is the cause of Heaven, young sir,” rejoined the priest, angrily.
“I do not think so,” returned Chetham; “and, but for my devotion to Viviana, I would have no further share in it.”
“You are at liberty to leave us, if you think proper,” retorted the priest, coldly.
“Nay, say not so, father,” interposed Viviana, who had been an unobserved listener to the foregoing discourse. “You owe your life – your liberty, to Mr. Chetham.”
“True, daughter,” replied the priest. “I have been too hasty, and entreat his forgiveness.”
“You have it, reverend sir,” rejoined the young merchant. “And now, Master Heydocke,” he added, turning to the steward, “you may return to the Hall with safety. No one will molest you more, and your presence may be needed.”
“But my young mistress – ” said Heydocke.
“I am setting out for Holywell to join my father,” replied Viviana. “You will receive our instructions from that place.”
“It is well,” returned the old man, bowing respectfully. “Heaven shield us from further misfortune!”
Humphrey Chetham having assisted Viviana into the saddle, and the rest of the party having mounted, they took the road to Chester, while Heydocke returned to the Hall.
CHAPTER XI.
THE PILGRIMAGE TO ST. WINIFRED'S WELL
Early on the following morning, the party, who had ridden hard, and had paused only for a short time at Knutsford to rest their steeds, approached the ancient and picturesque city of Chester. Skirting its high, and then partly fortified walls, above which appeared the massive tower of the venerable cathedral, they passed through the east-gate, and proceeding along the street deriving its name from that entrance, were about to halt before the door of a large hostel, called the Saint Werburgh's Abbey, when, to their great surprise, they perceived Catesby riding towards them.
“I thought I could not be mistaken,” cried the latter, as he drew near and saluted Viviana. “I was about to set out for Manchester with a despatch to you from your father, Miss Radcliffe, when this most unexpected and fortunate encounter spares me the journey. But may I ask why I see you here, and thus attended?” he added, glancing uneasily at Humphrey Chetham.
A few words from Father Oldcorne explained all. Catesby affected to bend his brow, and appear concerned at the relation. But he could scarcely repress his satisfaction.
“Sir William Radcliffe must join us now,” he whispered to the priest.
“He must – he shall,” replied Oldcorne, in the same tone.
“Your father wishes you to join him at Holt, Miss Radcliffe,” remarked Catesby, turning to her, “whence the pilgrimage starts to-morrow for Saint Winifred's Well. There are already nearly thirty devout persons assembled.”
“Indeed!” replied Viviana. “May I inquire their names.”
“Sir Everard and Lady Digby,” replied Catesby; “the Lady Anne Vaux and her sister, Mrs. Brooksby; Mr. Ambrose Rookwood and his wife, the two Winters, Tresham, Wright, Fathers Garnet and Fisher, and many others, in all probability unknown to you. The procession started ten days ago from Gothurst, in Buckinghamshire, Sir Everard Digby's residence, and proceeded from thence by slow stages to Norbrook and Haddington, at each of which houses it halted for some days. Yesterday, it reached Holt, and starts, as I have just told you, to-morrow for Holywell. If you are so disposed, you will be able to attend it.”
“I will gladly do so,” replied Viviana. “And since I find it is not necessary to hurry forward, I will rest myself for a short time here.”
So saying, she dismounted, and the whole party entered the hostel. Viviana withdrew to seek 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,
