“Peace, father!” cried Guy Fawkes, sternly.
“I do not lament the fate of the pursuivant,” observed Humphrey Chetham. “But this is a frightful waste of human life—and in such a cause!”
“It is the cause of Heaven, young sir,” rejoined the priest, angrily.
“I do not think so,” returned Chetham; “and, but for my devotion to Viviana, I would have no further share in it.”
“You are at liberty to leave us, if you think proper,” retorted the priest, coldly.
“Nay, say not so, father,” interposed Viviana, who had been an unobserved listener to the foregoing discourse. “You owe your life—your liberty, to Mr. Chetham.”
“True, daughter,” replied the priest. “I have been too hasty, and entreat his forgiveness.”
“You have it, reverend sir,” rejoined the young merchant. “And now, Master Heydocke,” he added, turning to the steward, “you may return to the Hall with safety. No one will molest you more, and your presence may be needed.”
“But my young mistress—” said Heydocke.
“I am setting out for Holywell to join my father,” replied Viviana. “You will receive our instructions from that place.”