“I will not return till the miscreants have quitted it,” said Viviana.
“Their departure is uncertain,” replied Fawkes. “When they are baulked of their prey they sometimes haunt a dwelling for weeks.”
“What will become of me?” cried Viviana, distractedly.
“It were vain, I fear, to entreat you to accept an asylum with my father at Clayton Hall, or at my own residence at Crumpsall,” said Humphrey Chetham.
“Your offer is most kind, sir,” replied Oldcorne, “and is duly appreciated. But Viviana will see the propriety—on every account—of declining it.”
“I do; I do,” she acquiesced.
“Will you entrust yourself to my protection?” observed Fawkes.
“Willingly,” replied the priest, answering for her. “We shall find some place of refuge,” he added, turning to Viviana, “where your father can join us, and where we can remain concealed till this storm has blown over.”
“I know many such,” rejoined Fawkes, “both in this county and in Yorkshire, and will guide you to one.”
“My horses are at your service,” said Humphrey Chetham. “They are tied beneath the trees in the avenue. My servant shall bring them to the door,” and, turning to his attendant, he gave him directions to that effect. “I was riding hither an hour before midnight,” he continued, addressing Viviana, “to offer you assistance, having accidentally heard the pursuivant mention his meditated visit to Ordsall Hall, to one of his followers, when, as I approached the gates, this person,” pointing to Guy Fawkes, “crossed my path, and, seizing the bridle of my steed, demanded whether I was a friend to Sir William Radcliffe. I answered in the affirmative, and desired to know the motive of his inquiry. He then told me that the house was invested by a numerous band of armed men, who had crossed the moat by means of a plank, and were at that moment concealed within the garden. This intelligence, besides filling me with alarm, disconcerted all my plans, as I hoped to have been beforehand with them—their inquisitorial searches being generally made at a late hour, when all the inmates of a house intended to be surprised are certain to have retired to rest. While I was bitterly reproaching myself for my dilatoriness, and considering what course it would be best to pursue, my servant, Martin Heydocke, son to your father's old steward, who had ridden up at the stranger's approach, informed me that he was acquainted with a secret passage communicating beneath the moat with the hall. Upon this, I dismounted; and fastening my horse to a tree, ordered him to lead me to it without an instant's delay. The stranger, who gave his name as Guy Fawkes, and professed himself a stanch Catholic, and a friend of Father Oldcorne, begged permission to join us, in a tone so earnest, that I at once acceded to his request. We then proceeded to this building, and after some search discovered the trap-door. Much time was lost, owing to our being unprovided with lights, in the subterranean passage; and it was more than two hours before we could find the ring connected with the stone door, the mystery of which Martin explained to us. This delay we feared would render our scheme abortive, when, just as we reached the panel, we heard your shrieks. The spring was touched, and—you know the rest.”