t 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 God, 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
God,' 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 God'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, "God 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 Mass