"As many others will," answered Ida Mara.
"Ay, ay," rejoined Weston, with a stupid look, "but you need not be afraid.--I'll keep that for myself. I may have need of it."
Ida Mara did not comprehend what he meant; but she was interested in the fate of Sir Thomas Overbury; and, knowing that her lady would entertain the same feelings, she said, as the man seemed rather loquacious in his wine, "Poor Sir Thomas is very strictly confined, I believe. The guards will let no one pass even near his door?"
"Oh, the guards are gone now," replied Weston. "They are not much wanted. Nobody sees him but myself and Franklyn; and we have admission at all hours."
"Then he is so weak, I suppose," observed Ida Mara, "that he cannot stir from his bed, so that escape is impossible?"
"He might as well try to escape from his grave," rejoined the other; "and yet he lingers long."
"Well, I must go on now," said Ida. "Good night, sir, good night."
"Good night," answered Weston. "I don't suppose I shall see you in the Tower again, pretty lady; for at nine I bring his supper to him, and that is the last meal he will eat, I fancy."
Thus saying, he suffered the fair Italian to pass, and walked on his own way.
Arabella was sitting in the same spot where Ida Mara left her, with the last faint rays of day streaming in from the window upon that face, once so beautiful, but now faded and worn with the anguish of the heart, so that those who had loved her best would hardly have known her. Her eyes were red with weeping; but the tears had been wiped away; and when Ida entered, she turned round and tried to smile.