“Daughter,” said Carver, who appeared more subdued than usual, “I am about to win the crown of martyrdom for which I have so long striven, and to inscribe my name upon that scroll which shall hereafter be a guide to our Church. In quitting you for a while, I expect you to remain stedfast in the faith. Be not shaken by the arguments of the Cardinal, who, though a good man, has been brought up in superstition and idolatry, and cannot free himself from the errors of his creed.”
“Have no fear for me,” replied Constance. “I shall soon follow in the same path you are about to tread.”
“Heaven forbid!” exclaimed Carver, with an irrepressible shudder. “Oh! Constance, while alone in my cell, I have communed with myself, sounding my breast to its depths, and weighing every thought and action, and I reproach myself that I have led you too far. I have kindled a holy fervour in your breast like that which animates my own, and which incites you to bear witness to your faith by death.”
“True. But surely you should rejoice that you have kindled such a flame,” she rejoined.
“No; I would quench it,” he cried. “Seek not martyrdom. Rush not upon fiery torments—but live—live a godly life.”
“These words are strange from you, who have so often painted the glories of martyrdom to me, and urged me to share them with you.”
“I repent that I did so,” he rejoined. “Were you to suffer with me, your torments would afflict me a thousand times more than my own. ’Twere terrible that a frame so fair as yours should be consumed by fire. It must not be. You are young and beautiful. You love, and are beloved. Live and be happy. Live for Osbert Clinton.”
“Alas!” exclaimed Constance, “I know not if Osbert still lives. It is thought he perished on that fatal night when he came here to liberate us. He has not been heard of since. But if he lives, it is as a proscribed rebel, with a price set on his head, and if he be taken, his doom is certain. I have nothing left but to die.”
“No, you must live,” said Carver, solemnly. “Osbert Clinton is not dead. He did not perish on that disastrous night, as you suppose. I have seen and spoken with him at the window of my cell, which he reached as he did when you, dear daughter, were its occupant. He and his friends are not disheartened by the ill success of their enterprise. It was rash and precipitate, and failed in consequence. But they are planning another insurrection, and I pray Heaven to crown it with success, since it has for its aim the restoration of our religion and the downfall of Philip!”
“I rejoice to hear that Osbert still lives,” said Constance; “but I fear these plots will eventually conduct him to the scaffold.”