“Do so,” rejoined Viviana; “and my blessing shall rest ever on your head.”
“Have you any valuable?” inquired Ruth. “My heart bleeds to make the demand at such a moment. But it is the only way to produce an effect on the avaricious nature of my father.”
“I have nothing but this golden crucifix,” said Viviana; “and I meant to give it to you.”
“It will be better employed in this way,” rejoined Ruth, taking it from her.
Quitting the cell, she hurried to the Well Tower, and found her father, who had just returned from locking up the conspirators in their different dungeons, sitting down to his evening meal.
“What is the matter with the wench?” he cried, staring at her. “You look quite distracted. Is Viviana Radcliffe dead?”
“No; but she is dying,” replied Ruth.
“If that is the case I must go to her directly,” observed Dame Ipgreve. “She may have some valuable about her which I must secure.”
“You will be disappointed, mother,” rejoined Ruth, with a look of irrepressible disgust. “She has nothing valuable left but this golden crucifix, which she has sent to my father, on condition of his allowing Guy Fawkes to see her before she dies.”
“Give it me, wench,” cried Jasper Ipgreve; “and let her die in peace.”