“Hark 'e, gentlemen,” cried Catesby, fiercely, “you may drink or not, as you see fit. But I will not have you assume a deportment calculated to depress our followers. Stephen Littleton and Robert Winter have basely deserted us. If you have any intention of following them, go at once. We are better without you than with you.”
“I have no thought of deserting you, Catesby,” rejoined Rookwood, mournfully; “and when the time arrives for action, you will find I shall not be idle. But I am now assured that we have sold ourselves to perdition.”
“Pshaw!” cried Catesby, with a laugh that communicated an almost fiendish expression to his grim features; “because a little powder has accidentally exploded and blackened our faces, are we to see in the occurrence the retributive justice of Heaven? Are we to be cast down by such a trifle? Be a man, and rouse yourself. Recollect that the eyes of all England are upon us; and if we must fall, let us perish in a manner that becomes us. No real mischief has been done. My hand is as able to wield a blade, and my sight to direct a shot, as heretofore. If Heaven had meant to destroy us, the bag of powder which has been taken up in the yard, and which was sufficient not only to annihilate us, but to lay this house in ruins, would have been suffered to explode.”
“Would it had exploded!” exclaimed John Wright. “All would then have been over.”
“Are you, too, fainthearted, John?” cried Catesby. “Well, well, leave me one and all of you. I will fight it out alone.”
“You wrong me by the suspicion, Catesby,” returned John Wright. “I am as true to the cause as yourself. But I perceive that our last hour is at hand, and I would it were past.”
“The indulgence of such a wish at such a moment is a weakness,” rejoined Catesby. “I care not when death comes, provided it comes gloriously; and such should be your feeling. On the manner in which we meet our fate will depend the effect which our insurrection will produce throughout the country. We must set a brave example to our brethren. Heaven be praised; we shall not perish on the scaffold!”
“Be not too sure of that,” said Grant, gloomily. “It may yet be our fate.”
“It shall never be mine,” cried Catesby.
“Nor mine,” added Percy. “I am so far from regarding the recent disaster as a punishment, though I am the severest sufferer by it, that I think we ought to return thanks to Heaven for our preservation.”