_ CHAPTER XXI. THE FIFTH OF NOVEMBER
As Elinor stood confronted by the barred door, a madness born of terror seized her. Frantically she beat upon the panel until in places the wood was stained with her blood. Again and again she threw herself against the heavy oak, but with no result. After many vain attempts she sank, almost fainting, to the floor.
As she lay breathless, her tender hands bruised and bleeding, there fell upon her ear the echo of the chime once more;--ten thirty! The sound infused new life into her slight form. Springing to her feet she seized a bench near by, and with a power almost superhuman, raised the heavy piece and struck the portal with all her might. A shower of dust rewarded her. Another blow and a wide fissure appeared across the panel. Once more the bench crashed against the door, and it gave way, a shower of splinters flying into the hall below. Quickly she hastened down the stairs and gained the street. People turned wondering looks upon the flying girl as with strength born of desperation she sped toward Parliament House. As she reached the neighborhood a group of men who stood engaged in conversation, noted her, and one drew forth his watch:--"There is one carrying a petition," said he; "but fifteen minutes yet remain before the opening of the House."
The words quickened her energies; a quarter of an hour yet!
In a moment she was in sight of the buildings. It had been her purpose to hasten to the hall, but suddenly flashed the thought that her entrance might be barred, and questions be asked. No time now but for one thing,--to seek her father in the cellar, and snatch the torch from out his hand.... The clock marked the hour of half past ten when Fawkes, having taken leave of Sir Thomas Winter, reached the door of the dark room under Parliament House. As he had left it, so he found it;--the portal locked, and silence reigning within where lay the faggots and the gunpowder. The soldier of fortune glanced about. Save for a few idlers the narrow passage flanking the cellar door was unoccupied. Soon even those went on their way, and unobserved he opened the portal and slipped into the fatal chamber, closing it noiselessly behind him, but leaving it unbarred; for, the spark once applied to the powder, there would be scant time for escape. The cellar was in darkness save where, through the rusty bars of a small window, a feeble ray of light struggled with the gloom, losing itself amid the shadows.
Stepping carefully, that no footfall might reach the ears of any above, he groped his way along the rough stone wall. Upon reaching a depression in the masonry, he took up from its hiding place a lantern, a rude affair formed of iron, pierced by countless holes, and within it a tallow candle, which, when he lighted it, sputtered fitfully and sent forth a sickly yellow light, the glare only serving to intensify the gloom. A rat, frightened by his approach, scurried into some dark corner with a plaintive squeak which startled him, despite his iron nerve.
"Faith!" he muttered, a grim smile relaxing for a moment the stern lines of his face, "thou art strangely nervous, Guido, that such a thing doth make thee tremble! 'Tis an adage that such vermin as I have disturbed make haste to leave a fatal ship, and, methinks, this Ship of State is very near the rocks. 'Tis a sign from heaven that I shall not fail." Then, turning to the pile of faggots: "So innocent are ye, that even Elinor, with all her gentleness, might bear you in her arms and take no harm; but----" here he bent and touched a hidden cask: "thou art more to my liking, and the King shall hear thee speak for me. Thine is the voice which shall tell all England that----"
For a moment the monologue was interrupted and he busied himself with the fuse, pouring from a flask taken from his doublet, fresh grains of powder upon the train already laid, that nothing should be lacking to speed the fire to its destination.
Overhead sounded countless footsteps, as the pages and attendants upon the floor of the Parliament chamber hastened hither and thither upon their various errands.
"My good lords and bishops are assembling," muttered Fawkes; "a most gallant gathering, I warrant. Pity 'tis, that all must perish; for there be some who have small voice in the passing of the laws."
Suddenly there fell upon his ear the muffled sound of a cheer raised by countless voices. The smile upon his lips grew scornful: "The King!" he muttered, "greeting his good Parliament. 'Tis said he loves a well-timed jest; pity to rob England of such a famous clown; perchance in hell the devil may use his wit to while away the dinner hour."
The noise above increased; the peers had entered the hall; the King had ascended the throne, and it lacked but fifteen minutes to the first stroke of eleven, when the Parliament would open--and the flint would kiss the steel.
Despite his hardihood the man waiting in the gloom beneath the feet of the sovereign and his noblemen grew restless as the fatal moment approached. Through his brain flashed thoughts of the fearful consequence of his bloody deed,--the terror, the widespread consternation and the chaos which would follow the destruction of the Parliament. To him came, also, the thought of his daughter--what she would say to him; but then--she was a child and little comprehended affairs of State. When all was over Garnet would quiet her fears, and her father would be a hero in her eyes.
Unconsciously he drew forth his dagger and pricked with its point the mortar between the stones of the pillar against which he leaned. With something to occupy his mind the moments would speed faster. The lantern, burning dimly, stands upon the floor near his side; beyond lies the fuse, ready for the fire.
Just at this moment Elinor, having reached the door of the cellar, paused an instant upon the threshold, then, scarce conscious of what she was doing pushed open the unbarred portal and stepped within the gloomy chamber. So silent was her coming that Fawkes, busy with his dagger and the mortar, did not perceive it. The girl hesitated, trembling in every limb; the blackness of the place, the intense excitement under which she labored, and the fearful thought that already the fuse might be burning, her father gone, and death so near, held her spellbound. She saw the faint glimmer from the lantern, a hundred tiny streaks of light glowing through the darkness. Her father must be there beside his light, and summoning all her energies she moves quickly forward, intent only upon accomplishing her mission.
The rustle of her garments struck upon Fawkes' ear. He turned and saw the half open door, the dim outline of the form which stood between him and the faint light struggling through the aperture. With a quick indrawing of the breath he grasped the hilt of his dagger and turned to face the advancing figure. Shall anyone thus ruin all, at the eleventh hour? His nerves became as if made of steel, all signs of indecision vanish; face to face with danger he becomes once more the hardened veteran who has met unflinchingly the fierce charge of the foemen in the Lowcountry.
Elinor at length perceived him whom she sought, and stretched out her hands to grasp him, for the dry lips refused to frame the words her tongue would utter.
In that moment, noting the extended arms, and thinking the other would lay violent hands upon him, Fawkes sprang forward and seized the frail form about the shoulders; small time to note the softness of the flesh and the clinging woman's garments, or the low cry which answers the grasp of his iron hand. The blackness of the place hides their faces, and his business is to carry out the plot.
For a moment the two--father and daughter--are locked together in a firm embrace; the slender figure of the child bent and tortured by the cruel pressure of the pitiless fingers. She struggled desperately, and in her efforts to free herself Fawkes finds the way to end the matter quickly.
"Thou wouldst undo the work," he hisses. "Didst think to find me unprepared? Thou art a cunning knave, but this----"
No eye, save that of God, sees the uplifting of the dagger, the quick movement of the arm, the rapid thrust which drives the fatal steel into that tender breast, letting forth her life-blood upon the rough pavement of the cellar.
Elinor reeled and released her hold upon him. In her agony God stretched forth His hand and held her in His grasp so that, ere she died, the end for which she had come might be accomplished. One word, a bitter cry wrung from her heart, escaped her lips: "Father!"
But Fawkes heeded it not. As he sent home the dagger his foot struck the lantern, overturning it, and sent the iron case with its burning contents rolling across the floor toward the powder train. In another instant the fire will have reached the fuse,--and 'tis not yet time!
With a frantic push he hurled the victim of his murderous blow away from him, and hastened to snatch the sputtering light. His violence flung the stricken girl to the floor, but with a last effort of will, she staggered to her feet and groped blindly for the door, one little hand outstretched before her, the other covering the cruel wound made by her father's knife.
At last she found the portal, and gained the narrow way to the street. There was but one thought in her heart,--to reach the hall above before death claimed her.
* * * * *
Within the House of Lords all was ready for the opening of the Parliament. James, clothed in royal robes of State, and exchanging jests with his favorites, was lolling upon the throne. The peers were in their seats; some, deep in conversation, others, silently gazing at the gorgeous scene of which they were a part. At a table standing near the space before the throne, sat Lord Monteagle and his son, the latter engaged in arranging the notes of his speech on the bill which he was soon to bring before the House. Effingston seemed to be strangely nervous as the hour for his address drew near and his father had evidently made some jesting remark concerning his tremulous hand, when suddenly the attention of all was drawn toward the great doors at the extreme end of the room. Affected by the tumult, James turned impatiently to see who had dared disturb the solemnity of the hour. Those who were looking in that direction started with amazement.
Through the open portal, flanked by its two rows of yeomen of the guard, advanced a slender girlish figure, with face white as marble and whose dark eyes sought the King. Clad in a gown of some soft gray stuff which had been torn open at the throat, revealing the gentle curve of the white bosom, the girl staggered up the long aisle leading to the throne. Between the fingers of the hand pressed above her heart showed a crimson stain which, touching the bodice of her dress, gradually spread itself upon the soft color.
Amazed at so unwonted a spectacle the peers could only stare, transfixed. The girl had reached the space before the throne and stopped beside the table at which Effingston stood, who alone, of all the House, had started to his feet and confronted her. For one brief moment she gazed into his eyes, then stretched forth her hand. The white lips parted, she cried in a stifled voice:
"My lords! flee the House ere----"
The voice fell to a whisper, she reeled and sought to grasp the table for support. Effingston sprang toward her, but before he reached her side, her form sank slowly to the floor and lay at his feet. Unmindful of the presence of the King, and of his fellow peers, the young nobleman raised her in his arms. None beside Lord Monteagle heard him whisper:--"Elinor!"
At her name the closed lids opened, and her lips parted in a faint smile.
"My love!" she murmured faintly, her head sinking upon his shoulder like that of a tired child slowly falling to sleep. "I am guiltless--thou alone--'twas for thy sake----"
A spasm of pain swept across her face; he felt a shudder shake the slender form, and a beseeching look sought his face.
"I understand, my darling," he whispered, pressing his lips to hers.
She sighed. A happy light shone in the fast glazing eyes.
"Elinor!" he murmured. "One more word----"
But God had taken her. _