“He who has robbed you of it is a heretic,” rejoined Oldcorne, sternly, “and therefore your union with him is out of the question. Promise me you will wed Mr. Catesby, or, in the name of your dead father, I will invoke a curse upon your head. Promise me, I say.”
“Never,” replied Viviana, rising. “My father would never have enforced my compliance, and I dread no curse thus impiously pronounced. You are overstepping the bounds of your priestly office, sir. Farewell.”
As she moved to depart, a strong grasp was laid on her arm, and turning, she beheld Catesby.
“You here, sir?” she cried, in great alarm.
“Ay,” replied Catesby. “At last you are in my power, Viviana.”
“I would fain misunderstand you, sir,” she rejoined, trembling; “but your looks terrify me. You mean no violence?”
“I mean that Father Oldcorne shall wed us,—and that too without a moment's delay,” replied Catesby, sternly.
“Monster!” shrieked Viviana, “you will not,—dare not commit this foul offence. And if you dare, Father Oldcorne will not assist you. Ah! what means that sign? I cannot be mistaken in you, father? You cannot be acting in concert with this wicked man? Save me from him!—save me.”
But the priest kept aloof, and taking a missal from his vest, hastily turned over the leaves. Viviana saw that her appeal to him was vain.
“Let me go!” she shrieked, struggling with Catesby. “You cannot force me to wed you whether I will or not; and I will die rather than consent. Let me go, I say? Help!—help!” And she made the cavern ring with her screams.