With a frantic push he hurled the victim of his murderous blow away from him, and hastened to s.n.a.t.c.h 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 s.p.a.ce 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 s.p.a.ce 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 n.o.bleman 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 G.o.d had taken her.

CHAPTER XXII.

FAWKES BEFORE THE KING.

For a moment a great stillness pervaded the House of Lords. The King had half arisen from the throne, his hands tightly grasping the gilded lions on either side, and his eyes fixed upon the dead form of Elinor, lying at Effingston's feet. All followed the monarch's glance, the ministers and peers leaning forward to better see the stricken girl growing rigid in the clasp of death. So profound was the silence in the great hall, that the footsteps of those without were heard with startling distinctness in every part of the room. Before all the peers, leaned Lord Monteagle, his gaze riveted upon the face of his son. As for Effingston he heeded nothing; like an image of stone he stood, his limbs powerless and his blood turned to ice; the face of the dead was not whiter than his, yet, upon her face was the smile of peace, in his, the shadow of conscious, mortal agony.

So sudden had been the coming of that tender maid, born of the people, but now more n.o.ble than any lord of England, that none save, perchance, Salisbury, Monteagle and the King, comprehended its meaning. The girl's dying cry that all should flee the House of Parliament, was a mystery to the lords; but to the mind of the Prime Minister, and to Monteagle and James, came as by a flash of lightning, the veiled meaning in the letter, which, strong in his feeling of security, the King had hitherto looked upon as an idle jest, gotten up to disturb his dreams. Raising his eyes from the spot where Elinor lay, her blood staining the polished floor, he turned them upon Salisbury, with a look of interrogation. The Minister collected by an effort his scattered senses. Into his mind came as though by Divine inspiration some inkling of the nature of the threatened danger.

Turning quickly, he summoned to his side Master Edmond Doubleday, an officer of the royal household.

"Go," said he hoa.r.s.ely, "into the cellar, and whosoever thou findest there, be it man or woman, seize quickly. Perchance the King's life dependeth upon thy expedition."

Of quick wit, the officer comprehended that his superior had surmised some plot, the solution of which might be found below. Hastening from the hall he gathered on the way a dozen gentlemen, and together the company hurried from the House and sought the door which opened to the chamber under it. Something guided their steps--great, crimson splashes upon the pavement, blood drops which left a well-marked trail from the s.p.a.ce before the throne of the King--to the narrow entrance of the cellar wherein lay the danger which they must avert. Little did Guido Fawkes know--as little had the dead girl comprehended--that her heart's blood would mark the way which would lead him to the scaffold because it would be the means of hastening on his enemies, directing them with no uncertain significance to his hiding place.

In the semi-darkness of the cellar, amid his coals and f.a.ggots, with the six and thirty barrels of gunpowder ready for the spark, the daring soldier of fortune stood with trembling limbs, and a nameless terror at his heart. Unflinching in the face of danger, the first in all deeds of hardihood, famed for his valor in the Lowcountry, the overturning of the lantern so near the powder train, and the low cry of agony which followed the driving home of his dagger, had unnerved him. For one brief instant he thought he recognized the cry--that from the gasping lips so near his own had fallen the word "father!" but in the excitement of the moment he dismissed the dreadful thought. Some idle, curious knave had chanced to see the cellar door, and entered.

Was it his fault that he had resorted to the knife to prevent the discovery of his presence?

Occupied with the overturned lantern he had noted little what befell the other. Stabbed to death, the intruder probably lay in some dark corner where the soldier's frantic push had sent him. The lantern burned dimly, and time was speeding, so 'twould be an ill thing to waste it upon a dead man. Steadying his nerves by an effort, Fawkes took out the watch which Winter had given him, and bending toward the flickering light studied the dial. The hour was at hand; in five minutes the great clock in the tower of St. Paul would mark the stroke of eleven, and he would fire the fuse.

Searching in his doublet he drew forth a tinder box and touchwood.

Five minutes more and he would strike the spark; in five more the red, spitting serpent would reach the hidden powder; by then he would be safe, and, mingling with the crowd, would hear the roar of thunder heralding the pa.s.sing of James Stuart and his Parliament into eternity.

As he waited, the flint held ready to strike the steel, there flashed through his mind the thought of his daughter, but she was safe at home, and----The sound of hasty footsteps and the pa.s.sing of dark forms before the dim light struggling through the half closed entrance to the cellar, broke his revery. Was it another come to meet his knife point?

As he drew back, shading the lantern with his cloak, the door was burst violently open, and a dozen men, the first holding aloft a torch, pushed into the cellar. Fawkes thrust the flint and touchwood into the bosom of his doublet, and, ever cool when danger threatened, bent carelessly over the pile of coals and f.a.ggots. Coming thus, without knowledge, any might have judged him an honest coal monger busy at his trade.

Those who entered so hastily rushed upon him; Edmond Doubleday raised a dagger, intent upon driving it into his body, but seeing Fawkes unarmed he lowered the steel and seized him by the shoulders. In an instant the soldier shook off the other's grasp.

"Who art thou?" cried he fiercely, "what is thy business, sir?"

For reply Doubleday turned to his companions. "Surround the fellow, gentlemen," said he sharply, "and search the cellar."

Fawkes was quickly hemmed in by a wall of men, each with drawn sword in hand. On the instant it flashed upon him that the plot was known, and that further dissimulation would be profitless; therefore he held his peace while two or three of his captors searched the cellar. One muttered an exclamation; he had come upon the fuse, and following it, perceived the barrels beneath the pile of f.a.ggots. Fawkes smiled grimly.

"If thou wilt look yet further," said he, "haply thou wilt find a dead man."

But nothing was discovered save Fawkes, his f.a.ggots, and the gunpowder.

The captive started. He had not then killed him who grappled with him in the darkness; sorely wounded, the other had escaped to set the bloodhounds upon his hiding place. He had thought his hand more sure.

After thoroughly searching the cellar those who had taken Fawkes led him to the pa.s.sage without. He noted upon the stones the drops of blood, and smiled,--his knife had not been useless after all. As the little company with the soldier of fortune in their midst hurried along the pa.s.sage there ran toward them Sir Thomas Knyvet and half a score of the royal guards. Perceiving the prisoner, the knight looked at him critically.

"What!" cried he, turning to Doubleday, "hast not bound the ruffian?

'Tis the King's pleasure that any whom thou hast taken be brought before the throne."

No cords were forthcoming, for, in their haste, small matters had been neglected, but one of the gentlemen, taking from his pocket a pair of garters proffered them to Doubleday.

"Take these," said he; "I warrant they will hold the knave."

Fawkes submitted without a protest, watching with grim indifference the pa.s.sing of the garters about his legs and wrists. Once he smiled; but 'twas a fleeting shadow. Within the House his captors searched him, coming upon the tinder box, touchwood, and Winter's watch--things which were to bear heavy evidence against the prisoner.

In the hall of Parliament all was confusion; Elinor, guarded by Effingston, still lay dead before the throne, and the ministers were gathered about it.

The tumult ceased as Fawkes was led through the doorway. He was to meet the King whom he would have slain, yet he advanced with uplifted head, not a muscle quivering. The peers made way for him, so that a s.p.a.ce was cleared before the throne. Suddenly his eyes fell upon Effingston; for an instant he paused, then following the gaze of the grief-stricken n.o.bleman, saw her who lay upon the floor. A mist gathered before his eyes; a blinding flash of unreal but fierce accusing light seared his brain and turned him into stone.

Horror-stricken he advanced, scarce conscious that he moved, until he stood before the body of his daughter upon whose breast showed the red wound made by the knife. The King, Salisbury, and the ministers had turned and were looking fixedly upon him, but Fawkes was unconscious of their gaze. He saw only the white face, the half-closed eyes, the cold lips which had kissed his own so fondly and called him "father."

As the flashing of a great light coming out of the darkness, the truth gleamed in its red horror upon him--the reason of the presence of another in the cellar, the drops of blood along the pavement. She had sought to save him from the crime of murder--and he had killed her!

He would have cried out and thrown himself upon his knees beside the dead, but his iron will controlled the impulse, and the hands of the guard upon his shoulder held him firm. What cared he for axe or gibbet now? He had loved her next to his religion, and had slain her. The King was speaking:

"Ah!" said he, "what have we here, brave gentlemen? Doth tremble so at the sight of one dead girl? Who art thou, fellow?"

Fawkes replied nothing, nor, perchance, heard the voice of James; his thoughts were in Spain, where, when a child, Elinor had climbed upon his knee.

"Faith!" cried the King, "hast caught a dumb man, good Master Doubleday? or hath the decoration of the garter so overcome his senses that he is in a maze?"