The Fifth of November Part 11

During the Jesuit's address Sir Thomas Winter sat immovable, his eyes fixed upon the fire and his brow contracted in deep thought. As Percy finished he turned suddenly to Fawkes.

"Friend Guido," said he smoothly, "thou art a man of many resources; perchance in Spain thou hast learned something a suggestion of which will now aid us. Thou perceiveth our condition."

Fawkes turned his gaze moodily upon the embers. Half unconsciously his fingers had been toying with a powder flask lying on the table before him, and a small portion of its contents had fallen into his palm. He tossed the black grains into the fire, where they flashed for an instant, sending a pungent ball of white smoke into the room. 'Twas as though the craftiness of Satan had shown to him the embryo of the hurricane.

"In Spain," replied he grimly, "there are many ways to overthrow a tyrant; in England, as the Holy Father saith, 'twill need more caution. Once upon a time the captain of a fighting vessel, fearing to fall into the hands of those who would destroy his s.h.i.+p and put the crew to torture, himself applied the fire to the magazine, it being filled with powder, and ten score men perished in a twinkling."

His companions were startled, for the meaning of his words was clear to them. As by a flash of light a way seemed to open which, if followed, would lead to the fulfillment of their purpose. Catesby leaned forward.

"But if it fail, friend Guido?" he whispered hoa.r.s.ely. "What then?"

"Then!" cried Fawkes, turning to the Jesuit, "I will kill the King,--if need be even without help! For what then would remain to us?"

Garnet replied nothing. The words of the soldier of fortune startled him. Instantly he saw the meaning of the plan which Fawkes had formed;--a plan which, if once entered upon, would be carried out by him with all the zeal of a fanatic. The fiendishness of it, while it roused his admiration of the man's ingenuity, made him shudder; for 'twas not thus men struck in England.

"Come!" said he rising, "'tis close upon midnight, and the ride was wearisome. Thy words have taken strong hold upon me, good Guido, and I need a season of prayer and meditation to gain better understanding in this matter. My cloak, therefore, that I may leave thee."

Obedient to his wishes the others hastened their preparations for departure, and in silence Fawkes led them through the pa.s.sage to the door by which they had entered his dwelling.

CHAPTER XI.

THE WAY OF THE WORLD.

On hearing the sounds which indicated the departure of those in the room beneath, Elinor arose from her cramped position and noiselessly crept to the window. In the moonlit garden she could distinguish the figures of four men going in the direction of the lane at the back of the house. One she recognized as Sir Thomas Winter; the others were unknown to her. But in a moment she heard her father's voice as he uttered a warning to the hors.e.m.e.n: "Mind the ditch, Lord Percy! Sir Catesby, keep well to the left!"

Then Fawkes closed the door, and she could hear his movements as he went about extinguis.h.i.+ng the lights. His footsteps sounded on the stairs. If by chance he came into the chamber and found her awake and up, what then? He would readily surmise how much it had been possible for her to hear. Once in his anger, she remembered, he had valued her life but cheaply;--within two short hours Elinor had learned to look upon her father with terror, almost with dread; those words of his rang in her ears: "I will kill the King if need be, even without help!"

The footsteps approached her room. What was she to do? It was too late to gain the bed and feign slumber, for the creaking of a loose board would certainly attract his attention. She hoped the door was secured, but had no recollection of locking it. At last he had gained the pa.s.sage; now he was before her room and placed his hand upon the latch; it was not locked, for the door opened. The man peered in through the crevice and gazed in her direction. How her heart throbbed, shaking her whole body, and sending the blood through her veins with a sound which she feared he would hear. She thanked G.o.d that the moon shone directly through the window and her position was well out of its rays. He evidently did not see the girl, for after a scrutiny of the bed, which stood well in the shadow, and a muttered, "Safe, safe enough; all safe," he closed the door and pa.s.sed down the corridor.

Elinor for a moment stood listening to the retreating footsteps; then sank into a chair, exhausted by the strain of the last few moments, and tried to gather her scattered thoughts. With woman's intuition she quickly grasped the enormity of all she had overheard, comprehending that high treason and wholesale murder had been planned; but the hardest truth for her to realize was that her father, whom she had always trusted and looked upon as the embodiment of honor and uprightness, was the foremost to suggest and even offer to carry out the fearful deed. "I will kill the King, if need be, even without help:" the awful sentence seemed to be repeated over and over again by the rustling night wind. Her first impulse was to save him from the consequences of such an act. Were not the names of Moore and Ess.e.x familiar to her? And what was their fate for even a suspected treason?

Her hysterical imagination placed vividly before her the head of the father she loved, lying bleeding in that patch of moonlight on the floor.

But what could she do in her weakness? Go to her father and beseech him that, for love of her, he would take no part in this terrible crime? That would accomplish nothing, for she knew him to be one whom naught could turn from a deed he once undertook and looked upon as justified. And now the most pa.s.sionate fanaticism had seized him--fanaticism of the most dangerous kind, born of wrongs done to his faith. To whom could she turn for aid? She knew but one who, perhaps, had some influence over Fawkes' stubborn mind. However, was not this very one as deep in the treason as her father? Winter! The name caused a shudder, bringing to mind that terrible morning ten days past.

Winter! She must then seek help from him; her hopes clung only to a straw; nevertheless she would go and beg, if need be, even upon bended knee, that he would persuade her father to relinquish this terrible purpose. Yes, now was the time to act, for she feared in her indefinite terror that the morrow might be too late.

Quickly seizing a cloak and throwing it about her, Elinor crept toward the door and listened. The place was dark, and quiet as the grave.

Swiftly she descended the stairs, then groped her way to the door and tried to withdraw the bolts. Would they never yield to her efforts? At last they slipped with a sound which echoed through the house. The girl paused, expecting to hear her father's voice, but the silence was unbroken. In a moment she was out in the moonlit street. How quiet and serene everything appeared. How in contrast to the tumult of her feelings. As she stood, the great bell of St. Paul's boomingly tolled out the hour--twelve o'clock.

"He must," she whispered to herself, "he must be home ere now, but what will he think of my coming to him at this time?" She tried to thrust this thought aside, and to gain repose of mind by walking more swiftly.

Arrived before Winter's residence, and trying the wicket at the entrance she found it yielded to her touch. The girl beheld a stream of light coming from between the curtains of a window on the second floor. The master of the house was then within. Quickly Elinor pa.s.sed up the walk and stood before the door. As she raised the knocker her resolution almost gave way. What was she about to tell Winter. That she, a girl, was possessed of this terrible secret!

Suddenly came to her memory the dreadful words connecting this man's name with hers. She thought of the few times when they had been together; how eager he had seemed to be near her; with what a trembling clasp he had carried her fingers to his lips and imprinted upon them kisses which burned themselves into the very flesh. And now she was about to face him in the dead of night--and alone! Her fingers relaxed their hold. "Courage, courage," she murmured; and quickly laying hold of the knocker again, she smote thrice upon the panel and listened. There soon fell upon her ear the sound of some one coming in answer to her summons. The door opened and a sleepy servant stood regarding her with an air of no small astonishment.

"Is thy master at home?" she inquired, in a voice which, in spite of her efforts, trembled.

"That he is, young miss, but what wouldst thou with him at this late hour? He hath but just returned from a journey, and is sore weary.

Canst thou not wait until the morning?"

"I must see him at once; 'tis on the most urgent business."

The hour, coupled with the fairness of the visitor, seemed to fill the servant with surprise, for he stood a moment looking at her, then replied:

"If thou wilt step inside, mistress, I'll inform Sir Winter that there be someone who wishes to hold converse with him, and perchance," he added with a meaning smile, "he'll not be so badly put out after all.

What name shall I bear to him? It may be one," he continued significantly, "which would soon draw any bolt Sir Thomas might have shot."

"No name is necessary," she answered, looking at the man and pointing with her finger. "I seek thy master and come not to parley with his menial. Go! Say a lady would speak with him."

The servant read in the girl's eye a look which seemed to brook neither delay nor familiarity, for he turned and went along the pa.s.sage and up the stairway.

As Elinor waited, the utter hopelessness of her mission broke full upon her, but it was now too late to draw back from her hasty act; the voice of Winter could be heard exclaiming with a laugh:

"What, a lady to see me at this hour? Troth, I am fatigued, but never so weary that I cannot look upon a fair face. Admit her."

A door opened and closed; the servant reappeared and beckoned her.

"Sir Thomas will see thee; 'tis the third portal from the landing," he said, pointing up the stairs leading to the floor above.

As Elinor followed the directions given, she endeavored to frame some fitting sentence with which to begin her interview, but her agitation was too great; she could think of none. Arriving before the door she tapped with her fingers upon the panel.

"Enter, my pretty one," cried a voice. "Thou hast already been announced."

She stepped within the chamber. Winter sat with his back toward the entrance facing a table upon which stood a flagon of wine. As the door closed he turned, and to her horror Elinor saw that he was flushed with strong drink.

"What? Elinor?" exclaimed Winter, in astonishment, rising from the chair with such haste that it was overturned and fell with a clatter to the floor. "I crave thy pardon, Mistress Fawkes," he continued with a bow, mastering his surprise. "Thy sudden entrance caused my tongue to utter the name that ever dwells within my heart. Pray tell me to what happy circ.u.mstance am I indebted for the honor of this visit? I would know the same that I may render homage to it."

Elinor stood speechless, filled with abhorrence and dread. All her bravery could scarce keep her from flying out of the room. She endeavored to fix her mind on the purpose which had brought her here, and so find courage. At last desperation gave her voice and she began hurriedly:

"I know that thou and others were at my father's house this night. I was not asleep as ye all supposed, and have come to beg, to beseech, pray, that my father be released from this terrible treason which hath been talked of. Thou wert the only one to whom I could turn for aid--I trust to thy goodness, to thy n.o.ble nature;--for the love of G.o.d tell me not that I come in vain. See--see," she cried hysterically, her self control gone and falling upon her knees. "I kneel before thee to crave this boon."

At her first words Winter started as if a pike had been thrust into his side. On his face was written blank astonishment, which expression, as she proceeded, gave way to one of abject fear. It would have been difficult to say which of the two was the more agitated. He dashed a hand to his brow as if to drive away the fumes of liquor which had mounted to his brain; looked at the kneeling figure; gazed on the tapers burning upon the table; and tried to form some words of reply. At last, with an effort at composure, and endeavoring to force a laugh past his dry lips, he said:

"What silly tale is this thou utterest. I have not been----"

"Nay," the girl broke in wildly, "'tis useless for thee to say so. My eyes and ears did not deceive me. Would to heaven they had and it were only some mad dream which fills my brain."

"Then--then--thou hast played the spy," hissed Winter, in sudden anger born of drink and fear. "Dost know to what thou hast listened? Has aught of it pa.s.sed thy lips? Speak!" he cried furiously, seizing the girl's arm and glaring at her in drunken rage. "Nay; then thou didst not, and 'tis well; for if thy lips had breathed one word these hands of mine would choke from out thy body its sweet breath." He relinquished his hold, and turning toward the table hurriedly drained a cup of wine.

Elinor, spellbound with terror at his outburst of fury, stood rooted to the spot. She realized the madness of her words, seeing plainly that the man's condition was one which made both prayers and entreaties useless. Again he filled a cup and dashed it off. What his state would be in a few moments she dared not think. His back was toward her; now was her chance to escape! Slowly the girl edged her way toward the entrance. At last she reached it; her hand groped behind the curtain for the k.n.o.b; it turned, but to her horror, she discovered the door was securely fastened.

A laugh greeted her from the table. "What, surely, Mistress Fawkes--nay, by my troth, Mistress Fawkes it shall be no more, for 'tis too cold a t.i.tle; therefore, Pretty Elinor--wouldst leave me, and thy errand but half done? I swear thy words did at first affright; but see, this good wine," he continued, advancing toward her unsteadily, "hath taught me wisdom, and this I know, our secret once hid in thy fair breast, could ne'er be driven forth, even if thou wished, as 'tis too warm a resting place for it to relinquish. Why dost thou shrink from me? Dost know," he added, a fierce gleam coming into his eyes, "I would try to pluck great Saturn from the heavens if thou wished to gird about thy waist his rings? Aye, and would give my soul for a kiss from thy warm lips, thinking my soul well sold. Elinor!" he exclaimed, in a husky voice, "hast thou never read my pa.s.sion for thee? 'Tis written----"

"Then!" cried the girl, "think upon that love and for G.o.d's sake let me hence."

"What? Is my love so beggarly a thing that the only answer deigned to its utterance is a scurvy request to get beyond its hearing? Nay, I have looked upon thy frozen greetings long enough, and they, I tell thee, have poorly matched my ardor. Listen! Thou dost wish to go?" he questioned, placing himself before the door and holding to the curtains for support. "Well, I will ask but cheap recompense for the loss of thy fair company. 'Tis a kiss from thy red lips; what sayest thou?"