The Fifth of November Part 14

"I can, Master, for many a pot of ale I've drank in that same place.

Look," he continued, pointing, "if thou wilt follow this street until the second turning to the right, from there thou canst readily see the tavern's sign."

"My thanks to thee," said Winter, taking a coin from his purse and handing it to the man. His eyes again for a moment turned upon the prostrate figure. "And my friends," added he, "I would deem it expedient that ye notify the guards, and have this unsightly thing removed." He then turned and proceeded in the direction given him.

This incident brought a renewal of the apprehensions which had haunted him earlier in the morning, and he muttered as he went on his way: "There is the first consequence of my folly, and the next may be--nay, courage; heaven will not be so merciless as to permit one evil deed to overthrow our cause. G.o.d will pardon this hasty sin, when he who committed it doth risk life in His holy work. But," he added, with a smile, "'tis providential justice which slew the man, for the dead utter no words." At last he arrived before the house which he sought.

"Marry," he exclaimed, gazing at the exterior of the tavern; "'tis indeed a sorry place for the saintly Garnet to reside in, but it has the advantage of being a secure retreat." He tried the door, which yielded to his touch, and entered the apartment. On the tables stood the remains of last night's libations, and the air hung heavy with the odor of stale tobacco smoke. Over all was a spell of silent desolation, as if the ghosts of the songs and merry jests, which had echoed from the walls, had returned with aching heads to curse the room.

"This is a sweet place, truly," said Winter, looking upon the table.

After a short delay the sound of footsteps could be heard approaching, a door opened and the host entered. Giles Martin, not at once recognizing the man who stood by the table, regarded his guest with some little surprise, for a customer at that early hour was rare.

"To what may I serve thee, sir?" said he, advancing toward Winter.

"Well, Master Martin," exclaimed the one addressed, "dost so soon forget a face? It is, I swear, a poor trick for a landlord."

"What, Sir Thomas?" cried the other in surprise, holding out his hand, "I did not recognize thee in this uncertain light. A thousand pardons, and highly am I honored to find thee in my humble house."

"'Tis but small honor I do thee," replied the man, with a laugh, drawing off his gauntlets. "Didst receive my letter?"

"Aye, that I did, and have shown the bearer of it every courtesy which this poor tavern can provide. Much am I gratified to learn that Sir Thomas Winter remembered one whom he hath not seen since----"

"Nay, good Martin, I do recall the time thou wouldst name. But pray tell me, is my cavalier friend up at this early hour, for I would confer with him."

Giles cast a quick glance at the speaker, then letting his eyes fall, said:

"That he is, and little hath he slept this night, for 'twas late ere he arrived, and when I arose I heard him walking about."

"Then wilt thou tell him I await; or--nay, stop--thou needst not announce me; I will see him in his chamber. Show the way, I will follow."

"As thou dost wish," said Giles, turning to open a door which hid a flight of rickety stairs leading to the floor above. Reaching the landing Winter noted that Martin was about to follow and exclaimed:

"Nay, show me the portal, I will not trouble thee further. And if thou wilt be so kind, see to it that we are not disturbed in our conversation."

"Have no fear for that, Sir Thomas, I will take care that none do interrupt. The room is in front of thee," saying which, Martin turned and descended the stairs.

Winter tapped upon the panel.

"Enter," said a quiet voice.

He lifted the latch and pa.s.sed into the room. The prelate had evidently been engaged in prayer, for, as the other stepped within, the priest was arising from his knees. His face seemed in strange contrast to the garb he had donned; the delicate, almost effeminate features of the man were little in keeping with the gay attire of a cavalier.

"Ah, Sir Thomas," exclaimed the Jesuit, advancing with gentle dignity and extended hand, "glad am I to see thee, for I have been more than lonely, but," he added, with a bright smile, "'tis not my nature to complain; these be but small discomforts, and gladly would I endure greater in the service of my Master. Hast any news? Hath aught happened since we met? But pray be seated," he added, pointing to one of the two chairs, which, with a low bed, comprised the furniture of the room.

"Nay, good father, nothing hath transpired," replied the other, a shade pa.s.sing athwart his face; "and now tell me, what dost thou think of Fawkes? Is his enthusiasm great enough to serve our purpose?"

"A most terrible man, but one whose cruelty rests upon the love of G.o.d. Indeed, it is as thou didst say, if each Catholic in England were possessed of but one-half his zeal, then would the gutters run red with the blood of heretics; 'twas such as he who made the eve of St.

Bartholomew. Are we free to speak?" queried Garnet, leaning toward the other.

"Quite free," replied Winter, "a faithful friend of mine is on guard that we be not interrupted."

"Then, 'tis well; I have spent the night in prayer, beseeching the Almighty to lead my mind aright that I may decide the justice of the plan proposed. Ah," exclaimed the Jesuit, arising, and with hands clenched before him, "'tis a hideous act, but," an expression of fierceness coming into his gentle face, "my supplication was answered, the deed is favored by G.o.d, for He hath sent me a token of His approval."

"A token, thou sayest, good father?" exclaimed Winter in an awed voice.

"Verily," cried Garnet, raising his eyes to heaven, "a sign from Him whose cause we serve. 'Twas thus: Long had I knelt in prayer, long had I raised my voice that He who holds the oceans in His palm, and guides the planets in their courses, would lead me to a wise decision. 'O G.o.d,' I cried, 'send thou some token that I may know thy will.' Even as I gazed upon the crucifix clenched in my unlifted hand, the message I so craved had come, for the cross was stained with blood, which from it fell in sluggish drops. I looked more intently, filled with amazement, and perceived that so closely had I pressed the silver image of the blessed Savior it had cut into the flesh. But 'twas G.o.d's voice in answer to my prayer."

"Most marvelous," whispered Winter, crossing himself. "But didst thou comprehend all that Fawkes proposed? Hast dwelt on every point?"

"Think not, my son," the prelate answered, "that because my eyes have long been used to the dim light of the sanctuary, they have not perceived all the horror of that which must be done. But now," he cried, his pale face flushed with emotion, "G.o.d in His wisdom hath for a time taken from me the crucifix and given in its place the sword. So be it," he continued, drawing the rapier hanging by his side and kissing the cross formed by the blade and handle, "He shall not find Henry Garnet wanting, for not until the Angelus doth sound from Landsend to Dunnet Head, will this hand of mine relax its hold, unless death doth strike the weapon from it."

"Ah, good father," cried Winter in admiration of the other's spirit, "thy enthusiasm and courage are surely heaven born, but," he whispered, "if we fail, what then?"

"We cannot," broke in the Jesuit, his eyes alight with the fervor of his spirit. "Have I not told thee that heaven approves our act?

Victory belongs to us; the White Dove doth rest upon our helms. 'Tis true that some of us may perish, but what of them? Their fame shall live from age to age, and never will the call to Ma.s.s or Vespers sound, never will the clouds of incense mount upward--streaming past the Host without their names being within the hearts and on the tongues of the wors.h.i.+pers. Think how greatly we be blessed," he continued, laying his hand fondly upon the other's shoulder;--"a few, a happy few, who have been thus elected to raise the cross of Christ from out the dust. Nay," he added, shaking his head, "I would not wish our danger one jot or t.i.ttle less, for, methinks, some portion of the glory which is now our own might depart with it, and I could illy bear the loss of even one small gem which must rest in the immortal crown of our recompense."

"Then thou dost feel our victory is a.s.sured," said Winter, in a constrained voice, looking anxiously toward Garnet.

"Nay, I do not feel--I am certain," replied the prelate, decisively.

"And now there rests with us the duty of forming our plans, making everything ready to strike the mighty blow. What hast thou to offer or suggest?"

"Good father, I would not take upon myself to offer a suggestion,"

said Winter; "but methinks it would be well that we all a.s.semble and discuss the matter more fully."

"And where shall the gathering be held?--at the house of Master Fawkes?"

"Not so," replied the other, so abruptly that the priest turned upon him an enquiring glance. "I mean," continued Winter, noting the look, "'twould be unwise for us to be seen again meeting in that place; it might arouse curiosity, and that might be fatal."

"Then what wouldst thou say to my Lord Catesby's?"

"Nay, for I deem the same objection doth apply to his dwelling. I would suggest we gather at the house of Sir Everard Digby. Will't suit thee, father?"

"I think thy caution most commendable, and thy proposition the best.

And when shall the meeting be?"

"Say a week hence," replied Winter. "In the meantime I will see Sir Everard, and make the necessary arrangements. But what of thee till then?"

"Disturb not thyself, my son, concerning me," replied the prelate; "I will content myself, and be right comfortable in the care of thy friend the host. Dost think he hath suspicions?"

"Nay," replied the other. "In truth, if his suspicions were aroused, he would be silent; such poor taste hath he, that love for me would make him dumb, and with it is the fact that the man is a zealous Catholic; methinks if his help could be safely won he would be most valuable to us. Shouldst thou find a fitting opportunity it might be well to sound the man."

"I will do so," replied the prelate, "if a chance doth offer itself."

"And now," continued Winter, rising, "I must away. Be ever careful, father, for thy loss would signify the destruction of our hopes."

"My son," answered the other, with a smile, "thou dost speak from thy heart; but methinks, if at this moment Henry Garnet were dragged away and hurried toward the block, the mighty work would be continued; success doth rest in higher hands than mine. Now, until we meet again, may the peace of Him whose servants we are rest upon thee."

CHAPTER XIV.

IN THE SHADOW OF THE CROSS.