“Doubt it not,” returned Catesby. “Charged with your wishes, the wind shall scarcely outstrip my speed.”
So saying, he marched irresolutely towards the door, as if about to depart, when, just as he had reached it, he turned sharply round, and threw himself at Viviana's feet.
“Forgive me, Miss Radcliffe,” he cried, “if I once again, even at a critical moment like the present, dare to renew my suit. I fancied I had subdued my passion for you, but your presence has awakened it with greater violence than ever.”
“Rise, sir, I pray,” rejoined the maiden, in an offended tone.
“Hear me, I beseech you,” continued Catesby, seizing her hand. “Before you reject my suit, consider well that in these perilous seasons, when no true Catholic can call his life his own, you may need a protector.”
“In the event you describe, Mr. Catesby,” answered Viviana, “I would at once fulfil the intention I have formed of devoting myself to Heaven, and retire to the convent of Benedictine nuns, founded by Lady Mary Percy, at Brussels.”
“You would much more effectually serve the cause of your religion by acceding to my suit,” observed Catesby, rising.
“How so?” she inquired.
“Listen to me, Miss Radcliffe,” he rejoined, gravely, “and let my words be deeply graven upon your heart. In your hands rests the destiny of the Catholic Church.”
“In mine!” exclaimed Viviana.