“Dear lady,” he then said, taking up the hand that hung through his arm, “we part directly, and, it may be, for a long interval. May I think that thou wilt sometime bear me in remembrance?”
“I were ungrateful, Sir, ever to forget thee,” said Evaline, with some emotion.
“No, no, but most generous to bear me in memory,” answered Hildebrand. “Howbeit, we are to part. Sir Edgar, methinks, has now no cause to fear, and will be set at liberty to-morrow. But the course of human affairs is uneven, and cannot be relied on. If, therefore, thou hast ever occasion for a ready friend, who can do for thee more than thou wouldst be disposed to think, let this billet—” here he drew a sealed packet from his vest—“be conveyed to the direction on its cover, and such a one will be enlisted in thy service.”
Evaline, with the hand which she had at liberty, accepted the proffered packet, but did not make any observation. Hildebrand could not refrain from pressing her hand, which, led away by his feelings, he still held in his, and he fancied that the pressure was returned. But if it were, it was done so slightly, and with such excessive gentleness, that it could hardly be felt, and could not be regarded as any response.
At length they arrived at the hostel-door, and the light which hung in the hall, falling on Evaline’s face, showed Hildebrand that she was in tears. But, at this moment, they were joined by Sir Walter, and, in a few words they both took leave of Evaline, and turned to retire.
They passed to the end of the street in silence. There, as they were turning into the street beyond, they encountered a squadron of troopers, and they were obliged to press against the wall—for there was no causeway to the street—in order that they might have room to pass. The troopers were not long in passing, and our two friends, having the thoroughfare again open, then resumed their progress.
Meantime, the troop of horse, headed by a person in the garb of a civilian, passed leisurely down the High-street, and proceeded towards the city-gaol. On arriving thither, they drew up in its front; and the civilian aforementioned, dismounting from his horse, inflicted a loud and authoritative knock on the gate.
Sir Edgar de Neville was at this moment preparing to retire to rest. Hearing a body of horse drawn up beneath his casement, however, and a knock that made the glass ring, as if it would leap out of its crazy leaden frame, inflicted on the gate, he came to a pause. As he did so, a foreboding that the incident was some way connected with himself, in reference to the crime he was charged with, insensibly stole over him, and he waited the issue with the most intense anxiety.
At last he heard some heavy steps on the adjacent stairs. The next moment, the door of his chamber was pushed open, and a tall, sharp-visaged man, habited in a suit of deep brown, and attended by three soldiers, passed in. Advancing a few paces, he held out a folded paper to Sir Edgar; and the latter, making a step forward, took it from him, and drew it open. It was a warrant from Francis Walsingham, Secretary of State, ordering him to be removed to the gaol of Newgate, in London.