“You have become strangely interested in Viviana of late,” observed Catesby, sarcastically. “Could I suspect you of so light a passion, I should say you loved her.”
A deep flush dyed Fawkes's swarthy cheeks, but he answered in a voice of constrained calmness,
“I do love her,—as a daughter.”
“Humph!” exclaimed the other, drily.
“Catesby,” rejoined Fawkes, sternly, “you know me well—too well, to suppose I would resort to any paltry subterfuge. I am willing to let what you have said pass. But I counsel you not to jest thus in future.”
“Jest!” exclaimed Catesby. “I was never more serious in my life.”
“Then you do me wrong,” retorted Fawkes, fiercely; “and you will repeat the insinuation at your peril.”
“My sons—my sons,” interposed Garnet, “what means this sudden—this needless quarrel, at a moment when we require the utmost calmness to meet the danger that assails us? Guy Fawkes is right. Viviana must be saved. If we desert her, our cause will never prosper. But let us proceed step by step, and first decide upon what is to be done with Lord Mounteagle.”
“I am filled with perplexity,” replied Catesby.
“Then I will decide for you,” replied Percy. “Our project must be abandoned.”