knowledge of them; but when Topcliffe brought

forward the title-deeds of his property, which had been found in the

same place, he was obliged to confess he had put them there himself.

Still, though these discoveries had been made, the searchers were as far

from their aim as ever; and Sir Henry Bromley, who began to despair of

success, would have departed on the fifth day, if Topcliffe had not

prevented him.

"I am certain they are here," said the latter, "and have hit upon a plan

which cannot fail to bring them forth."

The prisoners meanwhile suffered grievously from their confinement, and

hearing the searchers knocking against the walls, and even within the

chimney, felt certain they should be discovered. Not being able to stand

upright, or to stretch themselves within the cell, the sitting posture

they were compelled to adopt became, after a time, intolerably irksome.

Broths, milk, wine, and other nutritious fluids, were conveyed to them

by means of a reed from the adjoining chimney; but after the fifth day

this supply was stopped, as Mrs. Abingdon and Anne Vaux were compelled

by Topcliffe to remove to a different part of the house.

They now began to experience all the horrors of starvation, and debated

whether they should die where they were, or yield themselves up to their

enemies. Wretched as their condition was, however, it was not so bad as

that of their domestics, Owen and Chambers, whose wants had not been so

carefully attended to, and who were now reduced to the most deplorable

state. Nor were their friends less uneasy. Aware that the captives, whom

there was no means of relieving, for the searchers were constantly on

the watch, could not hold out much longer, Mrs. Abingdon consulted with

her husband whether it would not be better to reveal their

hiding-places; but this he would not permit.

By this time, every secret chamber, vault, and passage in the place,

except the actual retreats of the conspirators, had been discovered by

Topcliffe, and though nothing material was found, he felt assured, from

the uneasiness displayed by Mr. Abingdon and his wife, and above all by

Anne Vaux, that it could not be long before his perseverance was

rewarded. Though he narrowly watched the two ladies, from the first, he

could never detect them in the act of conveying food to the captives;

but feeling convinced that they did so, he determined to remove them to

a different part of the house, and their unwillingness to obey the order

confirmed his suspicions.

"We are sure of our prey now," he observed to Sir Henry Bromley. "They

must be half-starved by this time, and will speedily surrender

themselves."

"Pray Heaven they do so!" returned the other. "I am wearied to death

with my long stay here."

"Have a few hours' patience," rejoined Topcliffe, "and you will find

that your time has not been thrown away."

And he was right. Soon after midnight, a trooper, who was watching in

the gallery, beheld two spectral-looking figures approach him, and

appalled by their ghastly appearance, uttered a loud cry. This brought

Topcliffe, who was in the hall below, to his aid, and instantly

perceiving what was the matter, he ran towards the supposed phantoms,

and seized them. The poor wretches, who were no other than Owen and

Chambers, and were well-nigh famished, offered no resistance, but would

neither confess where they had been hidden, nor who they were. As the

trooper had not seen them come forth, though he affirmed with a

tremendous oath that they had issued from the floor, the walls were

again sounded, but with no result.

Food being placed before the captives, they devoured it voraciously; but

Topcliffe forbore to question them further that night, feeling confident

that he could extract the truth from them on the morrow, either by

promises or threats. He was however, mistaken. They continued as

obstinate as before, and when confronted with Mr. Abingdon, denied all

knowledge of him: neither would they explain how they got into the

house.

Sir Henry Bromley, however, now considered himself justified in placing

Mr. Abingdon and his lady under arrest, and Topcliffe redoubled his

exertions to discover the hiding-place of the two priests. He examined

every part of the gallery most carefully,--took down one of the

chimney-pieces, (singularly enough, it was the wrong one,) but was still

unable to discover their retreat.

Meanwhile, the poor wretches inside found it impossible to endure their

condition longer. Anything seemed preferable to the lingering and

agonizing death they were now enduring, and they resolved to delay their

surrender no longer. Had they been able to hold out a few hours more,

they would have escaped; for Sir Henry Bromley was so fatigued with the

search, and so satisfied that nothing further would come of it, that he

resolved, notwithstanding Topcliffe's efforts to dissuade him, to depart

on the morrow. Of this they were ignorant, and having come to the

determination to surrender, Garnet opened the entrance to the chimney,

and hearing voices below, and being too feeble to get out unassisted, he

called to the speakers for aid. His voice was so hollow, and had such a

sepulchral sound, that those who heard it stared at each other in

astonishment and affright.

"Who calls?" cried one of the troopers, after a pause.

"One of those you seek," replied Garnet. "Come and help us forth."

Upon hearing this, and ascertaining whence the voice came from, one of

the men ran to fetch Sir Henry Bromley and Topcliffe, both of whom

joyfully obeyed the summons.

"Is it possible they can be in the chimney?" cried Topcliffe. "Why, I

myself have examined it twice."

"We are here, nevertheless," replied Garnet, who heard the remark; "and

if you would take us alive, lose no time."

The hint was not lost upon Topcliffe. Casting a triumphant look at

Bromley, he seized a torch from one of his attendants, and getting into

the chimney, soon perceived the entrance to the recess.

On beholding his prey, he uttered an exclamation of joy, and the two

miserable captives, seeing the savage and exulting grin that lighted up

his features, half repented the step they had taken. It was now,

however, too late, and Garnet begged him to help them out.

"That I will readily do, father," replied Topcliffe. "You have given us

a world of trouble. But you have made ample amends for it now."

"Had we been so minded, you would never have found us," rejoined Garnet.

"This cell would have been our sepulchre."

"No doubt," retorted Topcliffe, with a bitter laugh. "But a death on the

scaffold is preferable to the horrors of starvation."

Finding it impossible to remove Garnet, whose limbs were so cramped that

they refused their office, he called to the troopers below to bring a

ladder, which was placed in the chimney, and then, with some

exertion, he succeeded in getting him down. This done, he supported him

towards Sir Henry Bromley, who was standing near a small table in the

gallery.

[Illustration: _The Discovery of Garnet and Oldcorne at Hendlip_]

"I told you your time would not be thrown away, Sir Henry," he observed;

"here is Father Garnet. It is well you yielded yourself to-night,

father," he added, to Garnet, with his customary cynical chuckle; "for

Sir Henry had resolved to depart to-morrow."

"Indeed!" groaned Garnet. "Help me to a chair."

While this was passing, Oldcorne was brought down by two of the

troopers, and the unfortunate priests were conveyed to an adjoining

chamber, where they were placed in a bed, their stiffened limbs chafed,

and cordials administered to them. They were reduced, however, to such

extremity of weakness, that it was not judged prudent to remove them

till the third day, when they, together with their two servants, Owen

and Chambers, who were as much enfeebled as themselves, were conveyed to

Worcester.

CHAPTER IX.

WHITEHALL.

Such was the expedition used by Humphrey Chetham and Viviana, that they

accomplished the journey to London in an extraordinarily short space of

time. Proceeding direct to Whitehall, Viviana placed a letter in the

hands of a halberdier, and desired that it might be given without delay

to the Earl of Salisbury. After some demur, the man handed it to an

usher, who promised to lay it before the Earl. Some time elapsed before

the result of its reception was known, when an officer, accompanied by

two sergeants of the guard, made his appearance, and commanded Viviana

and her companion to follow him.

Crossing a wide hall, which was filled with the various retainers of the

palace, who regarded them with a sort of listless curiosity, and

ascending a flight of marble steps, they traversed a long corridor, and

were at length ushered into the presence of the Earl of Salisbury. He

was seated at a table, covered with a multitude of papers, and was

busily employed in writing a despatch, but immediately stopped on their

entrance. He was not alone. His companion was a middle-aged man, attired

in a suit of black velvet, with a cloak of the same material; but as he

sat with his back towards the door, it was impossible to discern his

features.

"You may leave us," said Salisbury to the officer, "but remain

without."

"And be ready to enter at a moment's notice," added his companion,

without altering his position.

The officer bowed, and retired with his followers.

"Your surrender of yourself at this time, Viviana Radcliffe," said the

Earl, "weighs much in your favour; and if you are disposed freely to

declare all you know of the conspiracy, it is not impossible that the

King may extend his mercy towards you."

"I do not desire it, my lord," she replied. "In surrendering myself, I

have no other aim than to satisfy the laws I have outraged. I do not

seek to defend myself, but I desire to offer an explanation to your

lordship. Circumstances, which it is needless to detail, drew me into

connexion with the conspirators, and I became unwillingly the depositary

of their dark design."

"You were guilty of misprision of treason in not revealing it," remarked

the Earl.

"I am aware of it," she rejoined; "but this, I take heaven to witness,

is the extent of my criminality. I held the project in the utmost

abhorrence, and used every argument I was mistress of to induce its

contrivers to abandon it."

"If such were the case," demanded the Earl, "what withheld you from

disclosing it?"

"I will now confess what torture could not wring from me before," she

replied. "I was restrained from the disclosure by a fatal passion."

"I suspected as much," observed the Earl, with a sneer. "For whom?"

"For Guy Fawkes," returned Viviana.

"God's mercy! Guy Fawkes!" ejaculated the Earl's companion, starting to

his feet. And turning as he spoke, and facing her, he disclosed heavy

but not unintellectual features, now charged with an expression of the

utmost astonishment. "Did you say Guy Fawkes, mistress?"

"It is the King," whispered Humphrey Chetham.

"Since I know in whose presence I stand, sire," replied Viviana, "I will

answer the interrogation. Guy Fawkes was the cause of my concealing my

acquaintance with the plot. And more, I will confess to your Majesty,

that much as I abhor the design, if he had not been a conspirator, I

should never have loved him. His sombre and enthusiastic character first

gave him an interest in my eyes, which, heightened by several important

services which he rendered me, soon ripened into love. Linked to his

fortunes, shrouded by the same gloomy cloud that enveloped him, and

bound by a chain from which I could not extricate myself, I gave him my

hand. But the moment of our union was the moment of our separation. We

have not met since, and shall meet no more, unless to part for ever."

"A strange history!" exclaimed James, in a tone that showed he was not

unmoved by the relation.

"I beseech your Majesty to grant me one boon," cried Viviana, falling at

his feet. "It is to be allowed a single interview with my husband--not

for the sad gratification of beholding him again--not for the indulgence

of my private sorrows--but that I may endeavour to awaken a feeling of

repentance in his breast, and be the means of saving his soul alive."

"My inclinations prompt me to grant the request, Salisbury," said the

King, irresolutely. "There can be no risk in doing it--eh?"

"Not under certain restrictions, my liege," replied the Earl.

"You shall have your wish, then, mistress," said James, "and I trust

your efforts may be crowned with success. Your husband is a hardy

traitor--a second Jacques Clement--and we never think of him without the

floor shaking beneath our feet, and a horrible smell of gunpowder

assailing our nostrils. Blessed be God for our preservation! But whom

have we here?" he added, turning to Humphrey Chetham. "Another

conspirator come to surrender himself?"

"No, my liege," replied Chetham; "I am a loyal subject of your Majesty,

and a stanch Protestant."

"If we may take your word for it, doubtless," replied the King, with an

incredulous look. "But how come you in this lady's company?"

"I will hide nothing from your Majesty," replied Chetham. "Long before

Viviana's unhappy acquaintance with Fawkes--for such I must ever

consider it--my affections had been fixed upon her, and I fondly trusted

she would not prove indifferent to my suit. Even now, sire, when all

hope is dead within me, I have not been able to overcome my passion, but

love her as devotedly as ever. When, therefore, she desired my escort to

London to surrender herself, I could not refuse the request."

"It is the truth, my liege," added Viviana. "I owe Humphrey Chetham (for

so this gentleman is named) an endless debt of gratitude; and not the

least of my present distresses is the thought of the affliction I have

occasioned him."

"Dismiss it from your mind, then, Viviana," rejoined Chetham. "It will

not mitigate my sorrows to feel that I have added to yours."

"Your manner and looks seem to give a warranty for loyalty, young sir,"

said the King. "But I must have some assurance of the truth of your

statement before you are set at large."

"I am your willing prisoner, my liege," returned Chetham. "But I have a

letter for the Earl of Salisbury, which may vouch perhaps for me."

And as he spoke, he placed a letter in the Earl's hands, who broke open

the seal, and hastily glanced at its contents.

"It is from Doctor Dee," he said, "from whom, as your Majesty is aware,

we have received much important information relative to this atrocious

design. He answers for this young man's loyalty."

"I am glad to hear it," rejoined the King. "It would have been

mortifying to be deceived by so honest a physiognomy."

"Your Majesty will be pleased to attach your signature to this warrant

for Viviana Radcliffe's committal to the Tower," said Salisbury, placing

a paper before him.

James complied, and the Earl summoned the guard.

"Have I your Majesty's permission to attend this unfortunate lady to the

fortress?" cried Chetham, prostrating himself before the King.

James hesitated, but glancing at the Earl, and reading no objection in

his looks, he assented.

Whispering some private instructions to the officer respecting Chetham,

Salisbury delivered the warrant to him. Viviana and her companion were

then removed to a small chamber adjoining the guard-room, where they

remained for nearly an hour, at the expiration of which time the officer

again appeared, and conducted them to the palace-stairs, where a large

wherry awaited them, in which they embarked.

James did not remain long with his councillor, and as soon as he had

retired, Salisbury summoned a confidential attendant, and told him to

acquaint Lord Mounteagle, who was in an adjoining apartment, that he was

now able to receive him. The attendant departed, and presently returned

with the nobleman in question. As soon as they were alone, and Salisbury

had satisfied himself they could not be overheard, he observed to the

other,

"Since Tresham's committal to the Tower yesterday, I have received a

letter from the lieutenant, stating that he breathes nothing but revenge

against yourself and me, and threatens to betray us, if he is not

released. It will not do to let him be examined by the Council; for

though we can throw utter discredit on his statement, it may be

prejudicial to my future designs."

"True, my lord," replied Mounteagle. "But how do you propose to silence

him?"

"By poison," returned Salisbury. "There is a trusty fellow in the Tower,

a jailer named Ipgreve, who will administer it to him. Here is the

powder," he added, unlocking a coffer, and taking out a small packet;

"it was given me by its compounder, Doctor Dee. It is the same, I am

assured, as the celebrated Italian poison prepared by Pope Alexander the

Sixth; is without scent or taste; and destroys its victim without

leaving a trace of its effects."

"I must take heed how I offend your lordship," observed Mounteagle.

"Nay," rejoined Salisbury, with a ghastly smile, "it is for traitors

like Tresham, not true men like you, to fear me."

"I understand the distinction, my lord," replied the other.

"I must intrust the entire management of this affair to you," pursued

Salisbury.

"To me!" exclaimed Mounteagle. "Tresham is my brother-in-law. I can take

no part in his murder."

"If he lives, you are ruined," rejoined Salisbury, coldly. "You must

sacrifice him or yourself. But I see you are reasonable. Take this

powder, and proceed to the Tower. See Ipgreve alone, and instruct him to

drug Tresham's wine with it. A hundred marks shall be his reward when

the deed is done."

"My soul revolts from the deed," said Mounteagle, as he took the packet.

"Is there no other way of silencing him?"

"None whatever," replied Salisbury, sternly. "His blood be upon his own

head."

With this, Mounteagle took his departure.

CHAPTER X.

THE PARTING OF VIVIANA AND HUMPHREY CHETHAM.

Humphrey Chetham was so oppressed by the idea of parting with Viviana,

that he did not utter a single word during their transit to the Tower.

Passing beneath the gloomy archway of Traitors' Gate, they mounted the

fatal steps, and were conducted to the guard-room near the By-ward

Tower. The officer then despatched one of the warders to inform the

lieutenant of Viviana's arrival, and telling Humphrey Chetham he would

allow him a few minutes to take leave of her, considerately withdrew,

and left them alone together.

"Oh! Viviana!" exclaimed Chetham, unable to repress his grief, "my heart

bleeds to see you here. If you repent the step you have taken, and

desire freedom, say so, and I will use every effort to liberate you. I

have been successful once, and may be so again."

"I thank you for your devotion," she replied, in a tone of profound

gratitude; "but you have rendered me the last service I shall ever

require of you. I deeply deplore the misery I have occasioned you, and

regret my inability to requite your attachment as it deserves to be

requited. My last prayers shall be for your happiness; and I trust you

will meet with some being worthy of you, and who will make amends for my

insensibility."

"Be not deceived, Viviana," replied Chetham, in a broken voice; "I shall

never love again. Your image is too deeply imprinted upon my heart ever

to be effaced."

"Time may work a change," she rejoined; "though I ought not to say so,

for I feel it would work none in me. Suffer me to give you one piece of

counsel. Devote yourself resolutely to the business of life, and you

will speedily regain your peace of mind."

"I will follow your instructions implicitly," replied Chetham; "but have

little hope of the result you promise me."

"Let the effort be made," she rejoined;--"and now promise me to quit

London to-morrow. Return to your native town, employ yourself in your

former occupations; and strive not to think of the past, except as a

troubled dream from which you have fortunately awakened. Do not let us

prolong our parting, or your resolution may waver. Farewell!"

So saying, she extended her hand towards him, and he pressed it

passionately to his lips.

"Farewell, Viviana!" he cried, with a look of unutterable anguish. "May

Heaven support you in your trials!"

"One of them I am now enduring," she replied, in a broken voice.

"Farewell for ever, and may all good angels bless you!"

At this moment, the officer appeared, and announcing the approach of the

lieutenant, told Chetham that his time had expired. Without hazarding

another look at Viviana, the young merchant tore himself away, and

followed the officer out of the Tower.

Obedient to Viviana's last request, he quitted London on the following

day, and acting upon her advice, devoted himself on his return to

Manchester sedulously to his mercantile pursuits. His perseverance and

integrity were crowned with entire success, and he became in due season

the wealthiest merchant of the town. But the blighting of his early

affections tinged his whole life, and gave a melancholy to his thoughts

and an austerity to his manner originally foreign to them. True to his

promise, he died unmarried. His long and worthy career was marked by

actions of the greatest benevolence. In proportion as his means

increased, his charities were extended, and he truly became "a father to

the fatherless and the destitute." To him the town of Manchester is

indebted for the noble library and hospital bearing his name; and for

these admirable institutions by which they so largely benefit, his

memory must ever be held in veneration by its inhabitants.

CHAPTER XI.

THE SUBTERRANEAN DUNGEON.

Regarding Viviana with a smile of savage satisfaction, Sir William Waad

commanded Jasper Ipgreve, who accompanied him, to convey her to one of

the subterranean dungeons below the Devereux Tower.

"She cannot escape thence without your connivance," he said; "and you

shall answer to me for her safe custody with your life."

"If she escapes again, your worship shall hang me in her stead,"

rejoined Ipgreve.

"My instructions from the Earl of Salisbury state that it is the King's

pleasure that she be allowed a short interview with Guy Fawkes," said

the lieutenant, in a low tone. "Let her be taken to his cell to-morrow."

The jailer bowed, and motioning the guard to follow him with Viviana, he

led the way along the inner ward till he arrived at a small strong door

in the wall a little to the north of the Beauchamp Tower, which he

unlocked, and descended into a low cavernous-looking vault. Striking a

light, and setting fire to a torch, he then led the way along a narrow

gloomy passage, which brought them to a circular chamber, from which

other passages diverged, and selecting one of them, threaded it till he

came to the door of a cell.

"Here is your dungeon," he said to Viviana, as he drew back the heavy

bolts, and disclosed a small chamber, about four feet wide and six long,

in which there was a pallet. "My dame will attend you soon."

With this, he lighted a lamp, and departing with the guard, barred the

door outside. Viviana shuddered as she surveyed the narrow dungeon in

which she was placed. Roof, walls, and floor were of stone; and the

aspect of the place was so dismal and tomb-like, that she felt as if she

were buried alive. Some hours elapsed before Dame Ipgreve made her

appearance. She was accompanied by Ruth, who burst into tears on

beholding Viviana. The jailer's wife had brought a few blankets and

other necessaries with her, together with a loaf of bread and a jug of

water. While disposing the blankets on the couch, she never ceased

upbraiding Viviana for her former flight. Poor Ruth, who was compelled

to assist her mother, endeavoured by her gestures and looks to convey to

the unfortunate captive that she was as much devoted to her as ever.

Their task completed, the old woman withdrew, and her daughter, casting

a deeply-commiserating look at Viviana, followed her, and the door was

barred without.

Determined not to yield to despondency, Viviana knelt down, and

addressed herself to Heaven; and, comforted by her prayers, threw

herself on the bed, and sank into a peaceful slumber. She was awakened

by hearing the bolts of her cell withdrawn, and the next moment Ruth

stood before her.

"I fear you have exposed yourself to great risk in thus visiting me,"

said Viviana, tenderly embracing her.

"I would expose myself to any risk for you, sweet lady," replied Ruth.

"But, oh! why do I see you here again? The chief support of Guy Fawkes

during his sufferings has been the thought that you were at liberty."

"I surrendered myself in the hope of beholding him again," rejoined

Viviana.

"You have given a fond, but fatal proof of your affection," returned

Ruth. "The knowledge that you are a captive will afflict him more than

all the torments he has endured."

"What torments _has_ he endured, Ruth?" inquired Viviana with a look of

anguish.

"Do not ask me to repeat them," replied the jailer's daughter. "They are

too dreadful to relate. When you behold his shattered frame and altered

looks, you will comprehend what he has undergone."

"Alas!" exclaimed Viviana, bursting into tears, "I almost fear to behold

him."

"You must prepare for a fearful shock," returned Ruth. "And now, madam,

I must take my leave. I will endeavour to see you again to-morrow, but

dare not promise to do so. I should not have been able to visit you now,

but that my father is engaged with Lord Mounteagle."

"With Lord Mounteagle!" cried Viviana. "Upon what business?

"Upon a foul business," rejoined Ruth. "No less than the destruction of

Mr. Tresham, who is now a prisoner in the Tower. Lord Mounteagle came to

the Well Tower this evening, and I accidentally overheard him propose to

my father to administer poison to the person I have named."

"I do not pity their victim," returned Viviana. "He is a double-dyed

traitor, and will meet with the fate he deserves."

"Farewell, madam," said Ruth. "If I do not see you again, you will know

that you have one friend in this fortress who deeply sympathizes with

your afflictions."

So saying, she withdrew, and Viviana heard the bolts slipped gently into

their sockets.

Vainly, after Ruth's visit, did she try to compose herself. Sleep fled

her eyes, and she was haunted all night by the image of Fawkes, haggard

and shattered by torture, as he had been described by the jailer's

daughter. Day and night were the same to her, and she could only compute

progress of the time by her own feelings, judging by which, she supposed

it to be late in the day when she was again visited. The bolts of her

cell being withdrawn, two men clad in long black gowns, and having hoods

drawn over their faces, entered it. They were followed by Ipgreve; and

Viviana, concluding she was about to be led to the torture, endeavoured

to string herself to its endurance. Though he guessed what was passing

in her breast, Jasper Ipgreve did not care to undeceive her, but

motioning the hooded officials to follow him with her, quitted the cell.

Seizing each a hand, the attendants led her after him along a number of

intricate passages, until he stopped before the door of a cell, which he

opened.

"Be brief in what you have to say," he cried, thrusting her forward. "I

shall not allow you much time."

Viviana no sooner set foot in the cell than she felt in whose presence

she stood. On a stool at the further end of the narrow chamber, with his

head upon his breast, and a cloak wrapped around his limbs, sat Fawkes.

A small iron lamp, suspended by a rusty chain from the ceiling, served

to illumine his ghastly features. He lifted his eyes from the ground on

her entrance, and recognising her, uttered a cry of anguish. Raising

himself by a great effort, he opened his arms, and she rushed into them.

For some moments, both continued silent. Grief took away their

utterance; but at length, Guy Fawkes spoke.

"My cup of bitterness was not sufficiently full," he said. "This alone

was wanting to make it overflow."

"I fear you will blame me," she replied, "when you learn that I have

voluntarily surrendered myself."

Guy Fawkes uttered a deep groan.

"I am the cause of your doing so," he said.

"You are so," she replied. "But you will forgive me when you know my

motive. I came here to urge you to repentance. Oh! if you hope that we

shall meet again hereafter--if you hope that we shall inherit joys which

will requite us for all our troubles, you will employ the brief time

left you on earth in imploring forgiveness for your evil intentions."

"Having had no evil intentions," replied Fawkes, coldly, "I have no

pardon to ask."

"The Tempter who led you into the commission of sin under the semblance

of righteousness, puts these thoughts into your heart," replied Viviana.

"You have escaped the commission of an offence which must have deprived

you of the joys of heaven, and I am thankful for it. But if you remain

impenitent, I shall tremble for your salvation."

"My account will soon be settled with my Maker," rejoined Fawkes; "and

he will punish or reward me according to my deserts. I have acted

according to my conscience, and can never repent that which I believe to

be a righteous design."

"But do you not now see that you were mistaken," returned Viviana,--"do

you not perceive that the sword which you raised against others has been

turned against yourself,--and that the Great Power whom you serve and

worship has declared himself against you?"

"You seek in vain to move me," replied Fawkes. "I am as insensible to

your arguments as to the tortures of my enemies."

"Then Heaven have mercy upon your soul!" she rejoined.

"Look at me, Viviana," cried Fawkes, "and behold the wreck I am. What

has supported me amid my tortures--in this dungeon--in the presence of

my relentless foes?--what, but the consciousness of having acted

rightly? And what will support me on the scaffold except the same

conviction? If you love me, do not seek to shake my faith! But it is

idle to talk thus. You cannot do so. Rest satisfied we shall meet again.

Everything assures me of it. Wretched as I appear in this solitary cell,

I am not wholly miserable, because I am buoyed up by the certainty that

my actions are approved by Heaven."

"I will not attempt to destroy the delusion, since it is productive of

happiness to you," replied Viviana. "But if my earnest, heartfelt

prayers can conduce to your salvation, they shall not be wanting."

As she spoke, the door of the cell was opened by Jasper Ipgreve, who

stepped towards her, and seized her roughly by the hand.

"Your time has expired, mistress," he said; "you must come with me."

"A minute longer," implored Fawkes.

"Not a second," replied Ipgreve.

"Shall we not meet again?" cried Viviana, distractedly.

"Ay, the day before your execution," rejoined Ipgreve. "I have good news

for you," he added, pausing for a moment, and addressing Fawkes. "Mr.

Tresham, who I told you has been brought to the Tower, has been taken

suddenly and dangerously ill."

"If the traitor perishes before me, I shall die content," observed

Fawkes.

"Then rest assured of it," said Viviana. "The task of vengeance is

already fulfilled."

She was then forced away by Ipgreve, and delivered by him to the hooded

officials outside, who hurried her back to her dungeon.

CHAPTER XII.

THE TRAITOR BETRAYED.

Lord Mounteagle arrived at the Tower shortly after Viviana, and

repairing at once to the lieutenant's lodgings, had a brief conference

with him, and informed him that he had a secret order to deliver to

Jasper Ipgreve, from the Earl of Salisbury, touching the conspirators.

Sir William Waad would have summoned the jailer; but Mounteagle

preferred visiting him at the Well Tower, and accordingly proceeded

thither.

He found Ipgreve with his wife and daughter, and telling him he desired

a moment's private speech with him, the jailer dismissed them.

Suspecting that the new-comer's errand related in some way to Viviana,

Ruth contrived to place herself in such a situation that she could

overhear what passed. A moment's scrutiny of Jasper's villanous

countenance satisfied Mounteagle that the Earl of Salisbury was not

mistaken in his man; and, as soon as he supposed they were alone, he

unhesitatingly opened his plan to him. As he expected, Jasper exhibited

no reluctance to undertake it; and, after some further discussion, it

was agreed to put it in execution without delay.

"The sooner Mr. Tresham is silenced the better," said Jasper; "for he

threatens to make disclosures to the Council that will bring some noble

persons," with a significant look at Mounteagle, "into trouble."

"Where is he confined?" demanded the other.

"In the Beauchamp Tower," replied Ipgreve.

"I will visit him at once," said Mounteagle; "and when I have conferred

with him, will call for wine. Bring two goblets, and in that which you

give to Tresham place this powder."

Ipgreve nodded assent, and with a grim smile took the packet. Shortly

after this, they quitted the Well Tower together, and passing under the

archway of the Bloody Tower, crossed the green, and entered the

fortification in which the traitor was confined. Tresham was treated

with far greater consideration than the other conspirators, being

allowed the use of the large room on the upper floor of the Beauchamp

Tower, which was seldom allotted to any persons except those of the

highest distinction. When they entered, he was pacing to and fro within

his chamber in great agitation; but he immediately stopped on seeing

Mounteagle, and rushed towards him.

"You bring me my liberation?" he said.

"It is impossible to effect it at present," returned the other. "But

make yourself perfectly easy. Your confinement will not be of long

duration."

"I will not be trifled with," cried Tresham, furiously. "If I am

examined by the Council, look to yourselves. As I hope for salvation,

the truth shall out."

"Leave us," said Mounteagle, with a significant look at the jailer, who

quitted the chamber.

"Hark'e, Mounteagle," said Tresham, as soon as they were alone, "I have

been your tool thus far. But if you propose to lead me blindfold to the

scaffold, you are greatly mistaken. You think that you have me safe

within these walls; that my voice cannot be heard; and that I cannot

betray you. But you are deceived--fearfully deceived, as you will find.

I have your letters--the Earl of Salisbury's letters, proving that you

were both aware of the plot--and that you employed me to watch its

progress, and report it to you. I have also letters from Doctor Dee, the

warden of Manchester, detailing his acquaintance with the conspiracy,

and containing descriptions of the persons of Fawkes and Catesby, which

I showed to the Earl of Salisbury.--These letters are now in my

possession, and I will deliver them to the Council, if I am not

released."

"Deliver them to me, and I swear to you, you shall be set free," said

Mounteagle.

"I will not trust you," rejoined Tresham. "Liberate me, and they are

yours. But I will not rob myself of vengeance. I will confound you and

the false Earl of Salisbury."

"You wrong us both by your unjust suspicions," said Mounteagle.

"Wrong you!" echoed Tresham, contemptuously. "Where is my promised

reward? Why am I in this dungeon? Why am I treated like a traitor? If

you meant me fairly, I should not be here, but like yourself at liberty,

and in the enjoyment of the King's favour. But you have duped me,

villain, and shall rue it. If I am led to the scaffold, it shall be in

your company."

"Compose yourself," rejoined Mounteagle, calmly. "Appearances, I own,

are against us. But circumstances render it imperatively necessary that

the Earl of Salisbury should appear to act against you. You have been

charged by Guy Fawkes, when under the torture, of being a confederate in

the design, and your arrest could not be avoided. I am come hither to

give you a solemn assurance that no harm shall befal you, but that you

shall be delivered from your thraldom in a few days--perhaps in a few

hours."

"You have no further design against me," said Tresham, suspiciously.

"What motive could I have in coming hither, except to set your mind at

rest?" rejoined Mounteagle.

"And I shall receive my reward?" demanded Tresham.

"You will receive your reward," returned Mounteagle, with significant

emphasis. "I swear it. So make yourself easy."

"If I thought I might trust you, I should not heed my imprisonment,

irksome though it be," rejoined Tresham.

"It cannot be avoided, for the reasons I have just stated," replied

Mounteagle. "But come, no more despondency. All will be well with you

speedily. Let us drown care in a bumper. What ho! jailer," he added,

opening the door, "a cup of wine!"

In a few minutes, Ipgreve made his appearance, bearing two goblets

filled with wine on a salver, one of which he presented to Mounteagle,

and the other to Tresham.

"Here is to your speedy deliverance from captivity!" said Mounteagle,

draining the goblet. "You will not refuse that pledge, Tresham?"

"Of a surety not," replied the other. "To my speedy deliverance!"

And he emptied the cup, while Mounteagle and the jailer exchanged

significant glances.

"And now, having fully discharged my errand, I must bid you farewell,"

said Mounteagle.

"You will not forget your promise?" observed Tresham.

"Assuredly not," replied the other. "A week hence, and you will make no

complaint against me.--Are you sure you did not give me the wrong

goblet?" he added to Ipgreve, as they descended the spiral staircase.

"Quite sure, my lord," returned the jailer, with a grim smile.

Mounteagle immediately quitted the Tower, and hastening to Whitehall,

sought out the Earl of Salisbury, to whom he related what he had done.

The Earl complimented him on his skilful management of the matter; and

congratulating each other upon having got rid of a dangerous and now

useless instrument, they separated.

On the following day, Tresham was seized with a sudden illness, and

making known his symptoms to Ipgreve, the chirurgeon who attended the

prison was sent for, and on seeing him, pronounced him dangerously ill,

though he was at a loss to explain the nature of his disorder. Every

hour the sick man grew worse, and he was torn with racking pains.

Connecting his sudden seizure with the visit of Lord Mounteagle, an idea

of the truth flashed upon him, and he mentioned his suspicions to the

chirurgeon, charging Jasper Ipgreve with being accessory to the deed.

The jailer stoutly denied the accusation, and charged the prisoner in

his turn with making a malicious statement to bring him into discredit.

"I will soon test the truth of his assertion," observed the chirurgeon,

taking a small flat piece of the purest gold from his doublet. "Place

this in your mouth."

Tresham obeyed, and Ipgreve watched the experiment with gloomy

curiosity.

"You are a dead man," said the chirurgeon to Tresham, as he drew forth

the piece of gold, and perceived that it was slightly tarnished. "Poison

_has_ been administered to you."

"Is there no remedy--no counter-poison?" demanded Tresham, eagerly.

The chirurgeon shook his head.

"Then let the lieutenant be summoned," said Tresham; "I have an

important confession to make to him. I charge this man," pointing to the

jailer, "with giving poisoned wine to me. Do you hear what I say to

you?"

"I do," replied the chirurgeon.

"But he will never reveal it," said Ipgreve, with great unconcern. "I

have a warrant from the Earl of Salisbury for what I have done."

"What!" cried Tresham, "can murder be committed here with impunity?"

"You have to thank your own indiscretion for what has happened,"

rejoined Ipgreve. "Had you kept a close tongue in your head, you would

have been safe."

"Can nothing be done to save me?" cried the miserable man, with an

imploring look at the chirurgeon.

"Nothing whatever," replied the person appealed to. "I would advise you

to recommend your soul to God."

"Will you not inform the lieutenant that I desire to speak with him?"

demanded Tresham.

The chirurgeon glanced at Ipgreve, and receiving a sign from him, gave a

promise to that effect.

They then quitted the cell together, leaving Tresham in a state of

indescribable agony both of mind and body. Half an hour afterwards, the

chirurgeon returned, and informed him that the lieutenant refused to

visit him, or to hear his confession, and wholly discredited the fact of

his being poisoned.

"I will take charge of your papers, if you choose to commit them to me,"

he said, "and will lay them before the Council."

"No," replied Tresham; "while life remains to me I will never part with

them."

"I have brought you a mixture which, though it cannot heal you, will, at

least, allay your sufferings," said the chirurgeon.

"I will not take it," groaned Tresham. "I distrust you as much as the

others."

"I will leave it with you, at all events," rejoined the chirurgeon,

setting down the phial.

The noise of the bolts shot into their sockets sounded to Tresham as if

his tomb were closed upon him, and he uttered a cry of anguish. He would

have laid violent hands upon himself, and accelerated his own end, but

he wanted courage to do so, and continued to pace backwards and forwards

across his chamber as long as his strength lasted. He was about to throw

himself on the couch, from which he never expected to rise again, when

his eyes fell upon the phial. "What if it should be poison!" he said,

"it will end my sufferings the sooner."

And placing it to his lips, he swallowed its contents. As the chirurgeon

had foretold, it alleviated his sufferings, and throwing himself on the

bed he sank into a troubled slumber, during which he dreamed that

Catesby appeared to him with a vengeful countenance, and tried to drag

him into a fathomless abyss that yawned beneath their feet. Shrieking

with agony, he awoke, and found two persons standing by his couch. One

of them was the jailer, and the other appeared, from his garb, to be a

priest; but a hood was drawn over his head so as to conceal his

features.

"Are you come to witness my dying pangs, or to finish me?" demanded

Tresham of the jailer.

"I am come for neither purpose," replied Ipgreve; "I pity your

condition, and have brought you a priest of your own faith, who, like

yourself, is a prisoner in the Tower. I will leave him with you, but he

cannot remain long, so make the most of your time." And with these

words, he retired.

When he was gone, the supposed priest, who spoke in feeble and

faltering accents, desired to hear Tresham's confession, and having

listened to it, gave him absolution. The wretched man then drew from his

bosom a small packet, and offered it to the confessor, who eagerly

received it.

"This contains the letters of the Earl of Salisbury and Lord Mounteagle,

which I have just mentioned," he said. "I pray you lay them before the

Privy Council."

"I will not fail to do so," replied the confessor.

And reciting the prayer for one _in extremis_ over the dying man, he

departed.

"I have obtained the letters from him," said Mounteagle, throwing back

his hood as he quitted the chamber, and addressing the jailer. "And now

you need give yourself no further concern about him, he will be dead

before morning."

Jasper Ipgreve locked the door upon the prisoner, and proceeded to the

Well Tower. When he returned, he found Mounteagle's words had come to

pass. Tresham was lying on the floor quite dead--his collapsed frame and

distorted countenance showing the agonies in which he must have expired.

CHAPTER XIII.

THE TRIAL.

The trial of the conspirators, which had been delayed in order that full

evidence might be procured against them, was, at length, appointed to

take place in Westminster Hall, on Monday, the 27th of January, 1606.

Early on the morning of this day, the eight surviving confederates

(Garnet and Oldcorne being at this time secreted at Hendlip) were

conveyed in two large covered wherries from the fortress to the place of

trial. In spite of the severity of the weather,--it was snowing heavily,

and the river was covered with sheets of ice,--they were attended by a

vast number of boats filled with persons anxious to obtain a sight of

them. Such was the abhorrence in which the actors in the conspiracy were

held by the populace, that, not content with menaces and execrations,

many of these persons hurled missiles against the wherries, and would

have proceeded to further violence if they had not been restrained by

the pikemen. When the prisoners landed, a tremendous and fearful shout

was raised by the mob stationed at the head of the stairs, and it

required the utmost efforts of the guard to protect them from injury.

Two lines of soldiers, with calivers on their shoulders, were drawn out

from the banks of the river to the entrance of the Hall, and between

them the conspirators marched.

The melancholy procession was headed by Sir William Waad, who was

followed by an officer of the guard and six halberdiers. Then came the

executioner, carrying the gleaming implement of death with its edge

turned from the prisoners. He was followed by Sir Everard Digby, whose

noble figure and handsome countenance excited much sympathy among the

beholders, and Ambrose Rookwood. Next came the two Winters, both of whom

appeared greatly dejected. Next, John Grant and Robert Bates,--Catesby's

servant, who had been captured at Holbeach. And lastly, Keyes and

Fawkes.

Bitterly and justly incensed as were the multitude against the

conspirators, their feelings underwent some change as they beheld the

haggard countenance and shattered frame of Guy Fawkes. It was soon

understood that he was the individual who had been found in the vault

near the Parliament House, with the touchwood and matches in his belt

ready to fire the train; and the greatest curiosity was exhibited to see

him.

Just as the foremost of the conspirators reached the entrance of the

Hall, a terrific yell, resembling nothing human, except the roar of a

thousand tigers thirsting for blood, was uttered by the mob, and a

tremendous but ineffectual attempt was made to break through the lines

of the guard. Never before had so large an assemblage been collected on

the spot. The whole of the space extending on one hand from Westminster

Hall to the gates of Whitehall, and on the other to the Abbey, was

filled with spectators; and every roof, window, and buttress was

occupied. Nor was the interior of the Hall less crowded. Not an inch of

room was unoccupied; and it was afterwards complained in Parliament,

that the members of the house had been so pressed and incommoded, that

they could not hear what was said at the arraignment.

The conspirators were first conveyed to the court of the Star-Chamber,

where they remained till the Lords Commissioners had arrived, and taken

their seats. The commissioners were the Earl of Nottingham, Lord High

Admiral of England; the Earl of Suffolk, Steward of the Household; the

Earl of Worcester, Master of the Horse; the Earl of Devonshire, Master

of the Ordnance; the Earl of Northampton, Warden of the Cinque-Ports;

the Earl of Salisbury, Principal Secretary of State; Sir John Popham,

Lord Chief Justice; Sir Thomas Fleming, Lord Chief Baron of the

Exchequer; and Sir Thomas Walmisley and Sir Peter Warburton, Knights,

and both Justices of the Common Pleas.

Summoned by an usher, the conspirators were conducted to a platform

covered with black cloth, which had been erected at the lower end of the

Hall. A murmur of indignation, vainly sought to be repressed by the

grave looks of the Commissioners, burst from the immense assemblage, as

they one by one ascended the steps of the platform. Guy Fawkes was the

last to mount, and his appearance was followed by a deep groan.

Supporting himself against the rail of the scaffold, he surveyed the

assemblage with a stern and undaunted look. As he gazed around, he could

not help marvelling at the vast multitude before him. The whole of the

peers and all the members of the House of Commons were present, while in

a box on the left, though screened by a lattice, sat the Queen and

Prince Henry; and in another on the right, and protected in the same

way, the King and his courtiers.

Silence being peremptorily commanded, the indictment was read, wherein

the prisoners were charged with conspiring to blow up the King and the

peers with gunpowder, and with attempting to incite the Papists, and

other persons, to open rebellion; to which all the conspirators, to the

no small surprise of those who heard them, and were aware that they had

subscribed their confessions, pleaded not guilty.

"How, sir!" cried the Lord Chief Justice, in a stern tone to Fawkes.

"With what face can you pretend to deny the indictment, when you were

actually taken in the cellar with the powder, and have already confessed

your treasonable intentions?"

"I do not mean to deny what I have confessed, my lord," replied Fawkes.

"But this indictment contains many matters which I neither can nor will

countenance by assent or silence. And I therefore deny it."

"It is well," replied the Lord Chief Justice. "Let the trial proceed."

The indictment being opened by Sir Edward Philips, sergeant-at-law, he

was followed by Sir Edward Coke, the attorney-general, who in an

eloquent and elaborate speech, which produced an extraordinary effect

upon the assemblage, expatiated upon the monstrous nature of the plot,

which he characterised as "the greatest treason that ever was plotted in

England, and against the greatest king that ever reigned in England;"

and after narrating the origin and progress of the conspiracy, concluded

by desiring that the confessions of the prisoners should be openly read.

This done, the jury were ordered by the Lord Chief Justice to retire,

and the injunction being obeyed, they almost instantly returned with a

verdict of guilty.

A deep, dread silence then prevailed throughout the Hall, and every eye

was bent upon the conspirators, all of whom maintained a composed

demeanour. They were then questioned by the Lord Chief Justice whether

they had anything to say why judgment of death should not be pronounced

against them.

"All I have to crave of your lordships," said Thomas Winter, "is, that

being the chief offender of the two, I may die for my brother and

myself."

"And I ask only that my brother's request may not be granted," said

Robert Winter. "If he is condemned, I do not desire to live."

"I have nothing to solicit--not even pardon," said Keyes, carelessly.

"My fortunes were always desperate, and are better now than they have

ever been."

"I desire mercy," said Rookwood, "not from any fear of death, but

because so shameful an ending will leave a perpetual stain upon my name

and blood. I humbly submit myself to the King, and pray him to imitate

our Supreme Judge, who sometimes punishes corporally, but not mortally."

"I have been guilty of a conspiracy, intended but never effected," said

John Grant, "and solicit forgiveness on that plea."

"My crime has been fidelity to my master," said Bates. "If the King will

let me live, I will serve him as faithfully as I did Mr. Catesby."

"I would not utter a word," said Fawkes, looking sternly round; "if I

did not fear my silence might be misinterpreted. I would not accept a

pardon if it were offered me. I regard the project as a glorious one,

and only lament its failure."

"Silence the vile traitor," said the Earl of Salisbury, rising.

And as he spoke two halberdiers sprang up the steps of the scaffold, and

placing themselves on either side of Fawkes, prepared to gag him.

"I have done," he said, contemptuously regarding them.

"I have nothing to say save this," said Sir Everard Digby, bowing to the

judges. "If any of your lordships will tell me you forgive me, I shall

go more cheerfully to the scaffold."

"Heaven forgive you, Sir Everard," said the Earl of Nottingham,

returning his reverence, "as we do."

"I humbly thank your lordship," replied Digby.

Sentence was then passed upon the prisoners by Lord Chief Justice

Popham, and they were removed from the platform.

As they issued from the Hall, and it became known to the assemblage

without that they were condemned, a shout of fierce exultation rent the

air, and they were so violently assailed on all sides, that they had

great difficulty in reaching the wherries. The guard, however,

succeeded, at length, in accomplishing their embarkation, and they were

conveyed back in safety to the Tower.

CHAPTER XIV.

THE LAST MEETING OF FAWKES AND VIVIANA.

Up to this time, Viviana had not been allowed another interview with Guy

Fawkes. She was twice interrogated by the Privy-Council, but having

confessed all she knew of the conspiracy, excepting what might implicate

Garnet and Oldcorne, neither of whom she was aware had been

apprehended, she was not again subjected to the torture. Her health,

however, rapidly sank under her confinement, and she was soon reduced to

such an extreme state of debility that she could not leave her bed. The

chirurgeon having been called in by Dame Ipgreve to attend her, reported

her condition to Sir William Waad, who directed that every means should

be adopted for her restoration, and that Ruth Ipgreve should remain in

constant attendance upon her.

Ascertaining all particulars relative to Guy Fawkes from the jailer's

daughter, it was a sad satisfaction to Viviana to learn that he spent

his whole time in devotion, and appeared completely resigned to his

fate. It had been the Earl of Salisbury's purpose to bring Viviana to

trial at the same time as the rest of the conspirators, but the

chirurgeon reporting that her removal at this juncture would be attended

with fatal consequences, he was compelled to defer it.

When the result of the trial was made known to Viviana by Ruth, though

she had anticipated the condemnation of Guy Fawkes, she swooned away,

and on her recovery, observed to Ruth, who was greatly alarmed at her

looks, "I feel I am going fast. I should wish to see my husband once

more before I die."

"I fear it is impossible, madam," replied Ruth; "but I will try to

accomplish it."

"Do so," rejoined Viviana; "and my blessing shall rest ever on your

head."

"Have you any valuable?" inquired Ruth. "My heart bleeds to make the

demand at such a moment. But it is the only way to produce an effect on

the avaricious nature of my father."

"I have nothing but this golden crucifix," said Viviana; "and I meant to

give it to you."

"It will be better employed in this way," rejoined Ruth, taking it from

her.

Quitting the cell, she hurried to the Well Tower, and found her father,

who had just returned from locking up the conspirators in their

different dungeons, sitting down to his evening meal.

"What is the matter with the wench?" he cried, staring at her. "You look

quite distracted. Is Viviana Radcliffe dead?"

"No; but she is dying," replied Ruth.

"If that is the case I must go to her directly," observed Dame Ipgreve.

"She may have some valuable about her which I must secure."

"You will be disappointed, mother," rejoined Ruth, with a look of

irrepressible disgust. "She has nothing valuable left but this golden

crucifix, which she has sent to my father, on condition of his allowing

Guy Fawkes to see her before she dies."

"Give it me, wench," cried Jasper Ipgreve; "and let her die in peace."

"She will _not_ die in peace unless she sees him," replied Ruth. "Nor

shall you have it, if you do not comply with her request."

"How!" exclaimed her father, "do you dare----"

"Think not to terrify me, father," interrupted Ruth; "I am resolute in

this. Hear me," she cried, seizing his arm, and fixing a look upon him

that seemed to pierce his soul,--"hear me," she said, in a tone so low

as to be inaudible to her mother; "she _shall_ see him, or I will

denounce you as the murderer of Tresham. Now will you comply?"

"Give me the cross," said Ipgreve.

"Not till you have earned it," replied his daughter.

"Well, well," he rejoined; "if it must be, it must. But I may get into

trouble in the matter. I must consult Master Forsett, the gentleman

jailer, who has the charge of Guy Fawkes, before I dare take him to her

cell."

"Consult whom you please," rejoined Ruth, impatiently; "but lose no

time, or you will be too late."

Muttering imprecations on his daughter, Ipgreve left the Well Tower, and

Ruth hurried back to Viviana, whom she found anxiously expecting her,

and related to her what she had done.

"Oh, that I may hold out till he comes!" cried Viviana; "but my strength

is failing fast."

Ruth endeavoured to comfort her; but she was unequal to the effort, and

bursting into tears, knelt down, and wept upon the pillow beside her.

Half an hour had now elapsed. It seemed an age to the poor sufferers,

and still the jailer came not, and even Ruth had given up all hope, when

a heavy tread was heard in the passage; the door was opened; and Guy

Fawkes appeared, attended by Ipgreve and Forsett.

"We will not interrupt your parting," said Forsett, who seemed to have a

touch of humanity in his composition. And beckoning to Ruth to follow

him, he quitted the cell with Ipgreve.

Guy Fawkes, meanwhile, had approached the couch, and gazed with an

expression of intense anguish at Viviana. She returned his glance with a

look of the utmost affection, and clasped his hand between her thin

fingers.

"I am now standing on the brink of eternity," she said in a solemn tone,

"and I entreat you earnestly, as you hope to insure our meeting

hereafter, to employ the few days left you in sincere and hearty

repentance. You have sinned--sinned deeply, but not beyond the power of

redemption. Let me feel that I have saved you, and my last moments will

be happy. Oh! by the love I have borne you--by the pangs I have endured

for you--by the death I am now dying for you--let me implore you not to

lose one moment, but to supplicate a merciful Providence to pardon your

offence."

[Illustration: _Death of Viviana_]

"I will--I will," rejoined Fawkes, in broken accents. "You have opened

my eyes to my error, and I sincerely repent it."

"Saved! saved!" cried Viviana, raising herself in the bed. Opening her

arms, she strained him to her bosom; and for a few moments they mingled

their tears together.

"And now," she said, sinking backwards, "kneel by me--pray for

forgiveness--pray audibly, and I will join in your prayer."

Guy Fawkes knelt by the bedside, and addressed the most earnest

supplications to Heaven for forgiveness. For a while he heard Viviana's

gentle accents accompany him. They grew fainter and fainter, until at

last they totally ceased. Filled with a dreadful apprehension, he sprang

to his feet. An angelic smile illumined her countenance; her gaze was

fixed on him for one moment--it then grew dim and dimmer, until it was

extinguished.

Guy Fawkes uttered a cry of the wildest despair, and fell to the ground.

Alarmed by the sound, Forsett and Ipgreve, who were standing outside,

rushed into the cell, and instantly raised him. But he was now in a

state of distraction, and for the moment seemed endowed with all his

former strength. Striving to break from them, he cried, in a tone of the

most piercing anguish, "You shall not tear me from her! I will die with

her! Let me go, I say, or I will dash out my brains against these flinty

walls, and balk you of your prey."

But his struggles were in vain. They held him fast, and calling for

further assistance, conveyed him to his cell, where, fearing he might do

some violence to himself, they placed him in irons.

Ruth entered the cell as soon as Fawkes and the others had quitted it,

and performed the last sad offices for the departed. Alternately praying

and weeping, she watched by the body during the whole of the night. On

the following day, the remains of the unfortunate Viviana were interred

in the chapel of Saint Peter on the Green, and the sole mourner was the

jailer's daughter.

"Peace be with her!" cried Ruth, as she turned away from the grave. "Her

sorrows at last are over."

CHAPTER XV.

SAINT PAUL'S CHURCHYARD.

Guy Fawkes was for some time wholly inconsolable. His stoical nature

seemed completely subdued, and he wept like an infant. By degrees,

however, the violence of his grief abated, and calling to mind the last

injunctions of her whose loss he mourned, he addressed himself to

prayer, and acknowledging his guilt, besought her intercession with

Heaven for his forgiveness.

It will not seem strange, when his superstitious character is taken into

consideration, that he should fancy he received an immediate proof that

his prayers were heard. To his excited imagination it appeared that a

soft unearthly strain of music floated in the air over his head; that an

odour like that of Paradise filled his cell; while an invisible finger

touched his brow. While in this entranced state, he was utterly

insensible to his present miserable situation, and he seemed to have a

foretaste of celestial happiness. He did not, however, desist from

prayer, but continued his supplications throughout the day.

On that night, he was visited by the lieutenant, who announced to him

that the execution of four of the conspirators was fixed for Thursday

(it was then Tuesday), while his own and that of the three others would

not take place till the following day.

"As you are the greatest traitor of all, your execution will be reserved

to the last," pursued Waad. "No part of the sentence will be omitted.

You will be dragged to Old Palace Yard, over against the scene of your

intended bloody and damnable action, at a horse's tail, and will be

there turned off the gallows, and hanged, _but not till you are dead_.

You will then be embowelled; your vile heart, which conceived this

atrocious design, will be torn beating from your breast; and your

quarters will be placed on the palace gates as an abhorrent spectacle in

the eyes of men, and a terrible proof of the King's just vengeance."

Guy Fawkes heard the recapitulation of his dreadful sentence unmoved.

"The sole mercy I would have craved of his Majesty would have been

permission to die first!" he said. "But Heaven's will be done! I deserve

my doom."

"What! is your stubborn nature at length subdued?" cried the lieutenant

in surprise. "Do you repent of your offence?"

"Deeply and heartily," returned Fawkes.

"Make the sole amends in your power for it, then, and disclose the names

of all who have been connected with the atrocious design," rejoined

Waad.

"I confess myself guilty," replied Fawkes, humbly. "But I accuse no

others."

"Then you die impenitent," rejoined the lieutenant, "and cannot hope for

mercy hereafter."

Guy Fawkes made no answer, but bowed his head upon his breast, and the

lieutenant, darting a malignant look at him, quitted the cell.

On the following day, the whole of the conspirators were taken to St.

John's chapel, in the White Tower, where a discourse was pronounced to

them by Doctor Overall, Dean of St. Paul's, who enlarged upon the

enormity of their offence, and exhorted them to repentance. The

discourse over, they were about to be removed, when two ladies, clad in

mourning habits, entered the chapel. These were Lady Digby and Mrs.

Rookwood, and they immediately flew to their husbands. The rest of the

conspirators walked away, and averted their gaze from the painful scene.

After an ineffectual attempt to speak, Lady Digby swooned away, and was

committed by her husband, while in a state of insensibility, to the care

of an attendant. Mrs. Rookwood, however, who was a woman of high spirit,

and great personal attractions, though the latter were now wasted by

affliction, maintained her composure, and encouraging her husband to

bear up manfully against his situation, tenderly embraced him, and

withdrew. The conspirators were then taken back to their cells.

At an early hour on the following morning the four miserable persons

intended for death, namely, Sir Everard Digby, the elder Winter, John

Grant, and Bates, were conducted to the Beauchamp Tower. Bates would

have stood aloof from his superiors; but Sir Everard Digby took him

kindly by the hand, and drew him towards them.

"No distinctions must be observed now," he said. "We ought to beg pardon

of thee, my poor fellow, for bringing thee into this strait."

"Think not of me, worshipful sir," replied Bates. "I loved Mr. Catesby

so well, that I would have laid down my life for him at any time; and I

now die cheerfully in his cause."

"Mr. Lieutenant," said Robert Winter to Sir William Waad, who stood near

them with Forsett and Ipgreve, "I pray you commend me to my brother.

Tell him I die in entire love of him, and if it is possible for the

departed to watch over the living, I will be with him at his last hour."

At this moment, a trampling of horses was heard on the green, and the

lieutenant proceeding to the grated window, saw four mounted troopers,

each having a sledge and hurdle attached by ropes to his steed, drawn up

before the door. While he was gazing at them, an officer entered the

room, and informed him that all was in readiness. Sir William Waad then

motioned the prisoners to follow him, and they descended the spiral

staircase.

The green was thronged with horse and foot soldiers, and as the

conspirators issued from the arched door of the fortification, the bell

of Saint Peter's chapel began to toll. Sir Everard Digby was first bound

to a hurdle, with his face towards the horse, and the others were

quickly secured in the same manner. The melancholy cavalcade was then

put in motion. A troop of horse-soldiers in their full accoutrements,

and with calivers upon their shoulders, rode first; then came a band of

halberdiers on foot; then the masked executioner mounted on a led horse,

then the four prisoners on the hurdles, one after the other; then the

lieutenant on horseback; while another band of horse-soldiers, equipped

like the first, brought up the rear. They were met by the Recorder of

London, Sir Henry Montague, and the sheriffs, at the gate of the Middle

Tower, to the latter of whom the lieutenant, according to custom,

delivered up the bodies of the prisoners. After a short delay, the train

again set forward, and emerging from the Bulwark Gate, proceeded through

an enormous concourse of spectators towards Tower-street.

Aware that a vast crowd would be assembled in the city, and apprehensive

of some popular tumult, the Lord Mayor had issued precepts to the

aldermen of every ward, commanding them "to cause one able and

sufficient person, with a halbert in his hand, to stand at the door of

every dwelling-house in the open street in the way that the traitors

were to be drawn towards the place of execution, there to remain from

seven in the morning until the return of the sheriffs." But these were

not the whole of the arrangements made to preserve order. The cavalcade,

it was fixed, was to proceed along Tower-street, Gracechurch street,

Lombard-street, Cheapside, and so on to the west end of Saint Paul's

cathedral, where the scaffold was erected. Along the whole road, on

either side, a line of halberdiers was drawn up, while barriers were

erected against the cross streets. Nor were these precautions needless.

Such a vast concourse was collected, that nothing but the presence of a

strong armed force could have prevented confusion and disorder. The

roofs of all the houses, the towers of the churches, the steps of the

crosses were covered with spectators, who groaned and hooted as the

conspirators passed by.

The scaffold, as has just been stated, was erected in front of the great

western entrance of the cathedral. The mighty valves of the sacred

structure were thrown open, and disclosed its columned aisles crowded

with spectators, as was its roof and central tower. The great bell,

which had begun to toll when the melancholy procession came in sight,

continued to pour forth its lugubrious sounds during the whole of the

ceremonial. The rolling of muffled drums was likewise heard above the

tumultuous murmurs of the impatient multitude. The whole area from the

cathedral to Ludgate-hill was filled with spectators, but an open space

was kept clear in front of the scaffold, in which the prisoners were one

by one unbound from the hurdles.

During this awful pause, they had sufficient time to note the whole of

the dreadful preparations. At a little distance from them was a large

fire, on which boiled a caldron of pitch, destined to receive their

dismembered limbs. A tall gallows, approached by a double ladder, sprung

from the scaffold, on which the hangman was already mounted with the

rope in his hand. At the foot of the ladder was the quartering-block,

near which stood the masked executioner with a chopper in his hand, and

two large sharp knives in his girdle. His arms were bared to the

shoulder; and a leathern apron, soiled by gory stains, and tied round

his waist, completed his butcherly appearance. Straw was scattered upon

the scaffold near the block.

Sir Everard Digby was the first to receive the fatal summons. He mounted

with a firm footstep, and his youth, his noble aspect, and undaunted

demeanour, awakened, as before, the sympathy of the beholders. Looking

round, he thus addressed the assemblage:--

"Good people, I am here about to die, ye well know for what cause.

Throughout the matter, I have acted according to the dictates of my

conscience. They have led me to undertake this enterprise, which, in

respect of my religion, I hold to be no offence, but in respect of the

law a heinous offence, and I therefore ask forgiveness of God, of the

King, and of the whole realm."

Crossing himself devoutly, he then knelt down, and recited his prayers

in Latin, after which he arose, and again looking round, said in an

earnest voice,

"I desire the prayers of all good Catholics, and of none other."

"Then none will pray for you," replied several voices from the crowd.

Heedless of the retort, Sir Everard surrendered himself to the

executioner's assistant, who divested him of his cloak and doublet, and

unfastened his collar. In this state, he mounted the ladder, and the

hangman fulfilled his office.

Robert Winter was next summoned, and ascended the scaffold with great

firmness. Everything proclaimed the terrible tragedy that had just been

enacted. The straw was sprinkled with blood, so was the block, so were

the long knives of the executioner, whose hands and arms were dyed with

the same crimson stain; while in one corner of the scaffold stood a

basket, containing the dismembered limbs of the late unfortunate

sufferer. But these dreadful sights produced no effect on Robert Winter.

Declining to address the assemblage, he at once surrendered himself to

the assistant, and shared the fate of his friend.

Grant was the next to follow. Undismayed as his predecessor, he looked

round with a cheerful countenance, and said,--

"I am about to suffer the death of a traitor, and am content to die so.

But I am satisfied that our project was so far from being sinful, that I

rely entirely on my merits in bearing a part in it, as an abundant

satisfaction and expiation for all the sins I have at other times of my

life committed."

This speech was received by a terrific yell from the multitude. Wholly

unmoved, however, Grant uttered a few prayers, and then crossing

himself, mounted the ladder and was quickly despatched. The bloody

business was completed by the slaughter of Bates, who died as resolutely

as the others.

These executions, being conducted with the utmost deliberation, occupied

nearly an hour. The crowd then separated to talk over the sight they had

witnessed, and to keep holiday during the remainder of the day;

rejoicing that an equally-exciting spectacle was in store for them on

the morrow.

CHAPTER XVI.

OLD PALACE YARD.

Guy Fawkes's tranquillity of mind did not desert him to the last. On the

contrary, as his term of life drew near its close, he became more

cheerful and resigned; his sole anxiety being that all should be

speedily terminated. When Ipgreve took leave of him for the night, he

threw himself on his couch and soon fell into a gentle slumber. His

dreams were soothing, and he fancied that Viviana appeared to him clad

in robes of snowy whiteness, and regarding him with a smiling

countenance, promised that the gates of eternal happiness would be

opened to him on the morrow.

Awaking about four o'clock, he passed the interval between that time and

his summons by the jailer in earnest prayer. At six o'clock, Ipgreve

made his appearance. He was accompanied by his daughter, who had

prevailed on him to allow her to take leave of the prisoner. She

acquainted Fawkes with all particulars of the interment of Viviana, to

which he listened with tearful interest.

"Would my remains might be laid beside her!" he said. "But fate forbids

it!"

"Truly, does it," observed Ipgreve, gruffly; "unless you would have her

body removed to the spikes of Whitehall gates."

Disregarding this brutal speech, which called a blush of shame to the

cheeks of Ruth, Fawkes affectionately pressed her hand, and said,

"Do not forget me in your prayers, and sometimes visit the grave of

Viviana."

"Doubt it not," she replied, in accents half suffocated by grief.

Fawkes then bade her farewell, and followed the jailer through various

intricate passages, which brought them to a door opening upon one of the

lower chambers of the Beauchamp Tower. Unlocking it, Ipgreve led the

way up the circular staircase, and ushered his companion into the large

chamber where Rookwood, Keyes, and Thomas Winter were already assembled.

The morning was clear, but frosty, and bitterly cold; and when the

lieutenant appeared, Rookwood besought him to allow them a fire as their

last earthly indulgence. The request was peremptorily refused. A cup of

hot spiced wine was, however, offered them, and accepted by all except

Fawkes.

At the same hour as on the previous day, the hurdles were brought to the

entrance of the fortification, and the prisoners bound to them. The

recorder and sheriffs met them at the Middle Tower, as they had done the

other conspirators, and the cavalcade set forth. The crowd was even

greater than on the former occasion; and it required the utmost exertion

on the part of the guard to maintain order. Some little delay occurred

at Ludgate; and during this brief halt, Rookwood heard a cry, and

looking up, perceived his wife at the upper window of one of the

habitations, waving her handkerchief to him, and cheering him by her

gestures. He endeavoured to answer her by signs; but his hands were fast

bound, and the next moment, the cavalcade moved on.

At Temple Bar another halt occurred; and as the train moved slowly

forward, an immense crowd, like a swollen stream, swept after it. The

two gates at Whitehall, then barring the road to Westminster, were

opened as the train approached, and a certain portion of the concourse

allowed to pass through. The scaffold, which had been removed from Saint

Paul's, was erected in the middle of Old Palace Yard, in front of the

House of Lords. Around it were circled a band of halberdiers, outside

whom stood a dense throng. The buttresses and pinnacles of the Abbey

were covered with spectators; so was the roof of the Parliament House,

and the gallery over the entrance.

The bell of the Abbey began to toll as the train passed through the

gates of Whitehall, and its deep booming filled the air. Just as the

conspirators were released from the hurdles, Topcliffe, who had

evidently from his disordered attire arrived from a long journey, rode

up, and dismounted.

"I am just in time," he cried, with an exulting glance at the

conspirators; "this is not the last execution I shall witness. Fathers

Garnet and Oldcorne are prisoners, and on their way to London. I was a

long time in unearthing the priestly foxes, but I succeeded at last."

At this moment an officer approached, and summoned Thomas Winter to

mount the scaffold. He obeyed, and exhibited no symptom of quailing,

except that his complexion suddenly turned to a livid colour. Being told

of this by the lieutenant, he tried to account for it by saying that he

thought he saw his brother precede him up the steps. He made a brief

address, protesting he died a true Catholic, and in that faith,

notwithstanding his offences, hoped to be saved.

Rookwood followed him, and indulged in a somewhat longer oration. "I

confess my offence to God," he said, "in seeking to shed blood, and

implore his mercy. I likewise confess my offence to the King, of whose

majesty I humbly ask forgiveness; and I further confess my offence to

the whole state, of whom in general I entreat pardon. May the Almighty

bless the King, the Queen, and all their royal progeny, and grant them a

long and happy reign! May He turn their hearts to the Catholic faith, so

that heresy may be wholly extirpated from the kingdom!"

The first part of this speech was well received by the assemblage, but

the latter was drowned in groans and hootings, amid which Rookwood was

launched into eternity.

Keyes came next, and eyeing the assemblage disdainfully, went up the

ladder, and threw himself off with such force that he broke the rope,

and was instantly despatched by the executioner and his assistants.

Guy Fawkes now alone remained, and he slowly mounted the scaffold. His

foot slipped on the blood-stained boards, and he would have fallen, if

Topcliffe, who stood near him, had not caught his hand. A deep silence

prevailed as he looked around, and uttered the following words in a

clear and distinct voice:--

"I ask forgiveness of the King and the state for my criminal intention,

and trust that my death will wash out my offence."

He then crossed himself and knelt down to pray, after which his cloak

and doublet were removed by the executioner's assistant and placed with

those of the other conspirators. He made an effort to mount the ladder,

but his stiffened limbs refused their office.

"Your courage fails you," sneered Topcliffe, laying his hand upon his

shoulder.

"My strength does," replied Fawkes, sternly regarding him. "Help me up

the ladder, and you shall see whether I am afraid to die."

Seeing how matters stood, the executioner who stood by, leaning upon his

chopper, tendered him his blood-stained hand. But Fawkes rejected it

with disgust, and exerting all his strength, forced himself up the

ladder.

As the hangman adjusted the rope, he observed a singular smile illumine

the features of his victim.

"You seem happy," he said.

"I _am_ so," replied Fawkes, earnestly,--"I see the form of her I loved

beckoning me to unfading happiness."

With this, he stretched out his arms and sprang from the ladder. Before

his frame was exposed to the executioner's knife, life was totally

extinct.

CHAPTER XVII.

THE LAST EXECUTION.

Little more remains to be told, and that little is of an equally painful

nature with the tragical events just related.

Fathers Garnet and Oldcorne, together with Mr. Abingdon and their

servants, arrived in London on the 12th of February, about a fortnight

after the execution of the other conspirators. They were first taken to

the Gate-house at Westminster, and were examined on the following day by

the Earl of Salisbury and the Privy-Council at the Star-Chamber. Nothing

could be elicited from them, and Garnet answered the Earl's

interrogatories with infinite subtlety and address. The examination

over, they were ordered to be removed to the Tower.

Topcliffe accompanied them to the stairs. As they proceeded thither, he

called Garnet's attention to a ghastly object stuck on a spike over the

palace gates.

"Do you recognise those features?" he asked.

"No," replied Garnet, shudderingly averting his gaze.

"I am surprised to hear it," rejoined Topcliffe, "for they were once

well known to you. It is the head of Guy Fawkes. Of all the

conspirators," he added, with a bitter laugh, "he was the only one who

died truly penitent. It is reported that this happy change was wrought

in him by Viviana Radcliffe."

"Heaven have mercy upon his soul!" muttered Garnet.

"I will tell you a strange tale about Catesby," pursued Topcliffe. "He

was buried in the garden at Holbeach with Percy, but an order was sent

down by the Earl of Salisbury to have their bodies disinterred and

quartered. When Catesby's head was severed from the trunk, to be set on

the gates of Warwick, fresh blood spouted forth, as if life were in the

veins."

"You do not expect me to believe this idle story?" said Garnet,

incredulously.

"Believe it or not, as you please," returned Topcliffe, angrily.

On arriving at the fortress, Garnet was lodged in the large chamber of

the Beauchamp Tower, and allowed the attendance of his servant, Nicholas

Owen, while Oldcorne was equally well accommodated in the Constable

Tower. This leniency was the result of the policy of the Earl of

Salisbury, who hoped to obtain disclosures from the two Jesuit priests

which would enable him to strike the decisive blow he meditated against

the Papists. But he was unsuccessful. They refused to make any

confessions which would criminate themselves, or implicate others; and

as none of the conspirators, not even Tresham, had admitted their

connexion with the plot, it was difficult to find proof against them.

Garnet underwent daily examinations from the Earl of Salisbury and the

commissioners, but he baffled all their inquiries.

"If we cannot wring the truth from you by fair means, Mr. Garnet," said

Salisbury, "we must have recourse to torture."

"_Minare ista pueris_," replied Garnet, contemptuously.

"Leave these two priests to me, my lord," observed Sir William Waad, who

was present at the examination, which took place at the council-chamber

in his lodgings,--"leave them to me," he said in a low voice to the

Earl, "and I will engage to procure a full confession from their own

lips, without resorting to torture."

"You will render the state an important service by doing so," replied

Salisbury, in the same tone. "I place the matter entirely in your

hands."

The lieutenant set to work without loss of time. By his directions,

Garnet and Oldcorne were removed from their present places of

confinement to two subterranean cells immediately adjoining each other,

but between which a secret recess, contrived in the thickness of the

wall, and built for the purpose it was subsequently put to, existed. Two

days after they had been so immured, Ipgreve, who had received his

instructions, loitered for a moment in Oldcorne's cell, and with

affected hesitation informed him that for a trifling reward he would

enable him to hold unreserved communication with his fellow-prisoner.

Oldcorne eagerly caught at the bait, but required to be satisfied that

the jailer could make good his words. Ipgreve immediately proceeded to

the side of the cell, and holding a lamp to the wall, showed him a small

iron knob.

"Touch this spring," he said, "and a stone will fall from its place, and

enable you to converse with Father Garnet, who is in the next cell. But

you must take care to replace the stone when any one approaches."

Promising to observe the utmost caution, and totally unsuspicious of the

deceit practised upon him, Oldcorne gave Ipgreve the reward, and as soon

as he was gone, touched the spring, and found it act precisely as the

jailer had stated.

Garnet was greatly surprised to hear the other's voice, and on learning

how the communication was managed was at first suspicious of some

stratagem, but by degrees his fears wore off, and he became unreserved

in his discourse with his companion, discussing the fate of the

conspirators, their own share in the plot, the probability of their

acquittal, and the best means of baffling their examiners. All these

interlocutions were overheard and taken down by the lieutenant and two

other witnesses, Forsett and Lockerson, private secretary to the Earl of

Salisbury, who were concealed in the recess. Having obtained all the

information he desired, Sir William Waad laid his notes before the

Council, and their own confessions being read to the priests, they were

both greatly confused, though neither would admit their authenticity.

Meanwhile, their two servants, Owen and Chambers, had been repeatedly

examined, and refusing to confess, were at last suspended from a beam by

the thumbs. But this producing no result, they were told that on the

following day they would be placed on the rack. Chambers then offered to

make a full confession, but Owen, continuing obstinate, was conveyed

back to his cell. Ipgreve brought him his food as usual in the evening,

and on this occasion, it consisted of broth, and a small allowance of

meat. It was the custom of the jailer to bring with him a small

blunt-pointed knife, with which he allowed the prisoner to cut his

victuals. Having got possession of the knife, Owen tasted the broth, and

complaining that it was quite cold, he implored the jailer to get it

warmed for him, as he felt extremely unwell. Somewhat moved by his

entreaties, and more by his appearance, Ipgreve complied. On his return,

he found the unfortunate man lying in one corner of the cell, partially

covered by a heap of straw which ordinarily formed his bed.

"Here is your broth," he said. "Take it while it is hot. I shall give

myself no further trouble about you."

"It will not be needed," gasped Owen.

Alarmed by the sound of his voice, Ipgreve held the light towards him,

and perceived that his face was pale as death. At the same time, he

remarked that the floor was covered with blood. Instantly divining the

truth, the jailer rushed towards the wretched man, and dragging away the

blood-stained straw, found he had inflicted a frightful wound upon

himself with the knife which he still held in his grasp.

"Fool that I was, to trust you with the weapon!" cried Ipgreve. "But who

would have thought it could inflict a mortal wound?"

"Any weapon will serve him who is resolved to die," rejoined Owen. "You

cannot put me on the rack now." And with a ghastly expression of

triumph, he expired.

Soon after this, Oldcorne and Abingdon were sent down to Worcester,

where the former was tried and executed. Stephen Littleton suffered

death at the same time.

On Friday, the 23rd of March, full proofs being obtained against him,

Garnet was arraigned of high treason at Guildhall. The trial, which

excited extraordinary interest, was attended by the King, by the most

distinguished personages, male and female, of his court, and by all the

foreign ambassadors. Garnet conducted himself throughout his

arraignment, which lasted for thirteen hours, with the same courage and

address which he had displayed on his examinations before the

commissioners. But his subtlety availed him little. He was found guilty

and condemned.

The execution of the sentence was for some time deferred, it being hoped

that a complete admission of his guilt would be obtained from him,

together with disclosures relative to the designs of the Jesuit party.

With this view, the examinations were still continued, but the rigour

with which he had been latterly treated was relaxed. A few days before

his execution, he was visited by several eminent Protestant

Divines,--Doctor Montague, Dean of the Chapel Royal; Doctor Neile, Dean

of Westminster; and Doctor Overall, Dean of Saint Paul's; with whom he

had a long disputation on points of faith and other spiritual matters.

At the close of this discussion, Doctor Overall remarked, "I suppose you

expect, Mr. Garnet, that after your death, the Church of Rome will

declare you a martyr?"

"I a martyr!" exclaimed Garnet, sorrowfully. "O what a martyr I should

be! If, indeed, I were really about to suffer death for the Catholic

religion, and had never known of this project, except by means of

sacramental confession, I might perhaps be accounted worthy the honour

of martyrdom, and might deservedly be glorified in the opinion of our

church. As it is, I acknowledge myself to have sinned in this respect,

and deny not the justice of the sentence passed upon me."

Satisfied, at length, that no further disclosures could be obtained from

him, the King signed the warrant for his execution on the 2nd of May.

The scaffold was erected at the west end of Saint Paul's Cathedral, on

the spot where Digby and the other conspirators had suffered. A vast

assemblage was collected as on the former occasion, and similar

precautions were taken to prevent tumult and disturbance. The

unfortunate man's torture was cruelly and unnecessarily prolonged by a

series of questions proposed to him on the scaffold by Doctor Overall

and the Dean of Westminster, all of which he answered very collectedly

and clearly. He maintained his fortitude to the last. When fully

prepared, he mounted the ladder, and thus addressed the assemblage:--

"I commend myself to all good Catholics. I grieve that I have offended

the King by not revealing the design entertained against him, and that I

did not use more diligence in preventing the execution of the plot. I

commend myself most humbly to the lords of his Majesty's council, and

entreat them not to judge too hardly by me. I beseech all men that

Catholics may not fare the worse for my sake, and I exhort all Catholics

to take care not to mix themselves with seditious or traitorous designs

against the King's Majesty, whom God preserve!"

Making the sign of the cross upon his forehead and breast, he continued:

"_In nomine Patris, Filii, et Spiritus Sancti! Jesus Maria! Maria, mater

gratiae! mater misericordiae! Tu me ab hoste protege, et hora mortis

suscipe! In manus tuas, Domine, commendo spiritum meum, quia tu

redimisti me, Domine, Deus veritatis._" Again crossing himself, he

added,--"_Per crucis hoc signum fugiat procul omne malignum! Infige

crucem tuam, Domine, in corde meo!_"

And with this last pathetic ejaculation he threw himself from the

ladder.

Garnet obtained, after death, the distinction he had disclaimed while

living. He was enrolled, together with Oldcorne, among the list of

Catholic martyrs. Several miracles are affirmed by the Jesuits to have

been performed in his behalf. Father More relates that on the lawn at

Hendlip, where he and Oldcorne last set foot, "a new and hitherto

unknown species of grass sprang up into the exact shape of an imperial

crown, and remained for a long time without being trodden down by the

feet of passengers, or eaten up by the cattle." It was further asserted

that a spring of oil burst forth at the west end of Saint Paul's

Cathedral on the precise spot where he suffered. But the most singular

prodigy is that recounted by Endaemon Joannes, who affirms that in a

straw which had been sprinkled with Garnet's blood, a human countenance,

strangely resembling that of the martyr, was discovered. This legend of

the Miraculous Straw, having received many embellishments and

improvements as it travelled abroad, obtained universal credence, and

was conceived to fully establish Garnet's innocence.

Anne Vaux, the Jesuit's devoted friend, retired with her sister, Mrs.

Brooksby, to a nunnery in Flanders, where she ended her days.

So terminated the memorable and never-to-be-forgotten Gunpowder Treason,

for deliverance from which our church still offers thanksgivings, and in

remembrance of which, on the anniversary of its discovery, fagots are

collected and bonfires lighted to consume the effigy of the

arch-conspirator, GUY FAWKES.

THE END.

Transcriber's Note:

Passages in italics are indicated by _underscore_. Any text appearing

in smallcaps font were shifted to uppercase.

The following corrections were made to text which did not seem

to reflect the spelling of the period, but were rather printer's

errors, or characters that either did not 'ink' properly, or did

not survive, mostly on either margin.

p. 37 typo: "command" -> "command[ed] him to surrender"

p. 65 typo: "theref[e]re" -> "theref[o]re"

p. 72 typo "Saint Winfred's Well" -> "Saint Winifred's Well"

p. 86 typo: "singlar" -> "sing[u]lar circumstance occurred"

p. 138 typo: "delirous" -> "delir[i]ous"

p. 198 Sir William['s] Waad's (spurious 's removed)

p. 244 petrone -> petrone[l]. (supplied missing 'l')

p. 277 typo: "yo[n]" -> "yo[u] are yourself again"

p. 321 "Ann Vaux" -> "Ann[e] Vaux" (final e missing)

p. 354 typo: "exetioner" -> "exe[cu]tioner" (hyphenation error corrected)

p. 359 "... commendo [s]piritum meum" (missing 's' provided)

The following is a list of punctuation errors, especially unclosed

quotations, which have been corrected. The corrections are noted

with []'s.

p. 13 ["]Yours was a...

P. 49 ... if he knew who they were[.]

p. 63 ... than treble our number.["]

p. 106 ... passage under the house[.]

p. 118 ... secrecy with your life[.]

p. 147 ... pointing towards Hampstead[.]

p. 186 replied Viviana, firmly[;]

p. 189 ... reverentially upwards[.]

p. 191 ["]I _do_ remember...

p. 196 "I admit nothing,["]

p. 203 muttered the old woman[.]

p. 208 replied the jailer's daughter[.]

p. 213 eluding the obligation[.]

p. 218 procure Viviana's liberation.["]

p. 222 ... rejoined Guy Fawkes[,]

p. 234 ... shunning the regards of Catesby[,]

p. 318 ...ever require from you[.]"

p. 321 ...the residence of Sir Henry Bromley[.]

p. 322 But I was wofully deceived[.]"

p. 327 ["]for Sir Henry had...

p. 345 said Viviana[;] "and I...

p. 346 replied Ruth[.] "Nor shall you...

...comply with her request.["]

p. 347 ... raising herself in the bed[.]

The following words are spelled both with and without hyphens, and have

been left as printed:

pick-axe(s)/pickaxe(s)

out-building/outbuilding

By-ward/Byward

by-standers/bystanders

loop-hole/loophole

re-appeared/reappeared

up-stairs/upstairs

fainted-hearted/fainthearted

foot-path/footpath

End of Project Gutenberg's Guy Fawkes, by William Harrison Ainsworth