will be in vain,” rejoined Humphrey Chetham. “They more than treble our number.”
“Is there no means of escape?” asked Viviana.
“None whatever,” replied Chetham. “I hear them on the stairs. The terrified hostess has not dared to deny you, and is conducting them hither.”
“Stand back!” cried Guy Fawkes, striding towards the door, “and let me alone confront them. That accursed pursuivant has escaped me once. But he shall not do so a second time.”
“My son,” said Oldcorne, advancing towards him; “preserve yourself, if possible. Your life is of consequence to the great cause. Think not of us—think not of revenging yourself upon this caitiff. But think of the high destiny for which you are reserved. That window offers a means of retreat. Avail yourself of it. Fly!—Fly!”
“Ay, fly!” repeated Viviana. “And you, Humphrey Chetham,—your presence here can do no good. Quick!—they come!”
“Nothing should induce me to quit you at such a moment, Viviana,” replied Chetham, “but the conviction that I may be able to liberate you, should these miscreants convey you to prison.”
“Fly!—fly, my son,” cried Oldcorne. “They are at the door.”
Thus urged, Guy Fawkes reluctantly yielded to Oldcorne’s entreaties and sprang through the window. He was followed by Chetham. Viviana darted to the casement, and saw that they had alighted in safety on the ground, and were flying swiftly up Shude Hill. Meanwhile, the pursuivant had reached the door, which Chetham had taken the precaution to fasten, and was trying to burst it open. The bolts offered but a feeble resistance to his fury, and the next moment he dashed into the room, at the head of a band of soldiers.
“Seize them!” he cried. “Ha!” he added, glancing round the room with a look of disappointment, “where are the others? Where is the soldier in the Spanish garb? Where is Humphrey Chetham? Confess at once, dog!” he continued, seizing the priest by the throat, “or I will pluck the secret from your breast.”
“Do not harm him,” interposed Viviana. “I will answer the question. They are fled.”
“Fled!” echoed the pursuivant in consternation. “How?”
“Through that window,” replied Viviana.
“After them!” cried the pursuivant to some of his attendants. “Take the soldier, dead or alive! And now,” he continued, as his orders were obeyed, “you, Father Oldcorne, Jesuit and traitor; and you, Viviana Radcliffe, his shelterer and abettor, I shall convey you both to the prison on Salford Bridge. Seize them, and bring them along.”
“Touch me not,” rejoined Viviana, pushing the men aside, who rudely advanced to obey their leader’s command. “You have no warrant for this brutality. I am ready to attend you. Take my arm, father.”
Abashed at this reproof, the pursuivant stalked out of the room. Surrounded by the soldiers, Viviana and the priest followed. The sad procession was attended by crowds to the very door of the prison, where, by the pursuivant’s commands, they were locked in separate cells.
The cell in which Viviana was confined was a small chamber at the back of the prison, and on the upper story. It had a small grated window overlooking the river. It has already been mentioned that this prison was originally a chapel built in the reign of Edward the Third, and had only recently been converted into a place of security for recusants. The chamber allotted to Viviana was contrived in the roof, and was so low that she could scarcely stand upright in it. It was furnished with a chair, a small table, and a straw pallet.
The hours passed wearily with Viviana as they were marked by the deep-toned clock of the Collegiate Church, the tall tower of which fronted her window. Oppressed by the most melancholy reflections, she was for some time a prey almost to despair. On whatever side she looked, the prospect was equally cheerless, and her sole desire was that she might find a refuge from her cares in the seclusion of a convent. For this she prayed,—and she prayed also that Heaven would soften the hearts of her oppressors, and enable those who suffered to endure their yoke with patience. In the evening provisions were brought her, and placed upon the table, together with a lamp, by a surly looking gaoler. But Viviana had no inclination to eat, and left them untouched. Neither could she prevail upon herself to lie down on the wretched pallet, and she therefore determined to pass the night in the chair.
After some hours of watchfulness, her eyelids closed, and she continued to slumber until she was aroused by a slight noise at the window. Starting at the sound, she flew towards it, and perceived in the gloom the face of a man. She would have uttered a loud cry, when the circumstances of her situation rushed to her mind, and the possibility that it might be a friend checked her. The next moment satisfied her that she had acted rightly. A voice, which she recognised as that of Humphrey Chetham, called to her by name in a low tone, bidding her fear nothing, as he was come to set her free.
“How have you managed to reach this window?” asked Viviana.
“By a rope ladder,” he answered. “I contrived in the darkness to clamber upon the roof of the prison from the parapets of the bridge, and, after securing the ladder to a projection, dropped the other end into a boat, rowed by Guy Fawkes, and concealed beneath the arches of the bridge. If I can remove this bar so as to allow you to pass through the window, dare you descend the ladder?”
“No,” replied Viviana, shuddering. “My brain reels at the mere idea.”
“Think of the fate you will escape,” urged Chetham.
“And what will become of Father Oldcorne?” asked Viviana. “Where is he?”
“In the cell immediately beneath you,” replied Chetham.
“Can you not liberate him?” she continued.
“Assuredly, if he will risk the descent,” answered Chetham, reluctantly.
“Free him first,” rejoined Viviana, “and at all hazards I will accompany you.”
The young merchant made no reply, but disappeared from the window. Viviana strained her gaze downwards; but it was too dark to allow her to see anything. She, however, heard a noise like that occasioned by a file; and shortly afterwards a few muttered words informed her that the priest was passing through the window. The cords of the ladder shook against the bars of her window,—and she held her breath for fear. From this state of suspense she was relieved in a few minutes by Humphrey Chetham, who informed her that Oldcorne had descended in safety, and was in the boat with Guy Fawkes.
“I will fulfil my promise,” replied Viviana, trembling; “but I fear my strength will fail me.”
“You had better find death below than tarry here,” replied Humphrey Chetham, who as he spoke was rapidly filing through the iron bar. “In a few minutes this impediment will be removed.”
The young merchant worked hard, and in a short time the stout bar yielded to his efforts.
“Now, then,” he cried, springing into the room, “you are free.”
“I dare not make the attempt,” said Viviana; “my strength utterly fails me.”
“Nay, then,” he replied; “I will take the risk upon myself. You must not remain here.”
So
