"The prisoner, whom he so craftily seized and brought hither, is yet safe in the dungeon?"
"There he must lie, at any rate, until our plans be accomplished."
"We know not yet unto whom these communications were to have been conveyed."
"No; but doubtless, from their tenor, to some person of great note. It may have been to one even about the person of royalty itself, for this treason hath deep root, and its branches are widely spread throughout the land."
"Shall we put him to the question?"
"Nay, let present difficulties be brought to issue first; afterwards we shall be able to inquire, and with more certainty, as to the line of examination we should pursue."
The speakers separated, one to communicate with Dick Empson, and prepare him for the important functions he would have to perform; the other to his lodgings, where he might ruminate undisturbed on the events then about to transpire, and of which he hoped, finally, to reap the advantage.
It was past midnight, and the flickering embers threw a doubtful and uncertain gleam, at intervals, through the royal chamber, as it was then called, in the Castle of Fouldrey. All around was so still that the tramp of the sentry sounded like the tread of an armed host; sounds being magnified to a degree almost terrific, in the absence of others by which their intensity may be compared. Even the dash of the waves below the walls was heard in the deep and awful stillness of that portentous night.
Simon started from the pallet whereon he lay, beside the couch of his master, at times looking wildly round, as though just rousing from some unquiet slumber, expecting, yet fearful of alarm. He lay down again with a deep sigh, muttering an Ave or a Paternoster as he closed his eyes. Again he raised his head, and a dark figure stood before him.