“It will be better so,” replied Mounteagle. “He may else babble hereafter. I gave him a thousand pounds to send in his own name to the conspirators the other day to lure them into our nets.”
“It shall be repaid you a hundred-fold,” replied Salisbury. “But we are observed, and must therefore separate.”
So saying, he withdrew to his own chamber, while Lord Mounteagle was ushered to the apartments allotted to him.
To return to Guy Fawkes. Arriving at Southwark, he stationed himself near Lord Mounteagle's residence. But he observed nothing to awaken his suspicions, until early in the morning he perceived a page approaching the mansion, whom, from his livery, he knew to be one of Lord Mounteagle's household, (it was, in fact, the very youth who had delivered the mysterious letter,) and from him he ascertained all that had occurred. Filled with alarm, and scarcely knowing what to do, he crossed the river, and proceeding to the cellar, examined the marks at the door, and finding all precisely as he had left it, felt certain, that whatever discovery had been made, the magazine had not been visited.
He next repaired to the house, of which he possessed the key, and was satisfied that no one had been there. Somewhat relieved by this, he yet determined to keep watch during the day, and concealing himself near the cellar, remained on the look-out till night. But no one came; nor did anything occur to excite his suspicions. He would not, however, quit his post till about six o'clock on the following evening, when, thinking further delay might be attended with danger, he set out to White Webbs, to give his companions intelligence of the letter.
His news was received by all with the greatest alarm, and not one, except Catesby, who strove to put a bold face upon the matter, though he was full of inward misgiving, but confessed that he thought all chance of success was at an end. While deliberating upon what should be done in this fearful emergency, they were greatly alarmed by a sudden knocking without. All the conspirators concealed themselves, except Guy Fawkes, who opening the door, found, to his infinite surprise, that the summons proceeded from Tresham. He said nothing till the other had entered the house, and then suddenly drawing his dagger, held it to his throat.
“Make your shrift quickly, traitor,” he cried in a furious tone, “for your last hour is arrived. What ho!” he shouted to the others, who instantly issued from their hiding-places, “the fox has ventured into the lion's den.”
“You distrust me wrongfully,” rejoined Tresham, with more confidence than he usually exhibited in time of danger; “I am come to warn you, not betray you. Is this the return you make me for the service?”
“Villain!” cried Catesby, rushing up to him, and holding his drawn sword to his breast. “You have conveyed the letter to Lord Mounteagle.”
“It is false,” replied Tresham; “I have only just heard of it; and, in spite of the risk I knew I should run from your suspicions, I came to tell you what had happened.”