“Heed her not, father,” shouted Catesby, who still held her fast, “but proceed with the ceremony.”
Oldcorne, however, appeared irresolute, and Viviana perceiving it, redoubled her cries.
“This will be no marriage, father,” she said, “even if you proceed with it. I will protest against it to all the world, and you will be deprived of your priestly office for your share in so infamous a transaction.”
“You will think otherwise anon, daughter,” replied Oldcorne, advancing towards them with the missal in his hand.
“If it be no marriage,” observed Catesby, significantly, “the time will come when you may desire to have the ceremony repeated.”
“Mr. Catesby,” cried Viviana, altering her manner, as if she had taken a sudden resolution, “one word before you proceed with your atrocious purpose, which must end in misery to us all. There are reasons why you can never wed me.”
“Ha!” exclaimed Catesby, starting.
“Is it so, my son?” asked Oldcorne, uneasily.
“Pshaw!” exclaimed Catesby. “She knows not what she says. Proceed, father.”
“I have proofs that will confound you,” cried Viviana, breaking from him. And darting towards the light, she took from her bosom the packet given her by Guy Fawkes, and tore it open. A letter was within it, and a miniature.