“Hold!” exclaimed Garnet authoritatively. “Wait till to-morrow and, if aught occurs in the interim to confirm your suspicions, do as you think proper. I will not oppose you.”
“If I forbear so long,” returned Catesby, “it will not be safe to remain here.”
“I will risk it,” said Garnet, “and I counsel you to do the same. You will not leave Viviana at this strait.”
“I have no such thoughts,” replied Catesby. “If I go, she goes too.”
“Then it will be in vain, I am sure, to endeavour to induce her to accompany you till her father is interred,” observed Garnet.
“True,” replied Catesby; “I had forgotten that. We shall meet the hoary juggler at the church, and an opportunity may occur for executing my purpose there. Unless he will swear at the altar not to betray us, he shall die by my hand.”
“An oath in such a case would be no security, my son,” returned Garnet; “and his slaughter and that of his companion would be equally inefficacious, and greatly prejudicial to our cause. If he means to betray us, he has done so already. But I have little apprehension. I do not think him well affected towards the government, and I cannot but think, if you had not thus grossly insulted him, he would have favoured rather than opposed our design. If he was aware of the plot, and adverse to it, what need was there to exert his skill in behalf of our dying friend, who, but for him, would have been, ere this, a lump of lifeless clay? No, no, my son. You are far too hasty in your judgment. Nor am I less surprised at your injustice. Overlooking the great benefit conferred upon us, because some trifling scheme has been thwarted, you would requite our benefactor by cutting his throat.”
“Your rebuke is just, father,” returned Catesby. “I have acted heedlessly. But I will endeavour to repair my error.”
“Enough, my son,” replied Garnet. “It will be advisable to go well armed to the church to-night, for fear of a surprise. But I shall not absent myself on that account.”
“Nor I,” rejoined Catesby.