After his condemnation, the earl had passed most of his time in prayer, and had so completely succeeded in reconciling himself to his fate, that he forbade the countess to make any further efforts for his deliverance. Indeed, after the escapes that had taken place, any fresh attempt would have been futile. The unhappy countess was staying at Dagenham Park, an old manorial mansion, near Romford in Essex, belonging to a Roman Catholic family, and she came over every day to the Tower, accompanied by Father Norham, in the hope of seeing her husband. Latterly, permission had been refused her, but, on the day before the execution, she was allowed to visit him with the priest. Not having seen him for a few days, she was much struck by the change in his appearance. His countenance had a very serene expression. All trouble had vanished from it, and it was plain from his looks that his thoughts were fixed on high. “You have no longer any fear of death, I perceive, my son,” said Father Norham. “I have no desire for life, father,” he replied. “I am better prepared to die than I might be at a future time, were my days prolonged.” “I shall soon rejoin you, my lord,” said the countess. “No, live!--I would have you live,” he cried. “You are young, beautiful--and I trust have many years of happiness before you. I would not have them abridged. But think of me always--think how fondly I have loved you--think how entirely happy I have been in your society. Never for a single moment has my heart swerved from its devotion to you. Fate has separated us for a time--but it was against my will. My love has been sacrificed to my sense of duty.” “I know it, my dearest lord,” she cried, with a look of anguish. “Oh! how bitterly I reproach myself that I urged you to join this fatal expedition. Would I could recall the past! Would we could be at Dilston together as in former days! Never! never should you leave it! But I must not speak of the past.” “Nay, it does not pain me,” said the earl tenderly. “Let us quit his dungeon for a moment in thought, and transport ourselves to Dilston. Let us stand together--as we have so often stood--upon the terrace, and gaze upon the far-spreading prospect. Ah! the scene rises before me, as I speak! We are in the glen, wandering by the side of the stream. We are in the forest, and I enter the Maiden's Walk, and receive a warning.” “What more?” cried the countess. “Nothing,” replied the earl. “The vision has disappeared. Alas! my sweet love, Dilston will be yours no more. The house you have brightened with your presence will be taken from you. I cannot bequeath it to you. Yet I should wish to be laid with my fathers in the vault beneath the little chapel.” “It shall be done, my dearest lord,” she cried earnestly. “Your wishes shall be fulfilled.” “I do not think that resting-place will be denied me,” said the earl.