“No,” replied Fawkes, rousing himself; “I will go through with it.”
“It is well,” replied Dee. And he extinguished the light.
An awful silence now ensued, broken only by a low murmur from Doctor Dee, who appeared to be reciting an incantation. As he proceeded, his tones became louder, and his accents those of command. Suddenly, he paused, and seemed to await a response. But, as none was made, greatly to the disappointment of Guy Fawkes, whose curiosity, notwithstanding his fears, was raised to the highest pitch, he cried, “Blood is wanting to complete the charm.”
“If that is all, I will speedily supply the deficiency,” replied Guy Fawkes; and, drawing his rapier, he bared his left arm, and pricked it deeply with the point of the weapon.
“I bleed now,” he cried.
“Sprinkle the corpse with the ruddy current,” rejoined Doctor Dee.
“Your commands are obeyed,” replied Fawkes. “I have placed my hand on its breast, and the blood is flowing upon it.”
Upon this the Doctor began to mutter an incantation in a louder and more authoritative tone than before. Presently, Kelley added his voice, and they both joined in a sort of chorus, but in a jargon wholly unintelligible to Guy Fawkes.
All at once a blue flame appeared above their heads, and, slowly descending, settled upon the brow of the corpse, lighting up the sunken cavities of the eyes, and the discoloured and distorted features.
“The charm works,” shouted Doctor Dee.
“She moves! she moves!” exclaimed Guy Fawkes. “She is alive!”
“Take off your hand,” cried the Doctor, “or mischief may ensue.” And he again continued his incantation.
“Down on your knees!” he exclaimed, at length, in a terrible voice. “The spirit is at hand.”
There was a rushing sound, and a stream of dazzling lightning shot down upon the corpse, which emitted a hollow groan. In obedience to the Doctor's commands, Guy Fawkes had prostrated himself on the ground: but he kept his gaze steadily fixed on the body, which, to his infinite astonishment, slowly arose, until it stood erect upon the frame. There it remained perfectly motionless, with the arms close to the sides, and the habiliments torn and dishevelled. The blue light still retained its position upon the brow, and communicated a horrible glimmer to the features. The spectacle was so dreadful that Guy Fawkes would fain have averted his eyes, but he was unable to do so. Doctor Dee and his companion, meanwhile, continued their invocations, until, as it seemed to Fawkes, the lips of the corpse moved, and an awful voice exclaimed, “Why have you called me?”
“Daughter!” replied Doctor Dee, rising, “in life thou wert endowed with the gift of prophecy. In the grave, that which is to come must be revealed to thee. We would question thee.”
“Speak, and I will answer,” replied the corpse.
“Interrogate her, my son,” said Dee, addressing Fawkes, “and be brief, for the time is short. So long only as that flame burns have I power over her.”
“Spirit of Elizabeth Orton,” cried Guy Fawkes, “if indeed thou standest before me, and some demon hath not entered thy frame to delude me,—by all that is holy, and by every blessed saint, I adjure thee to tell me whether the scheme on which I am now engaged for the advantage of the Catholic Church will prosper?”
“Thou art mistaken, Guy Fawkes,” returned the corpse. “Thy scheme is not for the advantage of the Catholic Church.”
“I will not pause to inquire wherefore,” continued Fawkes. “But, grant that the means are violent and wrongful, will the end be successful?”
“The end will be death,” replied the corpse.
“To the tyrant—to the oppressors?” demanded Fawkes.
“To the conspirators,” was the answer.
“Ha!” ejaculated Fawkes.
“Proceed, if you have aught more to ask,” cried Dr. Dee. “The flame is expiring.”
“Shall we restore the fallen religion?” demanded Fawkes.
But before the words could be pronounced the light vanished, and a heavy sound was heard, as of the body falling on the frame.
“It is over,” said Doctor Dee.
“Can you not summon her again?” asked Fawkes, in a tone of deep disappointment. “I had other questions to ask.”
“Impossible,” replied the Doctor. “The spirit is fled, and will not be recalled. We must now commit the body to the earth. And this time it shall be more decently interred.”
“My curiosity is excited,—not satisfied,” said Guy Fawkes. “Would it were to occur again!”
“It is ever thus,” replied Doctor Dee. “We seek to know that which is interdicted,—and quench our thirst at a fountain that only inflames our curiosity the more. Be warned, my son. You are embarked on a perilous enterprise, and if you pursue it, it will lead you to certain destruction.”
“I cannot retreat,” rejoined Fawkes, “and would not, if I could. I am bound by an oath too terrible to be broken.”
“I will absolve you of your oath, my son,” said Dr. Dee, eagerly.
“You cannot, reverend sir,” replied Fawkes. “By no sophistry could I clear my conscience of the ties imposed upon it. I have sworn never to desist from the execution of this scheme, unless those engaged in it shall give me leave. Nay, so resolved am I, that if I stood alone I would go on.”
As he spoke, a deep groan issued from the corpse.
“You are again warned, my son,” said Dee.
“Come forth,” said Guy Fawkes, rushing towards the door, and throwing it open. “This place stifles me.”
The night has already been described as bright and beautiful. Before him stood the Collegiate Church bathed in moonlight. He gazed abstractedly at this venerable structure for a few moments, and then returned to the charnel, where he found Doctor Dee and Kelley employed in placing the body of the prophetess in a coffin, which they had taken from a pile in the corner. He immediately proffered his assistance, and in a short space the task was completed. The coffin was then borne towards the grave, at the edge of which it was laid while the burial-service was recited by Doctor Dee. This ended, it was lowered into its shallow resting-place, and speedily covered with earth.
When all was ready for their departure, the Doctor turned to Fawkes, and, bidding him farewell, observed,
“If you are wise, my son, you will profit by the awful warning you have this night received.”
“Before we part, reverend sir,” replied Fawkes, “I would ask if you know of other means whereby an insight may be obtained into the future?”
“Many, my son,” replied Dee. “I have a magic glass, in which, with due preparation, you may behold exact representations of coming events. I am now returning to the College, and if you will accompany me, I will show it to you.”
The offer was eagerly accepted, and the party quitted the churchyard.
ToC
CHAPTER VIII.
THE MAGIC GLASS.
The old College of Manchester occupied, as is well known, the site of the existing structure, called after the benevolent individual by whom that admirable