Guy Fawkes; or, The Gunpowder Treason. William Harrison Ainsworth
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a short repose, and glance over her father's letter, while Catesby, Guy Fawkes, and Oldcorne, were engaged in deep consultation. Humphrey Chetham, perceiving that his attendance was no further required, and that he was an object of suspicion and dislike to Catesby,—for whom he also entertained a similar aversion,—prepared to return. And when Viviana made her appearance, he advanced to bid her farewell.
“I can be of no further service to you, Viviana,” he said, in a mournful tone; “and as my presence might be as unwelcome to your father, as it seems to be to others of your friends, I will now take my leave.”
“Farewell, Mr. Chetham,” she replied. “I will not attempt to oppose your departure; for, much as I grieve to lose you—and that I do so these tears will testify,—I feel that it is for the best. I owe you much—more—far more than I can ever repay. It would be unworthy in me, and unfair to you, to say that I do not, and shall not ever feel the deepest interest in you; that, next to my father, there is no one whom I regard—nay, whom I love so much.”
“Love! Viviana?” echoed the young merchant, trembling.
“Love, Mr. Chetham,” she continued, turning very pale; “since you compel me to repeat the word. I avow it boldly, because—” and her voice faltered,—"I would not have you suppose me ungrateful, and because I never can be yours.”
“I will not attempt to dissuade you from the fatal determination you have formed of burying your charms in a cloister,” rejoined Humphrey Chetham. “But, oh! if you do love me, why condemn yourself—why condemn me to hopeless misery?”
“I will tell you why,” replied Viviana. “Because you are not of my faith; and because I never will wed a heretic.”
“I am answered,” replied the young merchant, sadly.
“Mr. Chetham,” interposed Oldcorne, who had approached them unperceived; “it is in your power to change Viviana's determination.”
“How?” asked the young merchant, starting.
“By being reconciled to the Church of Rome.”
“Then it will remain unaltered,” replied Chetham, firmly.
“And, if Mr. Chetham would consent to this proposal, I would not," said Viviana. “Farewell,” she added, extending her hand to him, which he pressed to his lips. “Do not let us prolong an interview so painful to us both. The best wish I can desire for you is, that we may never meet again.”
Without another word, and without hazarding a look at the object of his affections, Chetham rushed out of the room, and mounting his horse, rode off in the direction of Manchester.
“Daughter,” observed Oldcorne, as soon as he was gone, “I cannot too highly approve of your conduct, or too warmly applaud the mastery you display over your feelings. But——” and he hesitated.
“But what, father?” cried Viviana, eagerly. “Do you think I have done wrong in dismissing him?”
“By no means, dear daughter,” replied the priest. “You have acted most discreetly. But you will forgive me if I urge you—nay, implore you not to take the veil; but rather to bestow your hand upon some Catholic gentleman——”
“Such as Mr. Catesby,” interrupted Viviana, glancing in the direction of the individual she mentioned, who was watching them narrowly from the further end of the room.
“Ay, Mr. Catesby,” repeated Oldcorne, affecting not to notice the scornful emphasis laid on the name. “None more fitting could be found, nor more worthy of you. Our Church has not a more zealous servant and upholder; and he will be at once a father and a husband to you. Such a union would be highly profitable to our religion. And, though it is well for those whose hearts are burthened with affliction, and who are unable to render any active service to their faith, to retire from the world, it behoves every sister of the Romish Church to support it at a juncture like the present, at any sacrifice of personal feeling.”
“Urge me no more, father,” replied Viviana, firmly. “I will make every sacrifice for my religion, consistent with principle and feeling. But I will not make this; neither am I required to make it. And I beg you will entreat Mr. Catesby to desist from further importunity.”
Oldcorne bowed and retired. Nor was another syllable exchanged between them prior to their departure.
Crossing the old bridge over the Dee, then defended at each extremity by a gate and tower, the party took the road to Holt, where they arrived in about an hour. The recent conversation had thrown a restraint over them, which was not removed during the journey. Habitually taciturn, as has already been remarked, Guy Fawkes seemed gloomier and more thoughtful than ever; and though he rode by the side of Viviana, he did not volunteer a remark, and scarcely appeared conscious of her presence. Catesby and Oldcorne kept aloof, and it was not until they came in sight of the little town which formed their destination that the former galloped forward, and striking into the path on the right, begged Viviana to follow him. A turn in the road shortly afterwards showed them a large mansion screened by a grove of beech-trees.
“That is the house to which we are going,” observed Catesby.
And as he spoke, they approached a lodge, the gates of which being opened by an attendant, admitted them to the avenue.
Viviana's heart throbbed with delight at the anticipated meeting with her father; but she could not repress a feeling of anxiety at the distressing intelligence she had to impart to him. As she drew near the house she perceived him walking beneath the shade of the trees with two other persons; and quickening her pace, sprang from her steed, and almost before he was aware of it was in his arms.
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