and of the Superior, "our
sufferings have, indeed, been of long duration, but we looked to the
ascension of the new King to lessen evils which have pressed so hard
upon us. 'Twas to James of Scotland----"

The eyes of the Jesuit blazed fiercely.

"Wretched country!" cried he, stretching out his arms, "thou hast in
truth suffered long, and the blessing of Most Holy God hath gone from
thee. Thy soul is troubled, Sir Robert Catesby, thou, who art free to
live as suiteth thee! Thinkest thou then that I, whom the Holy Church
hath appointed to teach her children, suffer nothing being thus a
prisoner behind the walls of Hendlip House? If thou art vexed at
thought of penalties, and cruel enactments against thy brethren, what
thinkest thou of the happiness of one to whom banishment without voice
or trial, such as are granted to the lowest criminal, follows from so
unjust a law? What have I done, wherein lieth the crime of all the
priests in England, that the hand of James is turned against us? If
thou seek out the King, or question the Parliament, and ask wherefore
we are driven from our churches--they will answer thee, 'Ye are
Catholics.'"

During his words, spoken with the fire of an ardent spirit, the
slender form of the Jesuit seemed to tower, as an enraged deity, above
the persons of his two companions. But having poured out the
bitterness of his soul, the meekness of the man asserted itself, and
sinking into a chair he buried his face in his hands. The sight
aroused Catesby to madness.

"Aye!" cried he, advancing to the Prelate's side, "I will go to James,
but 'twill not be to test his arguments. One thrust and thou, with all
Catholics, will be free."

Drawing out his sword he threw it at the feet of the silent Jesuit.

"Bless thou therefore this trusty blade, good Father, that it may do
its work quickly. Bless it, and me, for ere night comes again 'twill
have drunk the blood of the heretic!"

The recklessness of the other's purpose roused Garnet from his
lethargy.

"Thou art mad, good Catesby," said he sadly; "that thou thinkest to
kill the King of England. Put up thy sword! 'Tis not through the
violence of one man that England will be freed. We have waited long
already; pray for patience that thou mayst bear with meekness the
burden which rests heavily upon thee. Thinkest thou I groan not under
it?"

Catesby might have replied in anger, but the voice of Rookwood
forestalled him.

"There are many gentlemen