“How so?” she inquired.
“Listen to me, Miss Radcliffe,” he rejoined, gravely, “and let my words be deeply graven upon your heart. In your hands rests the destiny of the Catholic Church.”
“In mine!” exclaimed Viviana.
“In yours,” returned Catesby. “A mighty blow is about to be struck for her deliverance.”
“Ay, marry, is it,” cried Oldcorne, with sudden fervour. “Redemption draweth nigh; the year of visitation approacheth to an end; and jubilation is at hand. England shall again be called a happy realm, a blessed country, a religious people. Those who knew the former glory of religion shall lift up their hands for joy to see it returned again. Righteousness shall prosper, and infidelity be plucked up by the root. False error shall vanish like smoke, and they which saw it shall say where is it become? The daughters of Babylon shall be cast down, and in the dust lament their ruin. Proud heresy shall strike her sail, and groan as a beast crushed under a cart-wheel. The memory of novelties shall perish with a crack, and as a ruinous house falling to the ground. Repent, ye seducers, with speed, and prevent the dreadful wrath of the Powerable. He will come as flame that burneth out beyond the furnace. His fury shall fly forth as thunder, and pitch upon their tops that malign him. They shall perish in his fury, and melt like wax before the fire.”
“Amen!” ejaculated Catesby, as the priest concluded. “You have spoken prophetically, father.”
“I have but recited a prayer transmitted to me by Father Garnet," rejoined Oldcorne.
“Do you discern any hidden meaning in it?” demanded Catesby.
“Yea, verily my son,” returned the priest. “In the 'false error vanishing like smoke,'—in the 'house perishing with a crack,'—and in the 'fury flying forth as thunder,'—I read the mode the great work shall be brought about.”
“And you applaud the design?” asked Catesby, eagerly.
“Non vero factum probo, sed eventum amo,” rejoined the priest.
“The secret is safe in your keeping, father?” asked Catesby, uneasily.
“As if it had been disclosed to me in private confession,” replied Oldcorne.
“Hum!” muttered Catesby. “Confessions of as much consequence to the state have ere now been revealed, father.”
“A decree has been passed by his holiness, Clement VIII., forbidding all such revelations,” replied Oldcorne. “And the question has been recently propounded by a learned brother of our order, Father Antonio Delrio, who, in his Magical Disquisitions, putteth it thus:—'Supposing a malefactor shall confess that he himself or some other has laid Gunpowder, or the like combustible matter, under a building—'"
“Ha!” exclaimed Catesby, starting.
“—'And, unless it be taken away,'" proceeded the priest, regarding him fixedly, “'the whole house will be burnt, the prince destroyed, and as many as go into or out of the city will come to great mischief or peril!'"2
“Well!” exclaimed Catesby.
“The point then arises,” continued Oldcorne, “whether the priest may make use of the secret thus obtained for the good of the government, and the averting of such danger; and, after fully discussing it, Father Delrio decides in the negative.”
“Enough,” returned Catesby.
“By whom is the blow to be struck?” asked Viviana, who had listened to the foregoing discourse in silent wonder.
“By me,” answered Catesby. “It is for you 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