"The cutting off of one who is the bitter enemy of our creed, the usurper of the throne of these realms," said Parry, "the putting to death of Elizabeth Tudor."
"Ah, ah," said Martin, "methought 'twould tend that way. She to whom you are indebted for a life, is to pay the forfeit of life for her clemency."
"And you disapprove of my project, then?" inquired Parry.
"Nay, I said not so much, did I?" returned the shrewd Martin.
"But you inferred so much, did you not?" again inquired Parry.
"Mayhap I did, mayhap I did not," said Martin, who saw by the eye of Parry that his own situation, thus shut up with such a man, and under false colours, was somewhat perilous, especially as Parry in his excited state begun to fumble with the poniard at his waist. Martin in short now saw that his companion was mad. Under such circumstances to shew fear or distrust is to perish.
"In trusting Father Eustace," said Parry, placing himself between Martin and the door, "I was led to expect I should find one ready in every way to forward and aid so great a design. Such was the assurance I received from Ragazoni. I brook no prevarication, priest; neither will I run the risk of betrayal." So saying, Parry drew his dagger from the sheath, looking at Martin at the same time with the ferocity of a tiger ready to spring.
"'Tis not often that ministers of the Holy Mother Church are threatened thus," said Martin coolly, and without altering his position.
"I will drive my dagger to the heart of every member of this household," said Parry, "rather than endanger the success of my project."
"That in itself would ruin the project, as far as you are its executor," returned Martin, "since you would be likely to be apprehended and suffer for your violence."
"Swear upon the hilt of my poniard not to divulge what I have just related," said Parry, becoming somewhat less excited, and thrusting his dagger close to the mouth of Martin. "Swear."
"I am ready to do so," said Martin, quietly moving the steel from its close proximity to his lips, "with one reservation however, that Sir Hugh Clopton is to be informed of it."
"Ah," said Parry, seeming to reflect, and as suddenly changing from his excited state to comparative calmness, "was I not told to take the advice of Father Eustace, as to the propriety of making Sir Hugh Clopton acquainted with this design? And you advise such measure, do you, father?"
"Most assuredly; for what other purpose have you sought his roof?"
"For the purpose," said Parry, "of being in the vicinity of others cognizant of my design in this country, and of conferring with yourself in security, since my steps and motions, until I took refuge in Warwickshire, have been closely watched."
"Good," returned Martin. "Now, wilt follow my advice since you have been sent to seek it?"
"I will," said Parry.
"Thus it is," said Martin; "dismiss all further thoughts connected with your design to-night: partake of the refreshments I have brought with me, and then seek the repose you so much need. To-morrow we will talk further, taking Sir Hugh into our counsels; and so I take my leave." As he said this Martin rose, and was about to pass Parry, carefully making a circuit so as to get between him and the door, the latter following him as he did so with a doubtful eye.
"You are a different man from the person I was led to expect in Father Eustace," said Parry, still dallying with his drawn dagger.
"I am as you see me," said Martin, "true to my word and to the master I serve."
"And you swear not to divulge?" said Parry.
"Except to Sir Hugh—I swear," said Martin.
"Be it so," said Parry, sheathing his dagger and stepping aside. "Good night, father."
"To-morrow early I will again be with you," said Martin. "Good night", and the next moment he was outside the small apartment.
CHAPTER VIII.
STRATFORD-UPON-AVON.
On the skirts of the county of Warwick (saith a modern author), situated on the low meadowy banks of a river, there is a little quiet country town, boasting nothing to attract the attention of the traveller but a fine church and one or two antique buildings with elaborately carved fronts of wood or stone, in the peaceful streets. There would seem to be little traffic in that place, and the passing traveller, ignorant of the locality, would scarcely cast a second look around. But whisper its name into his ear, and, hand in hand with his ignorance, his apathy will straightway depart. He will stop his horse; he will descend from the saddle; he will explore those quiet streets, he will enter more than one of the houses in that little town; he will visit that old church, he will pause reverentially before its monuments; he will carry away with him some notes—perhaps some sketches; and remember what he saw and what he felt that day to the very close of his life. Indeed you will seldom fail to see, even in that quiet little town, small groups of people on whose faces and in whose demeanour you will recognize the stranger stamp. There is something to see in those unfrequented streets; and they have come a long way to see it. What wonder! The town is Stratford-upon-Avon.
Such is indeed Stratford-upon-Avon at the present time. But in the sixteenth century it presented a somewhat different aspect.
The different towns in England, at this latter period, were just beginning to emerge from their state of primitive rudeness and irregularity, and the houses to be distinguished for a style of architectural beauty and comfort as dwellings, which has not since been improved or exceeded.
The various contentions and intestine jars which had, almost up to the reign of Elizabeth, drained the population, and kept men from all peaceful occupations and improvements, and in consequence of which the squalor of their dwellings and tenements were but one degree improved from the rudeness of the Norman period, was now to give place to a style which, if but one tenement remain to us in a town of the present age, we look at it with delight and admiration. Stratford-upon-Avon then, in the year 1584, might be said to partake largely of both these styles. In some parts were to be seen those irregular ill-built wooden tenements, little removed from the hut of the Norman citizen. These standing apart, and without regard to streets, formed the abode of the poorer sort of inhabitants, and chiefly constituted the suburbs; whilst several regular streets were to be found composed of handsome, strong-built, heavily-timbered, and substantial dwellings, having their shops encroaching into the streets; their beetling storeys above; their long passages running backwards, with ample yards and gardens in rear; and their low-roofed wide-chimneyed, secluded, and comfortable rooms, secured by massive iron-studded doors, and accommodated with heavy cumbrous articles of furniture.
Here and there too, in the midst, were to be seen the mouldering remains of some dark monastic building of a former day. The walls of edifices, built in the dark ages of monkish intolerance, whose grated windows and low-arched doors told of the Saxon and the Dane, when, save the splendour of religious architecture, there was nothing between the hut and the castle.
Nothing could be more rural and picturesque than Stratford-upon-Avon on a bright summer's day. Its streets, as we have before partially described, and (as was mostly the case in unwalled towns at this period) were, except in the very centre of the town, composed of houses detached at irregular intervals, many of the edifices being partially screened by the luxuriant trees which shadowed their fronts, and grew in the gardens in rear: added to this, in the suburban thoroughfares of this town, it was not uncommon to find a clump of tall elms or oaks growing in the very centre of the road, beneath whose boughs the rude bench, the horse-trough, and the creaking