“On the way to Chester, whither he departed in all haste, at Viviana's urgent request, to apprise her father of his danger,” rejoined the priest.
“This is strange!” muttered Guy Fawkes. “Catesby here, and I not know it!”
“He had a secret motive for his visit, my son,” whispered Oldcorne, significantly.
“So I conclude, father,” replied Fawkes, in the same tone.
“Viviana Radcliffe,” murmured Humphrey Chetham, in low and tender accents, “something tells me that this moment will decide my future fate. Emboldened by the mysterious manner in which we have been brought together, and you, as it were, have been thrown upon my protection, I venture to declare the passion I have long indulged for you;—a passion which, though deep and fervent as ever agitated human bosom, has hitherto, from the difference of our rank, and yet more from the difference of our religious opinions, been without hope. What has just occurred,—added to the peril in which your worthy father stands, and the difficulties in which you yourself will necessarily be involved,—makes me cast aside all misgiving, and perhaps with too much presumption, but with a confident belief that the sincerity of my love renders me not wholly undeserving of your regard, earnestly solicit you to give me a husband's right to watch over and defend you.”
Viviana was silent. But even by the imperfect light the young merchant could discern that her cheek was covered with blushes.
“Your answer?” he cried, taking her hand.
“You must take it from my lips, Master Chetham,” interposed the priest; “Viviana Radcliffe never can be yours.”
“Be pleased to let her speak for herself, reverend sir,” rejoined the young merchant, angrily.
“I represent her father, and have acquainted you with his determination,” rejoined the priest. “Appeal to her, and she will confirm my words.”