“Sir,” added Sir Owen, “it is superfluous to tell you that on coming out, you must either give me your word of honour that you convey nothing from the prisoners, or else submit to be searched.”

Richard smiled, and observed that men were wont to trust his word of honour, to which the knight heartily replied that he was sure of it, and he then followed the warder up stone stairs and along vaulted passages, where the clang of their footsteps made his heart sink.  The prisoners were in the White Tower, the central body of the grim building, and the warder, after unlocking the door, announced, with no unnecessary rudeness, but rather as if he were glad of any comfort to his charges, “Here, sirs, is a gentleman to visit you.”

They had both risen at the sound of the key turning in the lock, and Antony Babington’s face lighted up as he exclaimed, “Mr. Talbot!  I knew you would come if it were possible.”

“I come by my Lord’s desire,” replied Richard, the close wringing of his hand expressing feeling to which he durst not give way in words.

He took in at the moment that the room, though stern and strong, was not squalid.  It was lighted fully by a window, iron-barred, but not small, and according to custom, the prisoners had been permitted to furnish, at their own expense, sufficient garniture for comfort, and as both were wealthy men, they were fairly provided, and they were not fettered.  Both looked paler than when Richard had seen them in Westminster Hall two days previously.  Antony was as usual neatly arrayed, with well-trimmed hair and beard, but Tichborne’s hung neglected, and there was a hollow, haggard look about his eyes, as if of dismay at his approaching fate.  Neither was, however, forgetful of courtesy, and as Babington presented Mr. Talbot to his friend, the greeting and welcome would have befitted the halls of Dethick or Tichborne.

“Sirs,” said the young man, with a sad smile irradiating for a moment the restless despair of his countenance, “it is not by choice that I am an intruder on your privacy; I will abstract myself so far as is possible.”

“I have no secrets from my Chidiock,” cried Babington.

“But Mr. Talbot may,” replied his friend, “therefore I will only first inquire whether he can tell us aught of the royal lady for whose sake we suffer.  They have asked us many questions, but answered none.”

Richard was able to reply that after the seclusion at Tixall she had been brought back to Chartley, and there was no difference in the manner of her custody, moreover, that she had recovered from her attack of illness, tidings he had just received in a letter from Humfrey.  He did not feel it needful to inflict a pang on the men who were to die in two days’ time by letting them know that she was to be immediately brought to trial on the evidence extracted from them.  On hearing that her captivity was not straitened, both looked relieved, and Tichborne, thanking him, lay down on his own bed, turned his face to the wall, and drew the covering over his head.