to nerve my arm.”
“You speak in riddles,” she replied. “I understand you not.”
“Question Father Oldcorne, then, as to my meaning,” rejoined Catesby; “he will tell you that, allied to you, I could not fail in the enterprise on which I am engaged.”
“It is the truth, dear daughter,” Oldcorne asseverated.
“I will not inquire further into this mystery,” returned Viviana, “for such it is to me. But, believing what you both assert, I answer, that willingly as I would lay down my life for the welfare of our holy religion, persuading myself, as I do, that I have constancy enough to endure martyrdom for its sake,—I cannot consent to your proposal. Nay, if I must avouch the whole truth,” she continued, blushing deeply, “my affections are already engaged, though to one with whom I can never hope to be united.”
“You have your answer, my son,” observed the priest.
Catesby replied with a look of the deepest mortification and disappointment; and, bowing coldly to Viviana, said, “I now depart to obey your behests, Miss Radcliffe.”
“Commend me in all duty to my dear father,” replied Viviana, “and believe that I shall for ever feel bound to you for your zeal.”
“Neglect not all due caution, father,” observed Catesby, glancing significantly at Oldcorne. “Forewarned, forearmed.”
“Doubt me not, my son,” rejoined the Jesuit. “My prayers shall be for you.
Gentem auferte perfidam Credentium de finibus, Ut Christo laudes debitas Persolvamus alacriter.”
After receiving a parting benediction from the priest, Catesby took his leave. His steed was speedily brought to the door by the old steward; and mounting it, he crossed the drawbridge, which was immediately raised behind him, and hastened on his journey.
[2] Confitetur maleficus se vel alium posuisse pulverem vel quid aliud sub tali limine, et nisi tollantur domum comburendam, principem interiturum, quotquot urbem egredienturque in magnam perniciem aut periculum venturos.—Delrio Disq. Mag., lib. vi. cap. i. [Edit. 1600.]
CHAPTER IV.
THE SEARCH.
Immediately after Catesby’s departure, Heydocke was summoned to his mistress’s presence. He found her with the priest, and was informed that in all probability the house would be visited that night by the messengers of the Privy Council. The old steward received the intelligence as he might have done his death-warrant, and looked so bewildered and affrighted, that Viviana half repented having acquainted him with it.
“Compose yourself, Master Heydocke,” she said, trying to reason him out of his fears; “the search may not take place. And if it does, there is nothing to be alarmed at. I am not afraid, you perceive.”
“Nothing to be alarmed at, my dear young lady!” gasped the steward. “You have never witnessed a midnight search for a priest by these ruffianly catchpoles, as I have, or you would not say so. Father Oldcorne will comprehend my uneasiness, and excuse it. The miscreants break into the house like robbers, and treat its inmates worse than robbers would treat them. They have no regard for decency,—no consideration for sex,—no respect for persons. Not a chamber is sacred from them. If a door is bolted, they burst it open; a cabinet locked, they tarry not for the key. They pull down the hangings, thrust their rapier-points into the crevices of the wainscot, discharge their fire-arms against the wall, and sometimes threaten to pull down the house itself, if the object of their quest be not delivered to them. Their oaths, abominations, and menaces are horrible; and their treatment of females, even of your degree, honoured mistress, too barbarous to relate. Poor Lady Nevil died of the fright she got by such a visit at dead of night to her residence in Holborn. Mrs. Vavasour, of York, lost her senses; and many others whom I could mention have been equal sufferers. Nothing to be alarmed at! Heaven grant, my dear, dear young lady, that you may never be fatally convinced to the contrary!”
“Suppose my apprehensions are as great as your own, Master Heydocke,” replied Viviana, who, though somewhat infected by his terrors, still maintained her firmness; “I do not see how the danger is to be averted by idle lamentations and misgivings. We must meet it boldly; and trust to Him who is our only safeguard in the hour of peril, for protection. Do not alarm the household, but let all retire to rest as usual.”
“Right, daughter,” observed the priest. “Preparations for resistance would only excite suspicion.”
“Can you depend on the servants, in case they are examined?” asked Viviana of the steward, who by this time had partially recovered his composure.
“I think so,” returned Heydocke; “but the threats of the officers are so dreadful, and their conduct so violent and outrageous, that I can scarcely answer for myself. I would not advise your reverence to remain in that hiding-place,” he added, pointing to the chimney-piece; “they are sure to discover it.”
“If not here, where shall I conceal myself?” rejoined Oldcorne, uneasily.
“There are many nooks in which your reverence might hide,” replied the steward; “but the knaves are so crafty, and so well experienced in their vocation, that I dare not recommend any of them as secure. I would advise you to remain on the watch, and, in case of alarm, I will conduct you to the oratory in the north gallery, adjoining Mistress Viviana’s sleeping-chamber, where there is a panel in the wall, known only to myself and my master, opening upon a secret passage running many hundred yards underground, and communicating with a small outbuilding on the other side of the moat. There is a contrivance in this passage, which I will explain to your reverence if need be, which will cut off any possibility of pursuit in that quarter.”
“Be it so,” replied the priest. “I place myself in your hands, good Master Heydocke, well assured of your fidelity. I shall remain throughout the night in this chamber, occupied in my devotions.”
“You will suffer me to pray with you, father, I trust?” said Viviana.
“If you desire it, assuredly, dear daughter,” rejoined Oldcorne; “but I am unwilling you should sacrifice your rest.”
“It will be no sacrifice, father, for I should not slumber, even if I sought my couch,” she returned. “Go, good Heydocke. Keep vigilant watch: and, if you hear the slightest noise without, fail not to give us warning.”
The steward bowed, and departed.
Some hours elapsed, during which nothing occurred to alarm Viviana and her companion, who consumed the time in prayer and devout conversation; when, just at the stroke of two,—as the former was kneeling before her spiritual adviser, and receiving absolution for the slight offences of which a being so pure-minded could be supposed capable,—a noise like the falling of a bar of iron was heard beneath the window. The priest turned pale, and cast a look of uneasiness at the maiden, who said nothing, but snatching up the light, and motioning him to remain quiet, hurried out of the room in search of the steward. He was nowhere to be found. In vain, she examined all the lower rooms,—in vain, called to him by name. No answer was returned.
Greatly terrified, she was preparing to retrace her steps, when she heard the sound of muttered voices in the hall. Extinguishing her light, she advanced to the door, which was left ajar, and, taking care not to expose herself to observation, beheld several armed figures, some of whom bore dark lanterns, while others surrounded and menaced with their drawn swords the unfortunate
