“What is the meaning of this raving?” demanded the pursuivant.
“Pay no heed to her talk,” interposed Humphrey Chetham; “she is a poor crazed being, who knows not what she says. I will be surety for her inoffensive conduct.”
“You must give me surety for yourself, sir,” replied the pursuivant. “I have just learnt that you were last night at Ordsall Hall, the seat of that 'dangerous temporiser,'—for so he is designated in my warrant,—Sir William Radcliffe. And if report speaks truly, you are not altogether insensible to the charms of his fair daughter, Viviana.”
“What is this to thee, thou malapert knave?” cried Humphrey Chetham, reddening, partly from anger, partly, it might be, from another emotion.
“Much, as you shall presently find, good Master Wolf-in-sheep's-clothing,” retorted the pursuivant; “if you prove not a rank Papist at heart, then do I not know a true man from a false.”
This angry conference was cut short by a piercing scream from the prophetess. Breaking from the grasp of her captors, who were about to force her into the prison, she sprang with a single bound upon the parapet of the bridge; and utterly regardless of her dangerous position, turned, and faced the soldiers, who were struck mute with astonishment.
“Tremble!” she cried, in a loud voice,—"tremble, ye evil-doers! Ye who have despoiled the house of God,—have broken his altars,—scattered his incense,—slain his priests. Tremble, I say. The avenger is arrived. The bolt is in his hand. It shall strike king, lords, commons,—all! These are my last words,—take them to heart.”
“Drag her off!” roared the pursuivant, furiously.
“Use care—use gentleness, if ye are men!” cried Humphrey Chetham.
“Think not you can detain me!” cried the prophetess. “Avaunt, and tremble!”