Part 3 (1/2)

Fawkes regarded his daughter with an air of evident surprise, not unmixed with anxiety in antic.i.p.ation of what might follow; for every action showed she was wrought up to the highest state of excitement and earnestness. After a moment he said in a quiet voice: ”I trust these hot words of thine are but the outcome of some foolish fancy, which, like the silly scorpion, will kill itself with its own violence. But thou hast not told me all; until I am fully advised, my counsel can be but scant. What name hath he? What t.i.tle doth he hold?

For by thy speech he must be n.o.ble?”

”Herbert Effingston,” replied the girl.

”I know not that name,” answered the other, after a moment's musing.

”And his t.i.tle?”

”Viscount Herbert Effingston, son of Lord Monteagle.”

”Thou hast indeed flown high,” Fawkes cried, with a sudden outburst of pa.s.sion. ”Because I love thee I would wish thee dead, aye, dead,” he continued, fiercely, raising himself from the chair, ”rather than have thee bear the hated name of Monteagle.”

”But thou knowest no evil of him,” cried the girl, springing to her feet. ”He is good; he is true and n.o.ble; aye, and hear me, it was he who saved my life--a life thou lovest. I know what thou wouldst say, but the son is not holden for his father's sins; he is not----”

”But he is of the brood,” thundered Fawkes, now thoroughly aroused; ”the litter of the jackal will eat the holy dead left by its sire--'tis in their nature. Monteagle!” he repeated with fine scorn.

”And marry, that would be a pretty name for thee to choose--a name that hath done more to set aside our Holy Catholic Church than all the fiends in h.e.l.l. What I know is true,” he exclaimed, seizing her by the arm. ”Hark to what I say to thee; even I have heard, for ill fame flies with swallow's wings swiftly across the sea, and when I am done, if thou still dost love, pray to the Madonna to stop the beating of a heart that holds so unworthy a regard. Thou sayest the son saved thy life--by what means I know not. Think you that doth make amends for all the evil done by him and his? Enough of this, and listen,” he continued, mastering his anger and pacing up and down the room.

”Monteagle and his son, both Catholics, and until James Stuart reached the throne, most valiant champions of their faith, have, since the scepter reached the hands of that wise fool, endeavored by all the foul means within their power, to defeat the efforts of their fellow churchmen, which, as thou knowest--and all England as well--were directed against those laws which meant the downfall of our church.

Did these h.e.l.l hounds come boldly out and show a l.u.s.ty fight--which would, in a small degree, have recommended them? Nay, that is not the nature of the serpent. They falsely affirm themselves most strong adherents to the Pope, receive the confidences of the Papal Delegates, and by treasonable use of this knowledge of their secret mission, defeat them ere they strike a blow. Is it for truth that they are against the faith? Not so; for the hypocrites do cross themselves and bow before the Host. Is it for a principle that they act thus? Nay, for they have none. What, then, is their object? It is to gain favor with the King, and place themselves by underhanded, sneaking ways where true merit ne'er could raise them. Ah, my daughter,” he cried, with a voice full of supplication, ”I love thee much too well to cause thy heart a single pang. Canst thou not see it all aright? And even if for love of me thou wilt not pluck this pa.s.sion from thy heart, then do it for the love thou owest G.o.d.”

While her father had been speaking, the girl stood motionless, every line on her face showing plainly the conflict raging within her breast. Her eyes were dry, for there are griefs so deep and searing that they, with their fiery tongues, do lick up the springing tears before they can fall. It was not in her nature to love lightly; to her pa.s.sion meant more than a mere auxiliary to her existence; simply making life brighter and happier; every action, deed or thought, however trivial and far removed from him, by some subtle influence like that which turns the magnetic needle toward the north, had been turned to bear upon this love of hers. The accusations just uttered concerning his traitorous actions with regard to her faith, influenced her but little; for her att.i.tude toward religion resembled that of most of her kind; the pure feminine mind turns instinctively toward that which they deem great and good, believing, as a rule,--shall we say ignorantly?--in all which is said to issue from a source they cannot comprehend, and which they fear for the mystery attached to it.

Man, by instinct, loves power and dominion over others. Woman subst.i.tutes for that characteristic the longing to be ruled, and in that subordination of herself seeks protection. In this girl's breast, the desire for a mystical and intangible power which promised to protect, had been, to a degree, supplanted by the knowledge that there awaited one who would clasp her in strong arms, and guard her against all the world. Therefore the words spoken a moment ago had but little weight, and played a small part in forming the resolution to which she soon gave voice. Duty was clear. This poor, lonely man, her father, who had known but little happiness, whose whole existence was summed up in two great all-absorbing pa.s.sions--a fearful, pa.s.sionate belief in G.o.d, and after that, his love for her,--for his sake she must make the sacrifice.

”Ah!” thought she, ”sacrifice means death, and my love can never die, but I shall hide it, bury it deep within my bosom, until in time its strength shall tear my heart asunder; then I, in place of love, will be the sacrifice.”

This, and more, quickly pa.s.sed through her mind, but now she turned toward the man with that wonderful self-control which only can be found in woman, and said, in a quiet voice, devoid of pa.s.sion and malice, for she felt none:

”If it be thy wish, I will do it for love of thee.”

”My daughter!” cried he, taking the motionless figure in his arms, ”thou hast saved me from a living h.e.l.l. Thou wilt soon find I have brought but good counsel. Pluck this poisoned shaft from out thy heart, and if the wound hurt, soothe the smart with sweet knowledge of my love, and above all, with a sense of justice done to G.o.d. Forget, my pretty one, thy father's hasty temper; or, if remembered, let it be only as called forth by love of thee. But we shall talk no more of pa.s.sions; let them go. Come now beside me, while I rest, for I am sore weary after my long journey. Sit so,” he continued, reclining on a bench before the blaze, taking the white hand she offered and drawing her down to him, ”that I may not lose thee again, even in my dreams.”

She silently complied with his request. It would have been impossible to express what was in her mind, so paralyzed and benumbed was it by the heavy blow which had suddenly fallen. As the fingers which held hers gradually relaxed in slumber, she slowly sank upon her knees, and with outstretched arms, in a tearless voice, exclaimed: ”Oh, my love, thou who art my life; since on earth I must forever be without thee, let some kindly hand give me unto death!”

CHAPTER IV.

THE SUPERIOR OF THE JESUITS.

While Guy Fawkes held converse with his daughter, the five gentlemen he had left at Percy's house were soberly discussing the weighty matters which had drawn them together. The sun had already gilded the dome of St. Paul, when Winter, Catesby, Wright and Digsby made ready to take their departure. On the threshold of the chamber Catesby paused, and turning to Percy, said: ”'Twill mayhap be two days ere I again come to thee, for it is my purpose to make a journey into the country, that I may gain better understanding concerning certain matters which rest heavily on my mind; therefore marvel not if for one night I be absent.”

”Thou goest then to Worcester?” asked Winter.

”Aye, to Hendlip that, in its wisdom, the counsel of the Church may direct me. Having gone so far 'twere ill to draw back, yet methinks there is another whose words we must not treat lightly.”

”Garnet!” burst forth Digsby.

Winter started. ”Not here,” he whispered quickly, ”name not one whose zeal hath banished him from England. Let James once know that he is yet among us, and not a hiding place in Britain could shelter him.”