One wing of the old palace in the Tower, which has long since been swept away, was, at this time, when the King's general residence was at Whitehall, given up to those prisoners of state, who were not committed to that close custody which debarred them from a general communication with their fellow men. This was the habitation of William Seymour about a week after the period when the Lady Arabella was conveyed from Lambeth to Highgate. He had, in the first instance, been placed in the Beauchamp tower, but had been removed to make way for Sir Thomas Overbury; and he now had larger apartments and better accommodation than before, as well as the range of the whole extent of the Tower itself, though the liberty of passing the gates, which he had at one time enjoyed, was denied him.

From time to time he received the visits of various friends; and Markham was with him every day, bearing him tidings or short notes from his beloved wife, though their correspondence could not be so full as during the period of her confinement at the house of Sir Thomas Parry.

The intervals of solitude to which he was subjected during various parts of the day, were passed in writing, reading, and meditating schemes of escape; and often, in deep reflection, he paced the old halls and corridors of the palace, pausing from time to time, as the sunshine penetrated through the tall windows, and fell upon mementos of men and ages gone--to read the homily it afforded, of the transitory nature of all human things.

He was one day standing thus employed, gazing at a spot on the wall where some hand had carved the name of Edward Plantagenet, and wondering to which of all the many distinguished persons who had borne that appellation, the inscription referred, when a gentleman, whom he well knew, named Sir Robert Killigrew, approached with the sauntering and meditative step of a prisoner, and gave him the good morning.

"I was coming to seek you, sir," said Killigrew, "to pay you my respects as your fellow captive, which I have been since last night."

"May I ask on what cause, Sir Robert?" demanded Seymour.

"You would be long in divining," answered the Knight.

"That I may well be," replied Seymour; "for as things now go on in England, there is not an act in all the wide range of those which man can perform, that may not, by the elastic stretching of the law, the cunning of the bad, and the indifference of all the rest, be construed into some crime worthy of imprisonment."

"It is but too true," replied Killigrew. "My crime was but speaking a few words with poor Sir Thomas Overbury, who called to me when I passed his window, as I was returning from a visit to my poor friend Raleigh. For this mighty misdemeanour I was committed from the council-table, and here I am, your servant at command,^[8] so far as services may be rendered within the walls of the Tower."

"I must not welcome you, Sir Robert," replied Seymour; "for it were no friendly act to see you gladly here. What news were stirring when you left the Court?"

"Good faith, but little," answered the Knight, "except that Rochester exceeds all bounds in favour, impudence, rapacity, and rashness. The functions of all offices of the state are now monopolized by him; there's not a privy-councillor can wag his beard, unless my Lord of Rochester give leave; and if a suitor have ever so just a claim, good faith his gold must flow into the favourite's purse, before he can obtain a hearing. He rules the Court and the State, and were it not for Abbott, would rule the church too, I believe. But the archbishop frowns upon him, and holds out against the nullity of his fair Countess's marriage with Lord Essex."

"What does he do for want of Overbury?" asked Seymour. "Good faith, when I heard that the knight was arrested, I fancied that the favourite's day was at an end."

"Heaven and the King forgive you," cried Killigrew. "Why, it was Rochester himself did it. That is known to all the world now-a-days; and as to how he does without him, he pins himself upon my Lord Northampton, that learned piece of Popish craft. He is with him daily, hourly, and by his advice rules all his actions, as he did by Overbury's."

"Poor Overbury!" said Seymour; "I have no cause to love him; but yet I cannot help pitying a man cast down by that bitterest stroke of adversity, the falsehood and ingratitude of a friend."

"I pity him too," replied Killigrew, "which was the cause why I stayed to speak to him. I know not what he has done to injure or offend you, sir, that you say you have no cause to love him, but he seems most anxious to see you, which, indeed, I was coming to tell you. Though I cannot advise you to give way to his request, for by so doing, perhaps, you may injure yourself with the Lieutenant of the Tower, who, it seems, already dreads he shall be dismissed for the short conversation I had with his prisoner."

"Oh, Wade is a good friend of mine," answered Seymour, "and is under some obligations to my house. What did Sir Thomas say?"

"As near as I can recollect," replied Sir Robert Killigrew, "that it would be a great consolation to him if he could speak with you or the Lady Arabella. But take care what you do; for I cannot but think that it is rash to make the attempt. The King's orders are most strict, that no one, not his nearest friends, not his own father, should have a moment's interview with him."

"I will see him, nevertheless, if it be possible," answered Seymour. "The man who could refuse consolation, however small, to a poor captive shut out from human intercourse, must have a cold heart indeed, let the risk be what it may. I am sure you do not regret your captivity for such a cause, Sir Robert?"

"I regret my captivity, whatever be the reason," replied the Knight; "but yet I would do the same to-morrow, I confess."

"Well, I will go watch my opportunity," replied Seymour; "no one can tell what changes may be made; but if they remove him to the Bell Tower, beneath the lantern, or to one of the dungeons, the occasion will be missed."

"Farewell, then, for the present," replied Sir Robert Killigrew; "I had better not accompany you."

"Perhaps not," said Seymour.

Bidding him adieu, and then taking his way towards the tower in which Sir Thomas Overbury was confined, he passed once or twice under the windows without looking up, seeing that there were several persons in the open space between the walls. At length, Overbury's window opened, but Seymour marked what he did not, that there was a workman wheeling a barrow round the other side of the tower, and, taking another turn, he came back again, and looked around.

"Hist, hist!" cried the prisoner; "speak to me for a moment, Mr. Seymour."

"I will be back in an instant," replied the other, "when I make sure that we are not observed."

In a few minutes, he again paused beneath the window, the sill of which was nearly level with his head, but a little above, and, looking up, he said, "Now, Sir Thomas, the workmen have gone to dinner; there is no one on the walls--what would you say?"

"Many things--many things," answered Overbury; "but the time is short, and I cannot say all. I have injured you, Mr. Seymour,--you and the Lady Arabella too. I would fain have your forgiveness, and beseech hers. I did it to serve a faithless man, who has placed me within these bars. I, it was, who informed the King of your meetings, and brought about your ruin. Had I known that you were married, I would have cut out my tongue ere I had uttered those words!"

"But did you not, likewise, Sir Thomas, write to warn her to escape?" asked Seymour. "I have heard so on good authority, and that such was one of your offences with the King."

"I did, I did," answered the Knight; "but it was too late."

"Well, then," rejoined Seymour, "the good act blots out the bad one. You have my forgiveness freely, Sir Thomas; and I may well assure you of my dear wife's also; for she it was who wrote to tell me you had done so, with words of kindness and gratitude."

"God's blessing upon her!" cried the captive; "but I would fain do more. You are aware, sir, doubtless, that a permission in due form, under the King's own hand, was given for the lady's marriage to a subject. Why not use it for a justification?"

"It has been urged already," replied Seymour; "but the King heeds it not. It was given to the Lady Arabella by the Countess of Shrewsbury; and we have demanded, all of us, if we have been guilty, that a public trial should take place. But the laws are now the common mockery of every idle fellow at the Court."

"It is so, indeed," replied Sir Thomas Overbury, in a sad tone; "I know it but too feelingly. So, that is vain," he added, after a moment's thought, "then, you have nothing left but flight."

"How can it be effected?" asked Seymour, in a doubtful tone.

"By you--as easily as the wind waves yonder flag," replied the Knight. "Oh, had I but your liberty to walk about unwatched, I would place the seas betwixt myself and England ere three days were over."

"But how--but how?" demanded Seymour. "If you show me how, I will thank you indeed."

"In a thousand ways," answered the captive. "Why not, in a workman's dress, at some unsuspected hour, take yonder barrow, and wheel it through the gates? Who would stop you--who would ask a question? I have seen it done a dozen times at least.--Why not, habited as a carter, follow some empty waggon that has brought billets or merchandize into the fortress?"

"The plan is not a bad one, in truth," said Seymour; "perhaps, if driven to it, I may execute it."

"Driven to it!" exclaimed Sir Thomas Overbury. "Is not every man, who is detained a captive here unjustly, driven to take measures for his own deliverance? Or do you expect that the King will be mollified, and give his kind consent to your re-union with your fair wife? Ah, my good sir! you do not know the man. Were you aware of all that I could tell, you would entertain no hope. Dark and dreadful, sir, dark and dreadful are the secrets of that palace at Whitehall. But, if they mind not what they do, and continue this persecution of an innocent man, those secrets shall be told, let them affect whom they may."

"I beseech you, Sir Thomas Overbury," said Seymour, "be careful. Remember, rash words may provoke revenge; and you are in the hands of men both powerful and unscrupulous. Threats, I fear, will avail but little."

"I have no other means!" exclaimed Sir Thomas, vehemently; "the hope of truth, kindness, or justice from them is vain. 'Tis but from their fears that I can entertain any expectations. But, hush!" he exclaimed, "hush!--walk on, walk on! I see the Lieutenant coming along the wall."

Seymour, who was himself hidden by the tower, instantly proceeded in the direction of another building, some way before him, with his arms folded on his chest, and his eyes bent down to the ground, in meditation on what he had just heard. He knew not that the Lieutenant was coming in the opposite direction; but after he had walked forward about a hundred yards, that officer came down by some steps from the wall, and joined him, saying, "Give you good morning, sir; I hope you are well to-day!"

"As well as one can be, Wade, in this place," replied Seymour, "and that is not too well."

"Faith, sir, I do not know," answered Wade; "I feel myself very well here, and do not wish to change."

"I am sure I hope you may remain, Wade," replied the prisoner; "as it satisfies yourself; and your loss would be a sad stroke on me."

"Yet, Mr. Seymour, I am afraid we must both make up our mind to my going," said the Lieutenant. "The crows of the Court are picking a hole in my coat, because a gentleman, passing through, spoke for a few moments with Sir Thomas Overbury, at his window, and I am to be dismissed, it seems. Sir Gervase Elways has given the Lord Rochester a thousand pounds, I hear, to have the post; so he is sure to get it. He may have more to give before he has done, however."

"To what amount do you think?" asked Seymour, with a smile. "The rapacity of these people is somewhat extensive."

"To the amount of his conscience and his soul, perhaps," replied the officer, in a meaning tone. "But these things do not do to talk of, Mr. Seymour, and if they drive me out so unjustly, I should much like to take some who are within these walls along with me."

"Would to heaven you would make me of the number!" replied Seymour.

The Lieutenant gazed at him with a smile, and then answered: "You know, sir, that there is not a man in the Tower whom I would sooner see out of it than yourself, from gratitude to my good Lord of Hertford. But in these matters, sir, every one must take care of himself, and I fear I must not do anything to help you out."

"Thanks for your good wishes, Wade, at all events," replied Seymour. "So poor Sir Thomas Overbury is kept a close prisoner?"

"Too close, sir," said the Lieutenant; "too close not to make men think that the offence charged against him is but a pretext, and that there is darker work below. I am not a man to serve their purposes, however; and I fancy my crime is more refusing to let some persons have access to him, than permitting others. My Lord of Rochester sent a man here yesterday morning to wait upon him, as he said--a fellow whose look I love not. So I told him that no one should wait upon a close prisoner in my custody but my own servants. For them I can be answerable, not for others. This is my true fault, sir. But you must be good enough, in your walks, not to approach the Beauchamp Tower, whatever you do, as, if any one is seen speaking with the poor man again, I must place him in a less convenient room, and I do not wish to deal harshly with one I so much pity."

"You are a good fellow, Wade," replied Seymour, shaking his hand; and, leaving the Lieutenant, he walked on, saying to himself, "this is something gained: Wade will shut his eyes as far as possible, that is clear.--Escape, then, will be easy; but it must be executed before he is removed."