Amongst those who took the least cheering view of his situation, was Henry Earl of Eskdale, who flattered himself with no vain expectations. On entering the chamber assigned to him in the Tower, he looked round it as his last abode before he went to the scaffold; and, although the small sum of money he had remaining was sufficient to procure him comforts for the time, he counted it over with care, and assigned a certain portion for each day's wants, calculating, as well as he was able, the time likely to elapse before his death.
The morning after his arrival a number of persons were admitted to see him, and at length he was glad to give the turnkey a guinea, as an inducement to exclude every one but those who could declare they were his personal friends.
"I have much need of thought and reflection, my good sir," he said; "but, if I am to be troubled with strangers all day long, however kindly their visits may be meant, I shall have no time to prepare to defend my life, or to meet my death as becomes me."
"If your Lordship will give a list of those you wish to see," replied the man, "I will keep out all others."
Smeaton wrote down the names of the few whom he thought likely to visit him; but he had some difficulty when he came to the dearest name of all. It was too sacred a name to be lightly spoken of; and therefore, to meet all cases, he wrote down broadly: "Any one of the name of Newark, any one of the name of Eskdale;" and then thinking of poor Van Noost, he added his name to the paper, saying, as he gave it to the man:
"If any one should urge strongly that he is a personal friend, let him send in his name, and I will tell you whether to admit him or not."
The man had not even closed the door, however, when Van Noost presented himself; and his agitation, on seeing his noble friend in captivity, had something in it both touching and grotesque. He wept like a child; but the pathetic was greatly lessened by his attempts to conceal his emotion and speak through his tears. Smeaton treated him with great kindness, congratulated him upon his escape and his freedom, and listened patiently, to his account of all he had undergone since they met. But he then turned the conversation to matters of deeper interest to himself, by enquiring if his visitor had seen Emmeline as he promised.
Van Noost almost started from his chair, exclaiming:
"Good gracious! I had nearly forgotten. I saw her this very morning, my Lord; and she charged me with a message to say that she would be here this evening as soon as it grew dark, if you would permit it; and, indeed, who would not permit it? It seemed as if she thought the time between this and night would never come to an end. I believe she world have run here at once, if the old lady, Madame Culpepper, had not dissuaded her."
Smeaton did not reply immediately; for many contending feelings were busy in his bosom. To hold her once again to his heart; to tell her how he had thought of her since they parted; to learn; from her own lips, her views, her wishes, her feelings; to consult with and to counsel her, were all motives which prompted him to say "Yes," without a moment's hesitation. But he feared risk, and embarrassment, and perhaps even misfortune, to her whom he loved better than himself. He knew not that she was accustomed to come daily to the Tower; that her person was known to the warders and many of the officers of the prison, and that she was always accompanied by sufficient men to protect her, as far as they were permitted to go. He thought of Emmeline only as the simple inexperienced girl of the Manor House in Devonshire, timid even in her innocent boldness, utterly unlearned in the world and the world's ways. He knew not that she, as well as Richard, had been schooled in sorrow, and that her mind had put forth new powers, and her heart gained firmness, since they parted.