Walking quickly on, he reached the foot of the first flight of steps. Then, leaving Van Noost below, he ascended to the priest's chamber to wait in darkness for some intelligence. As he stood and listened--vainly, for some minutes--for any sound in the adjoining chamber, he had time to ask himself whether he had acted altogether rightly in bringing Van Noost into that secret part of Sir John Newark's house; and he concluded that he had no title to do so.
"And yet," he said, to himself, "it is not in reality his house at all."
But that did not quite satisfy him; and he determined, if he found that the neighbourhood was clear of the soldiery, to send the good sculptor forth by the same way he entered, so as to let him see as little of the secrets of the place as possible.
He was becoming somewhat impatient of the oppressive silence, and felt half inclined to open the door and look out, when he heard sounds not far off. A door was opened, closed, and locked, and then the large bed was rolled round upon its castors. The next instant the light shone in, and good Mrs. Culpepper appeared, with a candle in her hand. Her face bore greater traces of agitation than it displayed on any ordinary occasion, and Smeaton began to fear that he had considered himself safe too soon; but the old lady's first words dispelled alarm on that head.
"They are gone, sir," she said, entering the room; "they are gone." And, with trembling hands, she set the candle on the table.
"I am sorry you have suffered such a fright on my account, Mrs. Culpepper," said Smeaton, in a kindly tone; "but I can assure you now, as I did before, that there was nothing to fear on my account."
The old lady seemed hardly to attend to him; and the state of agitation displayed by so very calm and demure a person set Smeaton's fancy busy with fears for Emmeline.
"I dare say not, sir--I dare say not," she said, with quick but faltering accents. "They came looking for the Earl of Eskdale, and your name is Smeaton. And yet," she continued, gazing in his face, "and yet--Will you be kind enough, sir, to let me look at your wrist?"
"I have no objection at all," returned Smeaton, a good deal surprised. "But what can my wrist have to do with this business?"
"I will tell you in a minute, sir; I will tell you in a minute," replied the old woman. "Your right wrist, if you please."