“Do not think of it,” replied Viviana.
“I cannot banish it from my thoughts,” continued Fawkes. “I cannot reconcile it to my feelings that one so young, so beautiful, should be thus treated. Dwelling on this idea unmans me—unfits me for sterner duties. The great crisis is at hand, and I must live only for it.”
“Live for it, then,” rejoined Viviana; “but, oh! let me remain with you till the blow is struck. Something tells me I may yet be useful to you—may save you.”
“No more of this, if you would indeed remain,” rejoined Guy Fawkes, sternly. “Regard me as a sword in the hand of fate, which cannot be turned aside,—as a bolt launched from the cloud, and shattering all in its course, which may not be stopped,—as something terrible, exterminating, immovable. Regard me as this, and say whether I am not to be shunned.”
“No,” replied Viviana; “I am as steadfast as yourself. I will remain.”
Guy Fawkes gazed at her in surprise mixed with admiration, and pressing her hand affectionately, said,
“I applaud your resolution. If I had a daughter, I should wish her to be like you.”
“You promised to be a father to me,” she rejoined. “How can you be so if I leave you?”
“How can I be so if you stay?” returned Fawkes, mournfully. “No, you must indulge no filial tenderness for one so utterly unable to requite it as myself. Fix your thoughts wholly on Heaven. Pray for the restoration of our holy religion—for the success of the great enterprise—and haply your prayers may prevail.”
“I cannot pray for that,” she replied; “for I do not wish it success. But I will pray—and fervently—that all danger may be averted from your head.”