“Since you will have it so, I must needs obey,” rejoined Osbert, in a mournful tone. “And yet I would try to move you.”
“It would be in vain,” said Carver. “Our moments are precious. Let them not be wasted in idle discussion. I will not fly from the death prepared for me. The stake is ready, and shall not want the victim. I know you will readily do me a service. Seek out my poor wife and children at Brightelmstone, and bid them farewell for me.”
“I have already seen them,” replied Osbert. “Your wife is ill—too ill to leave the house—and I enjoined her not to come here to-morrow.”
“You did right—quite right,” rejoined Carver. “What of my aged mother?” he demanded, in a voice of profound emotion.
“I ought to have no concealment from you now,” said Osbert. “Your mother is no more.”
“I thought so,” replied Carver, after a pause. “She appeared to me just now during my slumber. Her countenance wore a heavenly smile, and methought her lips opened to address me, but I could not catch the words she uttered. Her spirit was still hovering nigh me when you woke me from the blissful dream.”
There was a deep, solemn pause, after which Carver continued: “And now, Osbert Clinton, I have some counsel to give you. The success of the great enterprise on which you are engaged will depend on the prudence with which it is conducted. Be not rash. Wait for a favourable opportunity to strike the blow, and take heed that you do not place confidence in traitors.”
“We expect men and money from France,” said Osbert.
“France will play you false, as she has done before,” replied Carver.
“But we are obliged to trust to that power, since we have now no other resources,” said Osbert. “All our possessions have been seized and sequestered, and we have not wherewithal to pay the host we could raise. We have men, but not money. We lack as many chests of gold as were brought from Spain by Philip when he landed at Southampton.”