Garnet made no reply, but regarded him steadfastly.
“Has the blessed Winifred appeared to you, I say?” continued Fawkes.
“No,” answered Garnet; “I am but just come hither. It is for you, my son,—the favoured of Heaven,—for whom such glorious visions are reserved. I have seen nothing. How did the saint manifest herself to you?”
“In her earthly form,” replied Fawkes; “or rather, I should say, in the semblance of the form she bore on earth. Listen to me, father. I came hither last night to make my couch beside the fountain. After plunging into it, I felt marvellously refreshed, and disposed myself to rest on that stone. Scarcely had my eyes closed when the saintly virgin appeared to me. Oh! father, it was a vision of seraphic beauty, such as the eye of man hath seldom seen!”
“And such only as it is permitted the elect of Heaven to see,” observed Garnet.
“Alas! father,” rejoined Guy Fawkes, “I can lay little claim to such an epithet. Nay, I begin to fear that I have incurred the displeasure of Heaven.”
“Think not so, my son,” replied Garnet, uneasily. “Relate your vision, and I will interpret it to you.”
“Thus then it was, father,” returned Fawkes. “The figure of the saint arose from out the well, and gliding towards me laid its finger upon my brow. My eyes opened, but I was as one oppressed with a nightmare, unable to move. I then thought I heard my name pronounced by a voice so wondrously sweet that my senses were quite ravished. Fain would I have prostrated myself, but my limbs refused their office. Neither could I speak, for my tongue was also enchained.”
“Proceed, my son,” observed Garnet; “I am curious to know what ensued.”
“Father,” replied Guy Fawkes, “if the form I beheld was that of Saint Winifred,—and that it was so, I cannot doubt,—the enterprise on which we are engaged will fail. It is not approved by Heaven. The vision warned me to desist.”