“Where is Lord Mounteagle?” demanded Catesby.
“At his mansion near Hoxton,” replied Percy.
“Have you observed him much about the court of late, or with the Earl of Salisbury?” pursued Catesby.
“No,” replied Percy. “Yet now, I bethink me, I did observe them together, and in earnest conversation about a week ago. But Lord Mounteagle knows nothing of our plot.”
“Hum!” exclaimed Catesby, shrugging his shoulders, while significant looks were exchanged by the others, and Tresham hung his head. “Lord Mounteagle may not know that you or I, or Fawkes, or Rookwood, are conspiring against the State; but he knows that a plot is hatching amongst our party. It is from him that the Earl of Salisbury derived his information.”
“Amazement!” exclaimed Percy.
“A good Catholic, and betray his fellows!” cried Rookwood; “this passes my comprehension. Are you sure of it?”
“Unhappily we are so, my son,” replied Garnet, gravely.
“We will speak of this hereafter,” interposed Catesby. “I have a plan to get his lordship into our power, and make him serve our purposes in spite of himself. We will outwit the crafty Salisbury. Can any one tell if Tresham’s sudden disappearance has been noticed.”
“His household report that he is on a visit to Sir Everard Digby, at Gothurst,” replied Rookwood. “I called at his residence yesterday, and was informed that a letter had just been received from him dated from that place. His departure, they said, was sudden, but his letter fully accounted for it.”
“The messenger who bore that letter had only to travel from Lambeth,” observed Catesby, smiling.
“So I conclude,” returned Rookwood.
“And, now that our meal is ended, let us to work,” cried Fawkes, who had taken no part in the foregoing conversation. “I will strike the first blow,” he added, rising and seizing a mattock.
“Hold, my son!” exclaimed Garnet, arresting him. “The work upon which the redemption of our holy church hangs must be commenced with due solemnity.”
“You are right, father,” replied Fawkes, humbly.
Headed by Garnet, bearing a crucifix, they then repaired to the vault. A silver chalice, filled with holy water, was carried by Fawkes, and two lighted tapers by Catesby. Kneeling down before that part of the wall against which operations were about to be directed, and holding the crucifix towards it, Garnet commenced praying in a low but earnest tone, gradually raising his voice, and increasing in fervour as he proceeded. The others knelt around him, and the whole formed a strange and deeply-interesting group. The vault itself harmonized with its occupants. It was of great antiquity; and its solid stone masonry had acquired a time-worn hoary tint. In width it was about nine feet, and of corresponding height, supported by a semi-circular arch, and its length was more than twenty feet.
The countenances of the conspirators showed that they were powerfully moved by what was passing; but next to Garnet, Guy Fawkes exhibited the greatest enthusiasm. His ecstatic looks and gestures evinced the strong effect produced upon his superstitious character by the scene. Garnet concluded his prayer as follows: —
“Thus far, O Lord, we have toiled in darkness and in difficulty; but we have now arrived at a point where all thy support is needed. Do not desert us, we beseech thee, but let thy light guide us through these gloomy paths. Nerve our arms, — sharpen our weapons, — and crumble these hard and flinty stones, so that they may yield to our efforts. Aid our enterprise, if thou approvest it, and it be really, as in our ignorance we believe it to be, for the welfare of thy holy Church, and the confusion of its enemies. Bear witness, O Lord, that we devote ourselves wholly and entirely to this one end, — and that we implore success only for thy glory and honour.”
With this he arose, and the following strains were chanted by the whole assemblage: —
HYMN OF THE CONSPIRATORS.
The heretic and heathen, Lord, Consume with fire, cut down with sword; The spoilers from thy temples thrust, Their altars trample in the dust.
False princes and false priests lay low, Their habitations fill with woe. Scatter them, Lord, with sword and flame, And bring them utterly to shame.
Thy vengeful arm no longer stay, Arise! exterminate, and slay. So shall thy fallen worship be Restored to its prosperity.
This hymn raised the enthusiasm of the conspirators to the highest pitch, and such was the effect produced by it, as it rolled in sullen echoes along the arched roof of the vault, that several of them drew their swords, and crossed the blades, with looks of the most determined devotion to their cause. When it was ended, Garnet recited other prayers, and sprinkled holy water upon the wall, and upon every implement about to be used, bestowing a separate benediction on each. As he delivered the pick-axe to Guy Fawkes, he cried in a solemn voice —
“Strike, my son, in the name of the Most High, and in behalf of our holy religion, — strike!”
Guy Fawkes raised the weapon, and stimulated by excitement, threw the whole strength of his arm into the blow. A large piece of the granite was chipped off, but the mattock snapped in twain. Guy Fawkes looked deeply disconcerted, and Garnet, though he concealed his emotion, was filled with dismay.
“Let me take your place,” cried Keyes, advancing, as Guy Fawkes retired.
Keyes was a powerful man, and exerting his energies, he buried the point of the pick-axe so deeply in the mortar, that he could not remove it unassisted. These untoward circumstances cast a slight damp upon their ardour; but Catesby, who perceived it, went more cautiously to work, and in a short time succeeded with great labour in getting out the large stone upon which the others had expended so much useless exertion. The sight restored their confidence, and as many as could work in the narrow space joined him. But they found that their task was much more arduous than they had anticipated. More than an hour elapsed before they could loosen another stone, and though they laboured with the utmost perseverance, relieving each other by turns, they had made but a small breach when morning arrived. The stones were as hard and unyielding as iron, and the mortar in some places harder than the stones.
After a few hours’ rest, they resumed their task. Still, they made but small progress; and it was not until the third day that they had excavated a hole sufficiently wide and deep to admit one man within it. They were now arrived at a compost of gravel and flint stones; and if they had found their previous task difficult, what they had now to encounter was infinitely more so. Their implements made little or no impression on this unyielding substance, and though they toiled incessantly, the work proceeded with disheartening slowness. The stones and rubbish were conveyed at dead of night in hampers into the garden, and buried.
One night, when they were labouring as usual, Guy Fawkes, who was foremost in the excavation, thought he heard the tolling of a bell within the wall. He instantly suspended his task, and being convinced that he was not deceived, crept out of the hole, and made a sign to the others to listen. Each had heard the awful sound before; but as it was partially drowned by the noise of the pick-axe, it had not produced much impression upon them, as they attributed it to some vibration in the wall, caused by the echo of the blows. But it was now distinctly audible — deep, clear, slow, — like a passing bell, — but so solemn, so unearthly, that its tones froze the blood in their veins.
Guy Fawkes and the other Conspirators alarmed while digging the mine
They listened for a while in speechless astonishment, scarcely daring to look at each other, and expecting each moment that the building would fall upon them, and bury them alive. The light of a single lantern placed upon an upturned basket fell upon figures rigid as statues, and countenances charged with awe.
“My arm is paralysed,” said Guy Fawkes, breaking silence; “I can work no more.”
“Try holy water, father,” cried Catesby. “If it proceeds from aught of evil, that will quell it.”
The chalice containing the sacred lymph was brought, and pronouncing a solemn exorcism, Ga
rnet sprinkled the wall.
The sound immediately ceased.
“It is as I thought, father,” observed Catesby; “it is the delusion of an evil spirit.”
As he spoke, the tolling of the mysterious bell was again heard, and more solemnly, — more slowly than before.
“Sprinkle the wall again, in Heaven’s name, father,” cried Fawkes, crossing himself devoutly. “Avoid thee, Sathanas!”
Garnet complied, and throwing holy water upon the stones, the same result followed.
* * *
CHAPTER V.
THE CAPTURE OF VIVIANA.
On the morning after his encounter with Guy Fawkes, Humphrey Chetham, accompanied by Martin Heydocke, took his way to Lambeth Marsh. With a throbbing heart he approached the miserable dwelling he knew to be inhabited by Viviana, and could scarcely summon courage to knock at the door. His first summons not being answered, he repeated it more loudly, and he then perceived the face of Father Oldcorne at the window, who, having satisfied himself that it was a friend, admitted him and his attendant.
“You were expected, my son,” said the priest, after a friendly greeting. “Guy Fawkes has prepared Viviana for your coming.”
“Will she not see me?” demanded the young merchant, uneasily.
“I believe so,” replied Oldcorne. “But I will apprise her of your arrival. Be seated, my son.”
He then carefully fastened the door, and repaired to Viviana’s chamber, leaving Chetham in that state of tremor and anxiety which a lover, hoping to behold his mistress, only knows.
It was some time before Viviana appeared, and the young merchant, whose heart beat violently at the sound of her footstep, was startled by the alteration in her looks, and the extreme coldness of her manner. Oldcorne was with her, and motioning Martin Heydocke to follow him, the youthful pair were left alone.
“You desire to see me, I am given to understand, sir,” observed Viviana, in a freezing tone.
“I have journeyed to London for that express purpose,” replied Humphrey Chetham, tremulously.
“I am much beholden to you, sir,” returned Viviana, in the same repelling tone as before; “but I regret you should have taken so much trouble on my account.”
“To serve you is happiness, not trouble, Viviana,” replied Humphrey Chetham, ardently; “and I am overjoyed at finding an opportunity of proving my devotion.”
“I have yet to learn what service I must thank you for,” she returned.
“I can scarcely say that I am warranted in thus intruding upon you,” replied Chetham, greatly abashed; “but, having learnt from my servant, Martin Heydocke, that Doctor Dee had set out for London, with the view of seeking you out, and withdrawing you from your present associates, I was determined to be beforehand with him, and to acquaint you, if possible, with his intentions.”
“What you say surprises me,” replied Viviana. “Doctor Dee has no right to interfere with my actions. Nor should I obey him were he to counsel me, as is scarcely probable, to quit my companions.”
“I know not what connexion there may be between you to justify the interposition of his authority,” replied Chetham; “neither did I tarry to inquire. But presuming from what I heard, that he would attempt to exercise some control over you, I set out at once, and, without guide to your retreat, or the slightest knowledge of it, was fortunate enough, on the very night of my arrival in London, to chance upon Guy Fawkes, who directed me to you.”
“I am aware of it,” was the chilling answer.
“I will not avouch,” pursued Chetham, passionately, “that I have not been actuated as much by an irrepressible desire to see you again, as by anxiety to apprise you of Doctor Dee’s coming. I wanted only a slight excuse to myself to induce me to yield to my inclinations. Your departure made me wretched. I thought I had more control over myself. But I find I cannot live without you.”
“Alas! alas!” cried Viviana, in a troubled tone, and losing all her self-command. “I expected this. Why — why did you come?”
“I have told you my motive,” replied Chetham; “but, oh! do not reproach me!”
“I do not desire to do so,” returned Viviana, with a look of agony. “I bitterly reproach myself that I cannot meet you as of old. But I would rather — far rather have encountered Doctor Dee, had he come hither resolved to exert all his magical power to force me away, than have met you.”
“Have I unwittingly offended you, Viviana?” asked Chetham, in astonishment.
“Oh! no — no — no!” she replied, “you have not offended me; but — —”
“But what?” he cried, anxiously.
“I would rather have died than see you,” she answered.
“I will not inquire wherefore,” rejoined Chetham, “because I too well divine the cause. I am no longer what I was to you.”
“Press this matter no further, I pray of you,” returned Viviana, in much confusion, and blushing deeply. “I shall ever esteem you, — ever feel the warmest gratitude to you. And what matters it whether my heart is estranged from you or not, since I can never wed you?”
“What matters it?” repeated the young merchant, in accents of despair,— “it matters much. Drowning love will cling to straws. The thought that I was beloved by you, though I could never hope to possess your hand, reconciled me in some degree to my fate. But now,” he added, covering his face with his hands,— “now, my heart is crushed.”
“Nay, say not so,” cried Viviana, in a voice of the deepest emotion. “I do love you, — as a sister.”
“That is small comfort,” rejoined Chetham, bitterly. “I echo your own wish. Would we had never met again! I might, at least, have deluded myself into the belief that you loved me.”
“It would have been better so,” she returned. “I would inflict pain on no one — far less on you, whom I regard so much, and to whom I owe so much.”
“You owe me nothing, Viviana,” rejoined Chetham. “All I desired was to serve you. In the midst of the dangers we have shared together, I felt no alarm except for your sake. I have done nothing — nothing. Would I had died for you!”
“Calm yourself, sir, I entreat you,” she returned.
“You did love me once?” demanded Chetham, suddenly.
“I thought so,” she answered.
The young merchant uttered an exclamation of anguish, and a mournful pause ensued, broken only by his groans.
“Answer me, Viviana,” he said, turning abruptly upon her,— “answer me, and, in mercy, answer truly, — do you love another?”
“It is a question I cannot answer,” she replied, becoming ashy pale.
“Your looks speak for you!” he vociferated, in a terrible tone,— “you do! His name? — his name? — that I may wreak my vengeance upon him.”
“Your violence terrifies me,” returned Viviana, withdrawing the hand he had seized. “I must put an end to this interview.”
“Pardon me, Viviana!” cried Chetham, falling on his knees before her— “in pity pardon me! I am not myself. I shall be calmer presently. But if you knew the anguish of the wound you have inflicted, you would not add to it.”
“Heaven knows I would not!” she returned, motioning him to rise. “And, if it will lighten your suffering, know that the love I feel for another — if love, indeed, it be, — is as hopeless as your own. But it is not a love of which even you could be jealous. It is a higher and a holier passion. It is affection mixed with admiration, and purified from all its grossness. It is more, perhaps, than the love of a daughter for her father — but it is nothing more. I shall never wed him I love — could not if I would. Nay, I would shun him, if I did not feel that the hour will soon come when the extent of my affection must be proved.”
“This is strange sophistry,” returned Chetham; “and you may deceive yourself by it, but you cannot deceive me. You love as all ardent natures do love. But in what way do you mean to prove your affection?”
“Perhaps, by the sacrifice of my life,” she answered.
“I can tell you who is the object of your affections!” said Chetham. “It is Guy Fawkes.”
“I will not deny it,” replied Viviana; “he is.”
“Hear me, then,” exclaimed Chetham, who appeared inexpressibly relieved by the discovery he had made; “in my passage across the river with him last night, our conversation turned on the one subject ever nearest my heart, yourself, — and Guy Fawkes not only bade me not despair, but promised to aid my suit.”
“And he kept his word,” replied Viviana, “for, while announcing your proposed visit, he urged me strongly in your behalf.”
“Then he knows not of your love for him?” demanded Chetham.
“He not only knows it not, but never shall know it from me, — nor must he know it from you, sir,” rejoined Viviana, energetically.
“Fear it not,” said Chetham, sighing. “It is a secret I shall carefully preserve.”
“And now that you are in possession of it,” she answered, “I no longer feel your presence as a restraint. Let me still regard you as a friend.”
“Be it so,” replied Humphrey Chetham, mournfully; “and as a friend let me entreat you to quit this place, and abandon your present associates. I will not seek to turn your heart from Fawkes — nor will I try to regain the love I have lost. But let me implore you to pause ere you irretrievably mix yourself up with the fortunes of one so desperate. I am too well aware that he is engaged in a fearful plot against the State, — though I know not its precise nature.”
“You will not betray him?” she cried.
“I will not, though he is my rival,” returned Chetham. “But others may — nay, perhaps have done so already.”
“Whom do you suspect?” demanded Viviana, in the greatest alarm.
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