THE KING'S ACHIEVEMENT

By Robert Hugh Benson

Author of "By What Authority?" "The Light Invisible, ""A Book of the Love of Jesus, " etc. 

_Non minus principi turpia sunt multa supplicia, quam medico multafunera. _

(Sen. De clem. 1, 24, 1. )

_I must express my gratitude once more to the Rev. Dom Bede Camm, O. S. B. , as well as to the Very Rev. Mgr. Barnes, who have done me greatservice in revising proofs and making suggestions; to the Rev. E. Conybeare, who very kindly provided the coins for the cover-design ofthe book; to my mother and sister, to Eustace Virgo, Esq. , to Dr. Ross-Todd, and to others, who have been extremely kind in various waysduring the writing of this book in the summer and autumn of 1904. _

_I must also express my great indebtedness to the Right Rev. AbbotGasquet, O. S. B. , both on account of his invaluable books, which I haveused freely, and for his personal kindness in answering my questions. _

ROBERT HUGH BENSON

_The Catholic Rectory, Cambridge, July 14, 1905. _

CONTENTS

BOOK I. THE KING'S WILL. 

CHAPTER

 I. A DECISION II. A FORETASTE OF PEACE III. THE ARRIVAL AT LEWES IV. A COMMISSION V. MASTER MORE VI. RALPH'S INTERCESSION VII. A MERRY PRISONERVIII. A HIGHER STEP IX. LIFE AT LEWES X. THE ARENA XI. A CLOSING-IN XII. A RECOVERYXIII. PRISONER AND PRINCE XIV. THE SACRED PURPLE XV. THE KING'S FRIEND

BOOK II. THE KING'S TRIUMPH. 

PART I. --THE SMALLER HOUSES. 

 I. AN ACT OF FAITH II. THE BEGINNING OF THE VISITATION III. A HOUSE OF LADIES IV. AN UNEXPECTED MEETING V. FATHER AND SON VI. A NUN'S DEFIANCE VII. ST. PANCRAS PRIORYVIII. RALPH'S RETURN IX. RALPH'S WELCOME

PART II--THE FALL OF LEWES. 

 I. INTERNAL DISSENSION II. SACERDOS IN AETERNUM III. THE NORTHERN RISING IV. THE DESTRUCTION OF THE SEAL V. THE SINKING SHIP VI. THE LAST STAND VII. AXES AND HAMMERS

BOOK III. 

THE KING'S GRATITUDE. 

 I. A SCHEME II. A DUEL III. A PEACE-MAKER IV. THE ELDER SON V. THE MUMMERS VI. A CATASTROPHE VII. A QUESTION OF LOYALTYVIII. TO CHARING IX. A RELIEF-PARTY X. PLACENTIA XI. THE KING'S HIGHNESS XII. THE TIDINGS AT THE TOWERXIII. THE RELEASE

BENEFICO--IGNOTOHVNC--LIBRVMD. 

THE KING'S ACHIEVEMENT

CHAPTER I

A DECISION

Overfield Court lay basking in warm June sunshine. The western side ofthe great house with its new timber and plaster faced the evening sunacross the square lawns and high terrace; and the woods a couple ofhundred yards away cast long shadows over the gardens that lay beyondthe moat. The lawns, in their broad plateaux on the eastern sidedescended by steps, in cool shadow to the lake that formed aquarter-circle below the south-eastern angle of the house; and themirrored trees and reeds on the other side were broken, circle aftercircle, by the great trout that were rising for their evening meal. Thetall front of the house on the north, formed by the hall in the centrewith the kitchen at its eastern end and the master's chamber on thewestern, was faced by a square-towered gatehouse through which thestraight drive leading into the main road approached the house under alime-avenue; and on the south side the ground fell away again rapidlybelow the chapel and the morning-room, in copse and garden and wildmeadow bright with buttercups and ox-eye daisies, down to the lake againand the moat that ran out of it round the entire domain. 

The cobbled courtyard in the centre of the house, where the tall leadedpump stood, was full of movement. Half a dozen trunks lay there thathad just been carried in from the luggage-horses that were now being ledaway with patient hanging heads towards the stables that stood outsidethe gatehouse on the right, and three or four dusty men in livery weretalking to the house-servants who had come out of their quarters on theleft. From the kitchen corner came a clamour of tongues and dishes, andsmoke was rising steadily from the huge outside chimney that rose beyondthe roofs. 

Presently there came clear and distinct from the direction of thevillage the throb of hoofs on the hard road; and the men shouldered thetrunks, and disappeared, staggering, under the low archway on the right, beside which the lamp extinguisher hung, grimy with smoke and grease. The yard dog came out at the sound of the hoofs, dragging his chainafter him, from his kennel beneath the little cloister outside thechapel, barked solemnly once or twice, and having done his duty lay downon the cool stones, head on paws, watching with bright eyes the doorthat led from the hall into the Court. A moment later the little doorfrom the masters chamber opened; and Sir James Torridon came out and, giving a glance at the disappearing servants, said a word or two to theothers, and turned again through the hall to meet his sons. 

The coach was coming up the drive round toward the gatehouse, as he cameout on the wide paved terrace; and he stood watching the glitter ofbrasswork through the dust, the four plumed cantering horses in front, and the bobbing heads of the men that rode behind; and there was a gravepleased expectancy on his bearded face and in his bright grey eyes as helooked. His two sons had met at Begham, and were coming home, Ralph fromtown sites a six months' absence, and Christopher from Canterbury, where he had been spending a week or two in company with Mr. Carleton, the chaplain of the Court. He was the more pleased as the house had beenrather lonely in their absence, since the two daughters were both fromhome, Mary with her husband, Sir Nicholas Maxwell, over at Great Keynes, and Margaret at her convent education at Rusper: and he himself had hadfor company his wife alone. 

She came out presently as the carriage rolled through the archway, atall dignified figure of a woman, finely dressed in purple and black, and stood by him, silently, a yard or two away, watching the carriageout of steady black eyes. A moment later the carriage drew up at thesteps, and a couple of servants ran down to open the door. 

Ralph stepped out first, a tall man like both his parents, with a faceand slow gait extraordinarily like his mother's, and dressed in the samekind of rich splendour, with a short silver-clasped travelling cloak, crimson hose, and plumed felt cap; and his face with its pointed blackbeard had something of the same steady impassivity in it; he wasflicking the dust from his shoulder as he came up the steps on to theterrace. 

Christopher followed him, not quite so tall as the other, and a good tenyears younger, with the grey eyes of his father, and a little brownbeard beginning to sprout on his cheeks and chin. 

Ralph turned at the top of the steps

"The bag, " he said shortly; and then turned again to kiss his parents'hands; as Christopher went back to the carriage, from which the priestwas just stepping out. Sir James asked his son about the journey. 

"Oh, yes, " he said; and then added, "Christopher was late at Begham. "

"And you are well, my son?" asked his mother, as they turned to walk upto the house. 

"Oh, yes!" he said again. 

Sir James waited for Christopher and Mr. Carleton, and the threefollowed the others a few yards behind. 

"You saw her?" said his father. 

Christopher nodded. 

"Yes, " he said, "I must speak to you, sir, before I tell the others. "

"Come to me when you are dressed, then. Supper will be in an hour fromnow;" and he looked at his son with a kind of sharp expectancy. 

The courtyard was empty as they passed through, but half a dozenservants stood crowded in the little flagged passage that led from itinto the kitchen, and watched Ralph and his mother with an awed interestas they came out from the hall. Mr. Ralph had come down from the heartof life, as they knew; had been present at the crowning of Anne Boleyn aweek before, had mixed with great folks; and what secrets of State mightthere not be in that little strapped bag that his brother carried behindhim?

When the two first had disappeared, the servants broke into talk, andwent back to the kitchen. 

 * * * * *

Lady Torridon, with her elder son and the chaplain, had to wait a fewminutes on the dais in the hall an hour later, before the door under themusicians' gallery opened, and the other two came in from the master'schamber. Sir James looked a little anxious as he came across the cleanstrewed rushes, past the table at the lower end where the household sat, but Christopher's face was bright with excitement. After a word or twoof apology they moved to their places. Mr. Carleton said grace, and asthey sat down the door behind from the kitchen opened, and the servantscame through with the pewter dishes. 

Ralph was very silent at first; his mother sat by him almost as silentas himself; the servants sprang about noiseless and eager to wait onhim; and Sir James and the chaplain did most of the conversation, pleasant harmless talk about the estate and the tenants; but as supperwent on, and the weariness of the hot journey faded, and the talk fromthe lower tables grew louder, Ralph began to talk a little more freely. 

"Yes, " he said, "the crowning went well enough. The people were quietenough. She looked very pretty in her robes; she was in purple velvet, and her gentlemen in scarlet. We shall have news of her soon. "

Sir James looked up sharply at his son. They were all listeningintently; and even a servant behind Ralph's chair paused with a silverjug. 

"Yes, " said Ralph again with a tranquil air, setting down his Venetianglass; "God has blessed the union already. "

"And the King?" asked his father, from his black velvet chair in thecentre. 

There fell a deeper silence yet as that name was mentioned. Henrydominated the imagination of his subjects to an extraordinary degree, noless in his heavy middle-age than in the magnificent strength andcapacity of his youth. 

But Ralph answered carelessly enough. He had seen the King too often. 

"The King looked pleased enough; he was in his throne. He is stouterthan when I saw him last. My Lord of Canterbury did the crowning; TeDeum was sung after, and then solemn mass. There was a dozen abbots, Ishould think, and my Lords of York and London and Winchester with two orthree more. My Lord of Suffolk bore the crown. "

"And the procession?" asked his father again. 

"That, too, was well enough. There came four chariots after the Queen, full of ancient old ladies, at which some of the folks laughed. And thenthe rest of them. "

They talked a few minutes about the coronation, Sir James asking most ofthe questions and Ralph answering shortly; and presently Christopherbroke in--

"And the Lady Katharine--" he began. 

"Hush, my son, " said his father, glancing at Ralph, who sat perfectlystill a moment before answering. 

"Chris is always eager about the wrong thing, " he said evenly; "he islate at Begham, and then asks me about the Princess Dowager. She isstill alive, if you mean that. "

Lady Torridon looked from one to the other. 

"And Master Cromwell?" she asked. 

"Master Cromwell is well enough. He asked me to give you both hisrespects. I left him at Hackney. "

 * * * * *

The tall southern windows of the hall, above the pargetted plaster, hadfaded through glowing ruby and blue to dusk before they rose from thetable and went down and through the passage into the little parlour nextthe master's chamber, where they usually took their dessert. This partof the house had been lately re-built, but the old woodwork had beenre-used, and the pale oak panels, each crowned by an elaborate foliatedhead, gave back the pleasant flicker of the fire that burned between thepolished sheets of Flemish tiles on either side of the hearth. A greatglobe stood in the corner furthest from the door, with a map of Englandhanging above it. A piece of tapestry hung over the mantelpiece, representing Diana bending over Endymion, and two tall candles in brassstands burned beneath. The floor was covered with rushes. 

Mr. Carleton, who had come with them as far as the door, according tocustom, was on the point of saying-good-night, when Sir James called himback. 

"Come in, father, " he said, "we want you to-night. Chris has somethingto tell us. "

The priest came in and sat down with the others, his face in shadow, atthe corner of the hearth. 

Sir James looked across at his younger son and nodded; and Chris, hischin on his hand, and sitting very upright on the long-backed settlebeside the chaplain, began rather nervously and abruptly. 

"I--I have told Ralph, " he said, "on the way here and you, sir; but Iwill tell you again. You know I was questioning whether I had a vocationto the religious life; and I went, with that in my mind, to see the HolyMaid. We saw her, Mr. Carleton and I; and--and I have made up my mind Imust go. "

He stopped, hesitating a little, Ralph and his mother sat perfectlystill, without a word or sign of either sympathy or disapproval. Hisfather leaned forward a little, and smiled encouragingly. 

"Go on, my son. "

Chris drew a breath and leaned back more easily. 

"Well, we went to St. Sepulchre's; and she could not see us for a day ortwo. There were several others staying with us at the monastery; therewas a Carthusian from Sheen--I forget his name. "

"Henry Man, " put in the chaplain. 

"--And some others, " went on Chris, "all waiting to see her. Dr. Bockingpromised to tell us when we could see her; and he came to us one morningafter mass, and told us that she was in ecstasy, and that we were tocome at once. So we all went to the nuns' chapel, and there she was onher knees, with her arms across her breast. "

He stopped again. Ralph cleared his throat, crossed his legs, and dranka little wine. 

"Yes?" said the knight questioningly. 

"Well--she said a great deal, " went on Chris hurriedly. 

"About the King?" put in his mother who was looking at the fire. 

"A little about the King, " said Chris, "and about holy things as well. She spoke about heaven; it was wonderful to hear her; with her eyesburning, and such a voice; and then she spoke low and deep and told usabout hell, and the devil and his torments; and I could hardly bear tolisten; and she told us about shrift, and what it did for the soul; andthe blessed sacrament. The Carthusian put a question or two to her, andshe answered them: and all the while she was speaking her voice seemedto come from her body, and not from her mouth; and it was terrible tosee her when she spoke of hell; her tongue lay out on her cheek, and hereyes grew little and afraid. "

"Her tongue in her cheek, did you say?" asked Ralph politely, withoutmoving. 

Chris flushed, and sat back silent. His father glanced quickly from oneto the other. 

"Tell us more, Chris, " he said. "What did she say to you?"

The young man leaned forward again. 

"I wish, Ralph--" he began. 

"I was asking--" began the other. 

"There, there, " said Sir James. "Go on, Chris. "

"Well, after a while Dr. Bocking brought me forward; and told her tolook at me; and her eyes seemed to see something beyond me; and I wasafraid. But he told me to ask her, and I did. She said nothing for awhile; and then she began to speak of a great church, as if she saw it;and she saw there was a tower in the middle, and chapels on either side, and tombs beside the high altar; and an image, and then she stopped, andcried out aloud 'Saint Pancras pray for us'--and then I knew. "

Chris was trembling violently with excitement as he turned to the priestfor corroboration. Mr. Carleton nodded once or twice without speaking. 

"Then I knew, " went on Chris. "You know it was what I had in my mind;and I had not spoken a word of Lewes, or of my thought of going there. "

"Had you told any?" asked his father. 

"Only Dr. Bocking. Then I asked her, was I to go there; but she saidnothing for a while; and her eyes wandered about; and she began to speakof black monks going this way and that; and she spoke of a prior, and ofhis ring; it was of gold, she said, with figures engraved on it. Youknow the ring the Prior wears?" he added, looking eagerly at his father. 

Sir James nodded. 

"I know it, " he said. "Well?"

"Well, I asked her again, was I to go there; and then she looked at meup and down; I was in my travelling suit; but she said she saw my cowland its hanging sleeves, and an antiphoner in my hands; and then herface grew dreadful and afraid again, and she cried out and fell forward;and Dr. Bocking led us out from the chapel. "

There was a long silence as Chris ended and leaned back again, takingup a bunch of raisins. Ralph sighed once as if wearied out, and hismother put her hand on his sleeve. Then at last Sir James spoke. 

"You have heard the story, " he said, and then paused; but there was noanswer. At last the chaplain spoke from his place. 

"It is all as Chris said, " he began, "I was there and heard it. If thewoman is not from God, she is one of Satan's own; and it is hard tothink that Satan would tell us of the sacraments and bid us use themgreedily, and if she is from God--" he stopped again. 

The knight nodded at him. 

"And you, sweetheart?" he said to his wife. 

She turned to him slowly. 

"You know what I think, " she said. "If Chris believes it, he must go, Isuppose. "

"And you, Ralph?"

Ralph raised himself in his chair. 

"Do you wish me to say what I think?" he asked deliberately, "or whatChris wishes me to say? I will do either. "

Chris made a quick movement of his head; but his father answered forhim. 

"We wish you to say what you think, " he said quietly. 

"Well, then, " said Ralph, "it is this. I cannot agree with the father. Ithink the woman is neither of God nor Satan; but that she speaks of herown heart, and of Dr. Bocking's. I believe they are a couple ofknaves--clever knaves, I will grant, though perhaps the woman issomething of a fool too; for she deceives persons as wise even as Mr. Carleton here by speaking of shrift and the like; and so she does thepriests' will, and hopes to get gain for them and herself. I am notalone in thinking this--there are many in town who think with me, andholy persons too. "

"Is Master Cromwell one of them?" put in Chris bitterly. 

Ralph raised his eyebrows a little. 

"There is no use in sneering, " he said, "but Master Cromwell is one ofthem. I suppose I ought not to speak of this; but I know you will notspeak of it again; and I can tell you of my own knowledge that the HolyMaid will not be at St. Sepulchre's much longer. "

His father leaned forward. 

"Do you mean--" he began. 

"I mean that His Grace is weary of her prophesyings. It was all verywell till she began to meddle with matters of State; but His Grace willhave none of that. I can tell you no more. On the other hand if Christhinks he must be a monk, well and good; I do not think so myself; butthat is not my affair; but I hope he will not be a monk only because aknavish woman has put out her tongue at him, and repeated what a knavishpriest has put into her mouth. But I suppose he had made up his mindbefore he asked me. "

"He has made up his mind, " said his father, "and will hold to it unlessreason is shown to the contrary; and for myself I think he is right. "

"Very well, then, " said Ralph; and leaned back once more. 

The minutes passed away in silence for a while; and then Ralph asked aquestion or two about his sisters. 

"Mary is coming over to hunt to-morrow with her husband, " said SirJames. "I have told Forrest to be here by nine o'clock. Shall you comewith us?"

Ralph yawned, and sipped his Bordeaux. 

"I do not know, " he said, "I suppose so. "

"And Margaret is at Rusper still, " went on the other. "She will not behere until August. "

"She, too, is thinking of Religion, " put in Lady Torridon impassively. 

Ralph looked up lazily. 

"Indeed, " he said, "then Mary and I will be the only worldlings. "

"She is very happy with the nuns, " said his father, smiling, "and aworldling can be no more than that; and perhaps not always as much. "

Ralph smiled with one corner of his mouth. 

"You are quite right, sir, " he said. 

The bell for evening prayers sounded out presently from the turret inthe chapel-corner, and the chaplain rose and went out. 

"Will you forgive me, sir, " said Ralph, "if I do not come this evening?I am worn out with travelling. The stay at Begham was very troublesome. "

"Good-night, then, my son. I will send Morris to you immediately. "

"Oh, after prayers, " said Ralph. "I need not deprive God of his prayerstoo. "

 * * * * *

Lady Torridon had gone out silently after the chaplain, and Sir Jamesand Chris walked across the Court together. Overhead the summer nightsky was clear and luminous with stars, and the air still and fragrant. There were a few lights here and there round the Court, and the tallchapel windows shone dimly above the little cloister. A link flaredsteadily on its iron bracket by the door into the hall, and threw wavesof flickering ruddy light across the cobble-stones, and the shadow ofthe tall pump wavered on the further side. 

Sir James put his hand tenderly on Chris' shoulder. 

"You must not be angry at Ralph, my son, " he said. "Remember he does notunderstand. "

"He should not speak like that, " said Chris fiercely. "How dare he doso?"

"Of course he should not; but he does not know that. He thinks he isadvising you well. You must let him alone, Chris. You must remember heis almost mad with business. Master Cromwell works him hard. "

 * * * * *

The chapel was but dimly lighted as Chris made his way up to the highgallery at the west where he usually knelt. The altar glimmered in thedusk at the further end, and only a couple of candles burned on thepriest's kneeling stool on the south side. The rest was dark, for thehouse hold knew compline by heart; and even before Chris reached hisseat he heard the blessing asked for a quiet night and a perfect end. Itwas very soothing to him as he leaned over the oak rail and looked downon the dim figures of his parents in their seat at the front, and theheads of the servants below, and listened to the quiet pulsation ofthose waves of prayer going to and fro in the dusk, beating, as a summertide at the foot of a cliff against those white steps that rose up tothe altar where a single spark winked against the leaded window beneaththe silk-shrouded pyx. He had come home full of excitement and joy athis first sight of an ecstatic, and at the message that she had seemedto have for him, and across these heightened perceptions had jarred theimpatience of his brother in the inn at Begham and in the carriage ontheir way home, and above all his sharp criticism and aloofness in theparlour just now. But he became quieter as he knelt now; the bitternessseamed to sink beneath him and to leave him alone in a world ofpeaceful glory--the world of mystic life to which his face was now set, illuminated by the words of the nun. He had seen one who could seefurther than he himself; he had looked upon eyes that were fixed onmysteries and realms in which he indeed passionately believed, but whichwere apt to be faint and formless sometimes to the weary eyes of faithalone; and as a proof that these were more than fancies she had told himtoo of what he could verify--of the priory at Lewes which she had nevervisited, and even the details of the ring on the Prior's finger which healone of the two had seen. And then lastly she had encouraged him in hisdesires, had seen him with those same wide eyes in the habit that helonged to wear, going about the psalmody--the great _Opus Dei_--to whichhe longed to consecrate his life. If such were not a message from God tohim for what further revelation could he hope?

And as for Ralph's news and interests, of what value were they? Of whatimportance was it to ask who sat on the Consort's throne, or whether shewore purple velvet or red? These were little matters compared with thosehigh affairs of the soul and the Eternal God, of which he was alreadybeginning to catch glimpses, and even the whispers that ran about thecountry places and of which Ralph no doubt could tell him much if hechose, of the danger that threatened the religious houses, and ofHenry's intentions towards them--even these were but impotent cries ofthe people raging round the throne of the Anointed. 

So he knelt here now, pacified and content again, and thought withsomething of pity of his brother dozing now no doubt before the parlourfire, cramped by his poor ideals and dismally happy in his limitations. 

His father, too, was content down below in the chapel. He himself hadat one time before his marriage looked towards the religious life; andnow that it had turned out otherwise had desired nothing more than thathe should be represented in that inner world of God's favourites by atleast one of his children. His daughter Margaret had written a weekearlier to say that her mind was turning that way, and now Christopher'sdecision had filled up the cup of his desires. To have a priest for ason, and above all one who was a monk as well was more than he had daredto hope, though not to pray for; if he could not be one himself, atleast he had begotten one--one who would represent him before God, bringa blessing on the house, and pray and offer sacrifice for his soul untilhis time should be run out and he see God face to face. And Ralph wouldrepresent him before men and carry on the line, and hand on the house toa third generation--Ralph, at whom he had felt so sorely puzzled oflate, for he seemed full of objects and ambitions for which the fatherhad very little sympathy, and to have lost almost entirely that delicaterelation with home that was at once so indefinable and so real. But hecomforted himself by the thought that his elder son was not whollywasting time as so many of the country squires were doing round about, absorbed in work that a brainless yeoman could do with better success. Ralph at least was occupied with grave matters, in Cromwell's serviceand the King's, and entrusted with high secrets the issue of which bothtemporal and eternal it was hard to predict. And, no doubt, the knightthought, in time he would come back and pick up the strands he haddropped; for when a man had wife and children of his own to care for, other businesses must seem secondary; and questions that could beignored before must be faced then. 

But he thought with a little anxiety of his wife, and wondered whetherhis elder son had not after all inherited that kind of dry rot of thesoul, in which the sap and vigour disappear little by little, leavingthe shape indeed intact but not the powers. When he had married her, thirty-five years before, she had seemed to him an incarnate mystery ofwhose key he was taking possession--her silence had seemed pregnant withknowledge, and her words precious pieces from an immeasurable treasury;and then little by little he had found that the wide treasury was empty, clean indeed and capacious, but no more, and above all with no promiseof any riches as yet unperceived. Those great black eyes, that highforehead, those stately movements, meant nothing; it was a splendidfigure with no soul within. She did her duty admirably, she said herprayers, she entertained her guests with the proper conversation, shecould be trusted to behave well in any circumstances that called fortact or strength; and that was all. But Ralph would not be like that; hewas intensely devoted to his work, and from all accounts able in itsperformance; and more than that, with all his impassivity he was capableof passion; for his employer Sir Thomas Cromwell was to Ralph's eyes, his father had begun to see, something almost more than human. A wordagainst that master of his would set his eyes blazing and his voicetrembling; and this showed that at least the soul was not more thansleeping, or its powers more than misdirected. 

And meanwhile there was Chris; and at the thought the father lifted hiseyes to the gallery, and saw the faint outline of his son's brown headagainst the whitewash. 

CHAPTER II

A FORETASTE OF PEACE

It was not until the party was riding home the next day that SirNicholas Maxwell and his wife were informed of Chris' decision. 

 * * * * *

They had had a fair day's sport in the two estates that marched with oneanother between Overfield and Great Keynes, and about fifteen stags hadbeen killed as well as a quantity of smaller game. 

Ralph had ridden out after the party had left, and had found SirNicholas at the close of the afternoon just as the last drive was aboutto take place; and had stepped into his shelter to watch the finish. Itwas a still, hot afternoon, and the air over the open space between thecopse in which they stood and the dense forest eighty yards away dancedin the heat. 

Ralph nodded to his brother-in-law, who was flushed and sunburnt, andthen stood behind, running his eyes up and down that sturdy figure withthe tightly-gaitered legs set well apart and the little feathered capthat moved this way and that as the sportsman peered through thebranches before him. Once he turned fierce eyes backwards at the whineof one of the hounds, and then again thrust his hot dripping face intothe greenery. 

Then very far away came a shout, and a chorus of taps and cries followedit, sounding from a couple of miles away as the beaters after sweepinga wide circle entered the thick undergrowth on the opposite side of thewood. Sir Nicholas' legs trembled, and he shifted his position a little, half lifting his strong spliced hunting bow as he did so. 

For a few minutes there was silence about them except for the distantcries, and once for the stamp of a horse behind them. Then Sir Nicholasmade a quick movement, and dropped his hands again; a single rabbit hadcantered out from the growth opposite, and sat up with cocked earsstaring straight at the deadly shelter. Then another followed; and againin a sudden panic the two little furry bodies whisked back into cover. 

Ralph marvelled at this strange passion that could set a reasonable mantwitching and panting like the figure in front of him. He himself was agood rider, and a sufficiently keen hunter when his blood was up; butthis brother-in-law of his seemed to live for little else. Day afterday, as Ralph knew, from the beginning of the season to the end he wasout with his men and hounds, and the rest of the year he seemed to spendin talking about the sport, fingering and oiling his weapons throughlong mornings, and elaborating future campaigns, in which the quarries'chances should be reduced to a minimum. 

 * * * * *

On a sudden Sir Nicholas's figure stiffened and then relaxed. A doe hadstepped out noiselessly from the cover, head up and feet close together, sniffing up wind--and they were shooting no does this month. Then againshe moved along against the thick undergrowth, stepping delicately andsilently, and vanished without a sound a hundred yards along to theleft. 

The cries and taps were sounding nearer now, and at any moment the gamemight appear. Sir Nicholas shifted his position again a little, andsimultaneously the scolding voice of a blackbird rang out in front, andhe stopped again. At the same moment a hare, mad with fright, burst outof the cover, making straight for the shelter. Sir Nicholas' hands rose, steady now the crisis had come; and Ralph leaning forward touched him onthe shoulder and pointed. 

A great stag was standing in the green gloom within the wood eightyyards away, with a couple of does at his flank. Then as a shout soundedout near at hand, he bolted towards the shelter in a line that wouldbring him close to it. Ralph crouched down, for he had left his bow withhis man an hour earlier, and one of the hounds gave a stifled yelp asNicholas straightened himself and threw out his left foot. Either thesound or the movement startled the great brown beast in front, and asthe arrow twanged from the string he checked and wheeled round, and wentoff like the wind, untouched. A furious hiss of the breath broke fromNicholas, and he made a swift sign as he turned to his horse; and in amoment the two lithe hounds had leapt from the shelter and were flyingin long noiseless leaps after the disappearing quarry; the does, confused by the change of direction, had whisked back into cover. Amoment later Nicholas too was after the hounds, his shoulders workingand his head thrust forward, and a stirrup clashed and jingled againstthe saddle. 

Ralph sat down on the ground smiling. It gave him a certain pleasure tosee such a complete discomfiture; Nicholas was always so amusingly angrywhen he failed, and so full of reasons. 

The forest was full of noises now; a crowd of starlings were protestingwildly overhead, there were shouts far away and the throb of hoofs, andthe ground game was pouring out of the undergrowth and dispersing inall directions. Once a boar ran past, grumbling as he went, turning awicked and resentful eye on the placid gentleman in green who sat on theground, but who felt for his long dirk as he saw the fury on the brute'sface and the foam on the tusks. But the pig thought discretion was best, and hurried on complaining. More than one troop of deer flew past, thedoes gathered round their lord to protect him, all swerving togetherlike a string of geese as they turned the corner of the shelter andcaught sight of Ralph; but the beaters were coming out now, whistlingand talking as they came, and gathering into groups of two or three onthe ground, for the work was done, and it had been hot going. 

Mary Maxwell appeared presently on her grey horse, looking slender anddignified in her green riding-suit with the great plume shading herface, and rode up to Ralph whom she had seen earlier in the afternoon. 

"My husband?" she enquired looking down at Ralph who was lying with hishat over his eyes. 

"He left me just now, " said her brother, "very hot and red, after a stagwhich he missed. That will mean some conversation to-night, Minnie. "

She smiled down at him. 

"I shall agree with him, you know, " she said. 

"Of course you will; it is but right. And I suppose I shall too. "

"Will you wait for him? Tell him we are going home by the mill. It isall over now. "

Ralph nodded, and Mary moved off down the glade to join the others. 

Ralph began to wonder how Nicholas would take the news of Chris'decision. Mary, he knew very well, would assent to it quietly as shedid to all normal events, even though they were not what she would havewished; and probably her husband would assent too, for he had a greatrespect for a churchman. For himself his opinions were divided and hescarcely knew what he thought. From the temporal point of view Chris'step would be an advantage to him, for the vow of poverty would put anend to any claims upon the estate on the part of the younger son; butRalph was sufficiently generous not to pay much attention to this. Fromthe social point of view, no great difference would be made; it was asrespectable to have a monk for a brother as a small squire, and Chriscould never be more than this unless he made a good marriage. From thespiritual point of view--and here Ralph stopped and wondered whether itwas very seriously worth considering. It was the normal thing of courseto believe in the sublimity of the religious life and its peculiardignity; but the new learning was beginning to put questions on thesubject that had very considerably affected the normal view in Ralph'seyes. In that section of society where new ideas are generated and towhich Ralph himself belonged, there were very odd tales being told; andit was beginning to be thought possible that monasticism hadover-reached itself, and that in trying to convert the world it haditself been converted by the world. Ralph was proud enough of the honourof his family to wonder whether it was an unmixed gain that his ownbrother should join such ranks as these. And lastly there were the factsthat he had learnt from his association with Cromwell that made himhesitate more than ever in giving Chris his sympathy. He had beenthinking these points over in the parlour the night before when theothers had left him, and during the day in the intervals of the sport;and he was beginning to come to the conclusion that all thingsconsidered he had better just acquiesce in the situation, and neitherpraise nor blame overmuch. 

It was a sleepy afternoon. The servants had all gone by now, and thehorn-blowings and noises had died away in the direction of the mill;there was no leisure for stags to bray, as they crouched now far away inthe bracken, listening large-eyed and trumpet-eared for the sounds ofpursuit; only the hum of insect life in the hot evening sunshine filledthe air; and Ralph began to fall asleep, his back against a fallentrunk. 

Then he suddenly awakened and saw his brother-in-law, black against thesky, looking down at him, from the saddle. 

"Well?" said Ralph, not moving. 

Nicholas began to explain. There were a hundred reasons, it seemed, forhis coming home empty-handed; and where were his men?

"They are all gone home, " said Ralph, getting up and stretching himself. "I waited for you It is all over. "

"You understand, " said Nicholas, putting his horse into motion, andbeginning to explain all over again, "you understand that it had notbeen for that foul hound yelping, I should have had him here. I nevermiss such a shot; and then when we went after him--"

"I understand perfectly, Nick, " said Ralph. "You missed him because youdid not shoot straight, and you did not catch him because you did not gofast enough. A lawyer could say no more. "

Nicholas threw back his head and laughed loudly, for the two were goodfriends. 

"Well, if you will have it, " he said, "I was a damned fool. There! Alawyer dare not say as much--not to me, at any rate. "

Ralph found his man half a mile further on coming to meet him with hishorse, and he mounted and rode on with Nicholas towards the mill. 

"I have something to tell you, " he said presently. "Chris is to be amonk. "

"Mother of God!" cried Nicholas, half checking his horse, "and when wasthat arranged?"

"Last night, " went on Ralph. "He went to see the Holy Maid at St. Sepulchre's, and it seems that she told him he had a vocation; so thereis an end of it. "

"And what do you all think of it?" asked the other. 

"Oh! I suppose he knows his business. "

Nicholas asked a number of questions, and was informed that Chrisproposed to go to Lewes in a month's time. He was already twenty-three, the Prior had given his conditional consent before, and there was noneed for waiting. Yes, they were Cluniacs; but Ralph believed that theywere far from strict just at present. It need not be the end of Chris sofar as this world was concerned. 

"But you must not say that to him, " he went on, "he thinks it is heavenitself between four walls, and we shall have a great scene of farewell. I think I must go back to town before it takes place: I cannot do thatkind of thing. "

Nicholas was not attending, and rode on in silence for a few yards, sucking in his lower lip. 

"We are lucky fellows, you and I, " he said at last, "to have a monk topray for us. "

Ralph glanced at him, for he was perfectly grave, and a rather intentand awed look was in his eyes. 

"I think a deal of that, " he went on, "though I cannot talk to achurchman as I should. I had a terrible time with my Lord of Canterburylast year, at Otford. He was not a hunter like this one, and I knew notwhat else to speak of. "

Ralph's eyes narrowed with amusement. 

"What did you say to him?" he asked. 

"I forget, " said Nicholas, "and I hope my lord did. Mary told me Ibehaved like a fool. But this one is better. I hear. He is at Ashfordnow with his hounds. "

They talked a little more about Chris, and Ralph soon saw on which sideNicholas ranged himself. It was an unfeigned pleasure to this huntingsquire to have a monk for a brother-in-law; there was no knowing howshort purgatory might not be for them all under the circumstances. 

It was evident, too, when they came up with the others a couple of milesfurther on, that Nicholas's attitude towards the young man had undergonea change. He looked at him with a deep respect, refrained fromcriticising his bloodless hands, and was soon riding on in front besidehim, talking eagerly and deferentially, while Ralph followed with Maryand his father. 

"You have heard?" he said to her presently. 

"Father has just told me, " she said. "We are very much pleased--dearChris!"

"And then there is Meg, " put in her father. 

"Oh! Meg; yes, I knew she would. She is made for a nun. "

Sir James edged his horse in presently close to Ralph, as Mary went infront through a narrow opening in the wood. 

"Be good to him, " he said. "He thinks so much of you. "

Ralph glanced up and smiled into the tender keen eyes that were lookinginto his own. 

"Why, of course, sir, " he said. 

 * * * * *

It was an immense pleasure to Chris to notice the difference inNicholas's behaviour towards him. There was none of that loud andcheerful rallying that stood for humour, no criticisms of his riding orhis costume. The squire asked him a hundred questions, almost nervously, about the Holy Maid and himself, and what had passed between them. 

"They say the Host was carried to her through the air from Calais, Chris, when the King was there. Did you hear her speak of that?"

Chris shook his head. 

"There was not time, " he said. 

"And then there was the matter of the divorce--" Nicholas turned hishead slightly; "Ralph cannot hear us, can he? Well--the matter of thedivorce--I hear she denounced that, and would have none of it, and haswritten to the Pope, too. "

"They were saying something of the kind, " said Chris, "but I thought itbest not to meddle. "

"And what did she say to you?"

Chris told him the story, and Nicholas's eyes grew round and fixed as helistened; his mouth was a little open, and he murmured inarticulatecomments as they rode together up from the mill. 

"Lord!" he said at last, "and she said all that about hell. God save us!And her tongue out of her mouth all the while! And did you see anythingyourself? No devils or angels?"

"I saw nothing, " said Chris. "I just listened, but she saw them. "

"Lord!" said Nicholas again, and rode on in profound silence. 

The Maxwells were to stay to supper at the Court; and drive homeafterwards; so there was no opportunity for Chris to go down and bathein the lake as he usually did in summer after a day's hunting, forsupper was at seven o'clock, and he had scarcely more than time todress. 

Nicholas was very talkative at supper, and poured out all that Chris hadtold him, with his usual lack of discretion; for the other had alreadytold the others once all the details that he thought would interestthem. 

"They were talking about the divorce, " he broke out, and then stoppedand eyed Ralph craftily; "but I had better not speak of that here--eh, Chris?"

Ralph looked blandly at his plate. 

"Chris did not mention that, " he said. "Tell us, Nick. "

"No, no, " cried Nicholas. "I do not want you to go with tales to town. Your ears are too quick, my friend. Then there was that about the Hostflying from Calais, eh, Chris? No, no; you said you had heard nothing ofthat. "

Chris looked up and his face was a little flushed. 

"No, Nick, " he said. 

"There seems to have been a great deal that Chris did not tell us--"began Ralph. 

Sir James glanced swiftly from his seat under the canopy. 

"He told us all that was needed, " he said. 

"Aha!" broke out Nicholas again, "but the Holy Maid said that the Kingwould not live six months if he--"

Chris's face was full of despair and misery, and his father interruptedonce more. 

"We had better not speak of that, my son, " he said to Nicholas. "It isbest to leave such things alone. "

Ralph was smiling broadly with tight lips by now. 

"By my soul, Nick, you are the maddest wind-bag I have ever heard. Allour heads might go for what you have said to-night. Thank God theservants are gone. "

"Nick, " cried Mary imploringly, "do hold your tongue. "

Lady Torridon looked from one to the other with serene amusement, andthere was an odd pause such as generally fell when she showed signs ofspeaking. Her lips moved but she said nothing, and ran her eyes over thesilver flagons before her. 

When the Maxwells had gone at last, and prayers were over, Chris slippedacross the Court with a towel, and went up to the priest's room over thesacristy. Mr. Carleton looked up from his lamp and rose. 

"Yes, Chris, " he said, "I will come. The moon will be up soon. "

They went down together through the sacristy door on to the levelplateaux of lawns that stretched step after step down to the dark lake. The sky was ablaze with stars, and in the East there was a growing lightin the quarter where the moon was at its rising. The woods beyond thewater were blotted masses against the sky; and the air was full of therich fragrance of the summer night. The two said very little, and thepriest stopped on the bank as Chris stepped out along the little boardedpier that ran out among the rushes into deep water. There was a scurryand a cry, and a moor-hen dashed out from under cover, and sped acrossthe pond, scattering the silver points that hung there motionless, reflected from the heaven overhead. 

Chris was soon ready, and stood there a moment, a pale figure in thegloom, watching the shining dots rock back again in the ripples tomotionlessness. Then he lifted his hands and plunged. 

It seemed to him, as he rose to the surface again, as if he wereswimming between two sides. As he moved softly out across the middle, and a little ripple moved before him, the water was invisible. There wasonly a fathomless gulf, as deep below as the sky was high above, prickedwith stars. As he turned his head this way and that the great trees, high overhead, seemed less real than those two immeasurable spaces aboveand beneath. There was a dead silence everywhere, only broken by thefaint suck of the water over his shoulder, and an indescribably sweetcoolness that thrilled him like a strain of music. Under its influence, again, as last night, the tangible, irritating world seemed to sink outof his soul; here he was, a living creature alone in a great silencewith God, and nothing else was of any importance. 

He turned on his back, and there was the dark figure on the bankwatching him, and above it the great towered house, with its half-dozenlighted windows along its eastern side, telling him of the world of menand passion. 

"Look, " came the priest's voice, and he turned again, and over thefurther bank, between two tall trees, shone a great silver rim of therising moon. A path of glory was struck now across the black water, andhe pleased himself by travelling up it towards the remote splendour, noticing as he went how shadows had sprung into being in that moment, and how the same light that made the glory made the dark as well. Hissoul seemed to emerge a stage higher yet from the limits in which thehot day and the shouting and the horns and the crowded woods hadfettered it. How remote and little seemed Ralph's sneers and Nicholas'sindiscretions and Mary's pity! Here he moved round in a cooler andserener mood. That keen mood, whether physical or spiritual he did notcare to ask, made him inarticulate as he walked up with the priest tenminutes later. But Mr. Carleton seemed to understand. 

"There are some things besides the divorce best not talked about, " hesaid, "and I think bathing by starlight is one of them. "

They passed under the chapel window presently, and Chris noticed with anodd sensation of pleasure the little translucent patch of colour betweenthe slender mullions thrown by the lamp within--a kind of reflex oranti-type of the broad light shining over the water. 

"Come up for a while, " went on the priest, as they reached theside-entrance, "if you are not too tired. "

The two went through the sacristy-door, locking it behind them, and upthe winding stairs in the turret at the corner to the priest's chamber. Chris threw himself down, relaxed and happy, in the tall chair by thewindow, where he could look out and see the moon, clear of the treesnow, riding high in heaven. 

"That was a pity at supper, " said the priest presently, as he sat at thetable. "I love Sir Nicholas and think him a good Christian, but he isscarcely a discreet one. "

"Tell me, father, " broke out Chris, "what is going to happen?"

Mr. Carleton looked at him smiling. He had a pleasant ugly face, withlittle kind eyes and sensitive mouth. 

"You must ask Mr. Ralph, " he said, "or rather you must not. But he knowsmore than any of us. "

"I wish he would not speak like that. "

"Dear lad, " said the priest, "you must not feel it like that. Rememberour Lord bore contempt as well as pain. "

There was silence a moment, and then Chris began again. "Tell me aboutLewes, father. What will it be like?"

"It will be bitterly hard, " said the priest deliberately. "Christ Churchwas too bitter for me, as you know. I came out after six months, and theCluniacs are harder. I do not know if I lost my vocation or found it;but I am not the man to advise you in either case. "

"Ralph thinks it is easy enough. He told me last night in the carriagethat I need not trouble myself, and that monks had a very pleasant time. He began to tell me some tale about Glastonbury, but I would not hearit. "

"Ah, " said the chaplain regretfully, "the world's standard for monks isalways high. But you will find it hard enough, especially in the firstyear. But, as I said, I am not the man to advise you--I failed. "

Chris looked at him with something of pity in his heart, as the priestfingered the iron pen on the table, and stared with pursed lips andfrowning forehead. The chaplain was extraordinarily silent in public, just carrying on sufficient conversation not to be peculiar or to seemmorose, but he spoke more freely to Chris, and would often spend an houror two in mysterious talk with Sir James. Chris's father had a verymarked respect for the priest, and had had more than one sharp word withhis wife, ten years before when he had first come to the house, and hadfound Lady Torridon prepared to treat her chaplain with the kind ofrespect that she gave to her butler. But the chaplain's position wassecured by now, owing in a large measure to his own tact andunobtrusiveness, and he went about the house a quiet, sedate figure ofconsiderable dignity and impressiveness, performing his dutiespunctually and keeping his counsel. He had been tutor to both the sonsfor a while, to Ralph only for a few months, but to Chris since histwelfth birthday, and the latter had formed with him a kind of peacefulconfederacy, often looking in on him at unusual hours, always findinghim genial, although very rarely confidential. It was to Mr. Carleton, too, that Chris owed his first drawings to the mystical life of prayer;there was a shelf of little books in the corner by the window of thepriest's room, from which he would read to the boy aloud, firsttranslating them into English as he went, and then, as studiesprogressed, reading the Latin as it stood; and that mysteriouslyfascinating world in which great souls saw and heard eternal things andtalked familiarly with the Saviour and His Blessed Mother had firstdawned on the boy there. New little books, too, appeared from time totime, and the volumes had overflowed their original home; and from thatfact Christopher gathered that the priest, though he had left theexternal life of Religion, still followed after the elusive spirit thatwas its soul. 

"But tell me, " he said again, as the priest laid the pen down and satback in his chair, crossing his buckled feet beneath the cassock; "tellme, why is it so hard? I am not afraid of the discipline or the food. "

"It is the silence, " said the priest, looking at him. 

"I love silence, " said Chris eagerly. 

"Yes, you love an hour or two, or there would be no hope of a vocationfor you. But I do not think you will love a year. However, I may bewrong. But it is the day after day that is difficult. And there is norelaxation; not even in the infirmary. You will have to learn signs inyour novitiate; that is almost the first exercise. "

The priest got up and fetched a little book from the corner cupboard. 

"Listen, " he said, and then began to read aloud the instructions laiddown for the sign-language of novices; how they were to make a circle inthe air for bread since it was round, a motion of drinking for water, and so forth. 

"You see, " he said, "you are not even allowed to speak when you ask fornecessaries. And, you know, silence has its peculiar temptations as wellas its joys. There is accidie and scrupulousness and contempt ofothers, and a host of snares that you know little of now. "

"But--" began Chris. 

"Oh, yes; it has its joys, and gives a peculiar strength. "

Chris knew, of course, well enough by now in an abstract way what theReligious discipline would mean, but he wished to have it made moreconcrete by examples, and he sat long with the chaplain asking himquestions. Mr. Carleton had been, as he said, in the novitiate atCanterbury for a few months, and was able to tell him a good deal aboutthe life there; but the differences between the Augustinians and theCluniacs made it impossible for him to go with any minuteness into thelife of the Priory at Lewes. He warned him, however, of the tendencythat every soul found in silence to think itself different from others, and of so peculiar a constitution that ordinary rules did not apply toit. He laid so much stress on this that the other was astonished. 

"But it is true, " said Chris, "no two souls are the same. "

The priest smiled. 

"Yes, that is true, too; no two sheep are the same, but the sheep natureis one, and you will have to learn that for yourself. A Religious ruleis drawn up for many, not for one; and each must learn to conformhimself. It was through that I failed myself; I remembered that I wasdifferent from others, and forgot that I was the same. "

Mr. Carleton seemed to take a kind of melancholy pleasure in returningto what he considered his own failure, and Chris began to wonder whetherthe thought of it was not the secret of that slight indication tomoroseness that he had noticed in him. 

The moon was high and clear by now, and Chris often leaned his cheek onthe sash as the priest talked, and watched that steady shining shieldgo up the sky, and the familiar view of lawns and water and trees, ghostly and mystical now in the pale light. 

The Court was silent as he passed through it near midnight, as thehousehold had been long in bed; the flaring link had been extinguishedtwo hours before, and the shadows of the tall chimneys lay black andprecise at his feet across the great whiteness on the western side ofthe yard. Again the sense of the smallness of himself and hissurroundings, of the vastness of all else, poured over his soul; theselittle piled bricks and stones, the lawns and woods round about, evenEngland and the world itself, he thought, as his mind shot out towardsthe stars and the unfathomable spaces--all these were but very tinythings, negligeable quantities, when he looked at them in the eternallight. It was this thought, after all, that was calling him out of theworld, and had been calling him fitfully ever since his soul awoke eightyears ago, and knew herself and her God: and his heart expanded and grewtremulous as he remembered once more that his vocation had been sealedby a divine messenger, and that he would soon be gone out of this littlecell into the wide silent liberty of the most dear children of God. 

CHAPTER III

THE ARRIVAL AT LEWES

Ralph relented as the month drew on, and was among those who wishedChris good-bye on the afternoon of the July day on which he was topresent himself at Lewes. The servants were all drawn up at the back ofthe terrace against the hall, watching Ralph, even more than hisdeparting brother, with the fascinated interest that the discreet anddignified friend of Cromwell always commanded. Ralph was at his best onsuch occasions, genial and natural, and showed a pleasing interest inthe girths of the two horses, and the exact strapping of the couple ofbags that Chris was to take with him. His own man, too, Mr. Morris, whohad been with him ever since he had come to London, was to ride withChris, at his master's express wish; stay with him in the guest-housethat night, and return with the two horses and a precise report the nextmorning. 

"You have the hares for my Lord Prior, " he said impressively, looking atthe game that was hanging head downwards from the servant's saddle. "Tell him that they were killed on Tuesday. "

Sir James and his younger son were walking together a few yards away indeep talk; and Lady Torridon had caused a chair to be set for her at thetop of the terrace steps where she could at once do her duty as amother, and be moderately comfortable at the same time. She hardly spokeat all, but looked gravely with her enigmatic black eyes at the horses'legs and the luggage, and once held up her hand to silence a small dogthat had begun to yelp with excitement. 

"They must be going, " said Ralph, when all was ready; and at the samemoment Chris and his father came up, Sir James's arm thrown over hisson's shoulders. 

The farewells were very short; it was impossible to indulge in sentimentin the genial business-atmosphere generated by Ralph, and a minute laterChris was mounted. Sir James said no more, but stood a little apartlooking at his son. Lady Torridon smiled rather pleasantly and noddedher head two or three times, and Ralph, with Mr. Carleton, stood on thegravel below, his hand on Chris's crupper, smiling up at him. 

"Good-bye, Chris, " he said, and added with an unusual piety, "God keepyou!"

As the two horses passed through the gatehouse, Chris turned once againwith swimming eyes, and saw the group a little re-arranged. Sir Jamesand Ralph were standing together, Ralph's arm thrust through hisfather's; Mr. Carleton was still on the gravel, and Lady Torridon waswalking very deliberately back to the house. 

 * * * * *

The distance to Lewes was about fourteen miles, and it was not untilthey had travelled some two of them, and had struck off towards BurgessHill that Chris turned his head for Mr. Morris to come up. 

It was very strange to him to ride through that familiar country, wherehe had ridden hundreds of times before, and to know that this wasprobably the last time that he would pass along those lanes, at leastunder the same circumstances. It had the same effect on him, as a deathin the house would have; the familiar things were the same, but theywore a new and strange significance. The few men and children he passedsaluted him deferentially as usual, and then turned fifty yards furtheron and stared at the young gentleman who, as they knew, was riding offon such an errand, and with such grave looks. 

Mr. Morris came up with an eager respectfulness at Chris's sign, keepinga yard or two away lest the swinging luggage on his own horse shoulddiscompose the master, and answered a formal question or two about theroads and the bags, which Chris put to him as a gambit of conversation. The servant was clever and well trained, and knew how to modulate hisattitude to the precise degree of deference due to his master and hismaster's relations; he had entered Ralph's service from Cromwell's owneight years before. He liked nothing better than to talk of London andhis experiences there, and selected with considerable skill the topicsthat he knew would please in each case. Now he was soon deep on thesubject of Wolsey, pausing respectfully now and again for corroboration, or to ask a question the answer to which he knew a good deal better thanChris himself. 

"I understand, sir, that the Lord Cardinal had a wonderful deal offurniture at York House: I saw some of it at Master Cromwell's; hisgrace sent it to him, at least, so I heard. Is that so, sir?"

Chris said he did not know. 

"Well, I believe it was so, sir; there was a chair there, set withagates and pearl, that I think I heard Mr. Ralph say had come fromthere. Did you ever see my lord, sir?"

Chris said he had seen him once in a narrow street at Westminster, butthe crowd was so great he could not get near. 

"Ah! sir; then you never saw him go in state. I remember once seeinghim, sir, going down to Hampton Court, with his gentlemen bearing thesilver pillars before him, and the two priests with crosses. What mightthe pillars mean, sir?"

Again Chris confessed he did not know. 

"Ah, sir!" said Morris reflectively, as if he had received asatisfactory answer. "And there was his saddle, Mr. Christopher, withsilver-gilt stirrups, and red velvet, set on my lord's mule. And therewas the Red Hat borne in front by another gentleman. At mass, too, hewould be served by none under the rank of an earl; and I heard that hewould have a duke sometimes for his lavabo. I heard Mr. Ralph say thatthere was more than a hundred and fifty carts that went with the LordCardinal up to Cawood, and that was after the King's grace had brokenwith him, sir; and he was counted a poor man. "

Chris asked what was in the carts. 

"Just his stuff, sir, " said Mr. Morris reverentially. 

The servant seemed to take a melancholy pleasure in recounting theseglories, but was most discreet about the political aspects of Wolsey, although Chris tried hard to get him to speak, and he would neitherpraise nor blame the fallen prelate; he was more frank, however, aboutCampeggio, who as an Italian, was a less dangerous target. 

"He was not a good man, I fear, Mr. Christopher. They told some veryqueer tales of him when he was over here. But he could ride, sir, MasterMaxwell's man told me, near as well as my Lord of Canterbury himself. You know they say, sir, that the Archbishop can ride horses that none ofhis grooms can manage. But I never liked to think that a foreigner wasto be sent over to do our business for us, and more than ever not suchan one as that. "

He proceeded to talk a good deal about Campeggio; his red silk and hislace, his gout, his servants, his un-English ways; but it began to get alittle tiresome to Chris, and soon after passing through Ditchling, Mr. Morris, having pointed across the country towards Fatton Hovel, andhaving spoken of the ghost of a cow that was seen there with two heads, one black and one white, fell gradually behind again, and Chris rodealone. 

They were coming up now towards the downs, and the great rounded greenshoulders heaved high against the sky, gashed here and there by whitestrips and patches where the chalk glared in the bright afternoon sun. Ditchling beacon rose to their right, a hundred feet higher than thesurrounding hills, and the high country sloped away from it parallelwith their road, down to Lewes. The shadows were beginning to lieeastwards and to lengthen in long blue hollows and streaks against theclear green turf. 

Chris wondered when he would see that side of the downs again; his ridewas like a kind of farewell progress, and all that he looked on wasdearer than it had ever been before, but he comforted himself by thethought of that larger world, so bright with revelation and soenchanting in its mystery that lay before him. He pleased himself bypicturing this last journey as a ride through an overhung lane, beautiful indeed, but dusky, towards shining gates beyond which laygreat tracts of country set with palaces alive with wonderful presences, and watered by the very river of life. 

He did not catch sight of Lewes until he was close upon it, and itsuddenly opened out beneath him, with its crowded roofs pricked by adozen spires, the Norman castle on its twin mounds towering to his left, a silver gleam of the Ouse here and there between the plaster and timberhouses as the river wound beneath its bridges, and beyond all the vastmasses of the Priory straight in front of him to the South of the town, the church in front with its tall central tower, a huddle of conventroofs behind, all white against the rich meadows that lay beyond thestream. 

Mr. Morris came up as Chris checked his horse here. 

"See, Mr. Christopher, " he said, and the other turned to see the towngallows on the right of the road, not fifty yards away, with a raggedshape or two hanging there, and a great bird rising heavily and wingingits way into the west. Mr. Morris's face bore a look of judicialsatisfaction. 

"We are making a sweep of them, " he said, and as a terrible figure, allrags and sores, with blind red eyes and toothless mouth rose croakingand entreating from the ditch by the road, the servant pointed withtight lips and solemn eyes to Hangman's Acre. Chris fumbled in hispurse, threw a couple of groats on to the ground, and rode on down thehill. 

His heart was beating fast as he went down Westgate Lane into the HighStreet, and it quickened yet further as the great bells in the Priorychurch began to jangle; for it was close on vesper time, andinstinctively he shook his reins to hasten his beast, who was pickinghis way delicately through the filth and tumbled stones that layeverywhere, for the melodious roar seemed to be bidding him haste and bewelcome. Mr. Morris was close beside him, and remarked on this and thatas they went, the spire of St. Ann's away to the right, with St. Pancras's Bridge, a swinging sign over an inn with Queen Katharine'sface erased, but plainly visible under Ann Boleyn's, the tall moundbeyond the Priory crowned by a Calvary, and the roof of the famousdove-cote of the Priory, a great cruciform structure with over twothousand cells. But Christopher knew it all better than the servant, and paid little attention, and besides, his excitement was running toohigh. They came down at last through Antioch Street, Puddingbag Lane, and across the dry bed of the Winterbourne, and the gateway was beforethem. 

The bells had ceased by now, after a final stroke. Mr. Morris sprang offhis horse, and drew on the chain that hung by the smaller of the twodoors. There was a sound of footsteps and a face looked out from thegrating. The servant said a word or two; the face disappeared, and amoment later there was the turning of a key, and one leaf of thehorse-entrance rolled back. Chris touched his beast with his heel, passed through on to the paved floor, and sat smiling and flushed, looking down at the old lay-brother, who beamed up at him pleasantly andtold him he was expected. 

Chris dismounted at once, telling the servant to take the horses roundto the stables on the right, and himself went across the open courttowards the west end of the church, that rose above him fifty feet intothe clear evening air, faced with marble about the two doors, andcrowned by the western tower and the high central spire beyond where thebells hung. On the right lay the long low wall of the Cellarer'soffices, with the kitchen jutting out at the lower end, and thehigh-pitched refectory roof above and beyond it. The church was full ofgolden light as he entered, darkening to dusk in the chapels on eitherside, pricked with lights here and there that burned before the images, and giving an impression of immense height owing to its narrowness andits length. The air was full of rolling sound, sonorous and full, thatechoed in the two high vaults on this side and that of the high altar, was caught in the double transepts, and lost in the chapels that openedin a corona of carved work at the further end, for the monks were busyat the _Opus Dei_, and the psalms rocked from side to side, as if thenave were indeed a great ship ploughing its way to the kingdom ofheaven. 

There were a few seats at the western end, and into one of theseChristopher found his way, signing himself first from the stoup at thedoor, and inclining before he went in. Then he leaned his chin on hishands and looked eagerly. 

It was difficult to make out details clearly at the further end, for thechurch was poorly lighted, and there was no western window; the glarefrom the white roads, too, along which he had come still dazzled him, but little by little, helped by his own knowledge of the place, he beganto see more clearly. 

 * * * * *

High above him ran the lines of the clerestory, resting on the roundedNorman arches, broken by the beam that held the mighty rood, with thefigures of St. Mary and St. John on either side; and beyond, yet higher, on this side of the high altar, rose the lofty air of the vault ninetyfeet above the pavement. To left and right opened the two westerntransepts, and from where he knelt he could make out the altar of St. Martin in the further one, with its apse behind. The image of St. Pancras himself stood against a pillar with the light from the lampbeneath flickering against his feet. But Christopher's eyes soon cameback to the centre, beyond the screen, where a row of blackness oneither side in the stalls, marked where the monks rested back, and wherehe would soon be resting with them. There were candles lighted at sparseintervals along the book-rests, that shone up into the faces bent downover the wide pages beneath; and beyond all rose the altar with twosteady flames crowning it against the shining halpas behind that cut itoff from the four groups of slender carved columns that divided the fivechapels at the extreme east. Half-a-dozen figures sat about the nave, and Christopher noticed an old man, his white hair falling to hisshoulders, two seats in front, beginning to nod gently with sleep as thesoft heavy waves of melody poured down, lulling him. 

He began now to catch the words, as his ears grew accustomed to thesound, and he, too, sat back to listen. 

"_Fiat pax in virtute tua: et abundantia in turribus tuis;" "Propterfratres meos et proximos meos_:" came back the answer, "_loquebar pacemde te_. " And once more: "_Propter domum Domini Dei nostri: quaesivi bonatibi_. "

Then there was a soft clattering roar as the monks rose to their feet, and in double volume from the bent heads sounded out the _Gloria Patri_. 

It was overwhelming to the young man to hear the melodious tumult ofpraise, and to remember that in less than a week he would be standingthere among the novices and adding his voice. It seemed to him as if hehad already come into the heart of life that he had felt pulsating roundhim as he swam in the starlight a month before. It was this that wasreality, and the rest illusion. Here was the end for which man was made, the direct praise of God; here were living souls eager and alert on thebusiness of their existence, building up with vibration after vibrationthe eternal temple of glory in which God dwelt. Once he began to sing, and then stopped. He would be silent here until his voice had beenauthorized to join in that consecrated offering. 

He waited until all was over, and the two lines of black figures hadpassed out southwards, and the sacristan was going round putting outthe lights; and then he too rose and went out, thrilled and excited, into the gathering twilight, as the bell for supper began to sound outfrom the refectory tower. 

He found Mr. Morris waiting for him at the entrance to the guest-house, and the two went up the stairs at the porter's directions into theparlour that looked out over the irregular court towards the church andconvent. 

Christopher sat down in the window seat. 

Over the roofs opposite the sky was still tender and luminous, with rosylight from the west, and a little troop of pigeons were wheeling overthe church in their last flight before returning home to their hugedwelling down by the stream. The porter had gone a few minutes before, and Christopher presently saw him returning with Dom Anthony Marks, theguest-master, whom he had got to know very well on former visits. In afit of shyness he drew back from the window, and stood up, nervous andtrembling, and a moment later heard steps on the stairs. Mr. Morris hadslipped out, and now stood in the passage, and Chris saw him bowing witha nicely calculated mixture of humility and independence. Then a blackfigure appeared in the doorway, and came briskly through. 

"My dear Chris, " he said warmly, holding out his hands, and Chris tookthem, still trembling and excited. 

They sat down together in the window-seat, and the monk opened thecasement and threw it open, for the atmosphere was a little heavy, andthen flung his arm out over the sill and crossed his feet, as if he hadan hour at his disposal. Chris had noticed before that extraordinaryappearance of ease and leisure in such monks, and it imperceptiblysoothed him. Neither would Dom Anthony speak on technical matters, butdiscoursed pleasantly about the party at Overfield Court and the beautyof the roads between there and Lewes, as if Chris were only come to paya passing visit. 

"Your horses are happy enough, " he said. "We had a load of fresh beanssent in to-day. And you, Chris, are you hungry? Supper will be hereimmediately. Brother James told the guest-cook as soon as you came. "

He seemed to want no answer, but talked on genially and restfully aboutthe commissioners who had come from Cluny to see after their possessionsin England, and their queer French ways. 

"Dom Philippe would not touch the muscadel at first, and now he cannothave too much. He clamoured for claret at first, and we had to give himsome. But he knows better now. But he says mass like a holy angel ofGod, and is a very devout man in all ways. But they are going soon. "

Dom Anthony fulfilled to perfection the ideal laid down for aguest-master in the Custumal. He showed, indeed, the "cheerfulhospitality to guests" by which "the good name of the monastery wasenhanced, friendships multiplied, enmities lessened, God honoured, andcharity increased. " He recognised perfectly well the confused terror inChristopher's mind and his anxiety to make a good beginning, andsmoothed down the tendency to awkwardness that would otherwise haveshown itself. He had a happy tranquil face, with wide friendly eyes thatalmost disappeared when he laughed, and a row of even white teeth. 

As he talked on, Christopher furtively examined his habit, though heknew every detail of it well enough already. He had, of course, left hiscowl, or ample-sleeved singing gown, in the sacristy on leaving thechurch, and was in his black frock girded with the leather belt, andthe scapular over it, hanging to the ground before and behind. His hood, Christopher noticed, was creased and flat as if he were accustomed tosit back at his ease. He wore strong black leather boots that justshowed beneath his habit, and a bunch of keys, duplicates of those ofthe camerarius and cook, hung on his right side. He was tonsuredaccording to the Benedictine pattern, and his lips and cheeks wereclean-shaven. 

He noticed presently that Christopher was eyeing hum, and put his handin friendly fashion on the young man's knee. 

"Yes, " he said, smiling, "yours is ready too. Dom Franklin looked it outto-day, and asked me whether it would be the right size. But of theboots I am not so sure. "

There was a clink and a footstep outside, and the monk glanced out. 

"Supper is here, " he said, and stood up to look at the table--thepolished clothless top laid ready with a couple of wooden plates andknives, a pewter tankard, salt-cellar and bread. There was a plain chairwith arms drawn up to it. The rest of the room, which Christopher hadscarcely noticed before, was furnished plainly and efficiently, and hadjust that touch of ornament that was intended to distinguish it from acell. The floor was strewn with clean rushes; a couple of ironcandlesticks stood on the mantelpiece, and the white walls had one ortwo religious objects hanging on them--a wooden crucifix opposite thetable, a framed card bearing an "Image of Pity" with an indulgencedprayer illuminated beneath, a little statue of St. Pancras on a bracketover the fire, and a clear-written copy of rules for guests hung by thelow oak door. 

Dom Anthony nodded approvingly at the table, took up a knife and rubbedit delicately on the napkin, and turned round. 

"We will look here, " he said, and went towards the second door by thefire. Christopher followed him, and found himself in the bedroom, furnished with the same simplicity as the other; but with an ironbedstead in the corner, a kneeling stool beside it, with a little Frenchsilver image of St. Mary over it, and a sprig of dried yew tucked inbehind. A thin leather-bound copy of the Little Office of Our Lady layon the sloping desk, with another book or two on the upper slab. DomAnthony went to the window and threw that open too. 

"Your luggage is unpacked, I see, " he said, nodding to the press besidewhich lay the two trunks, emptied now by Mr. Morris's careful hands. 

"There are some hares, too, " said Christopher. "Ralph has sent them tomy Lord Prior. "

"The porter has them, " said the monk, "they look strangely like abribe. " And he nodded again with a beaming face, and his eyes grewlittle and bright at his own humour. 

He examined the bed before he left the room again, turned back thesheets and pressed them down, and the straw rustled drily beneath;glanced into the sweating earthenware jug, refolded the coarse towel onits wooden peg, and then smiled again at the young man. 

"Supper, " he said briefly. 

Christopher stayed a moment with a word of excuse to wash off the dustof his ride from his hands and face, and when he came back into thesitting-room found the candles lighted, the wooden shutters folded overthe windows, and a basin of soup with a roast pigeon steaming on thetable. The monk was standing, waiting for him by the door. 

"I must be gone, Chris, " he said, "but I shall be back before compline. My Lord Prior will see you to-morrow. There is nothing more? Rememberyou are at home now. "

And on Christopher's assurances that he had all he could need, he wasgone, leisurely and cheerfully, and his footsteps sounded on the stairs. 

Mr. Morris came up before Chris had finished supper, and as he silentlyslipped away his plate and set another for the cheese, Chris rememberedwith a nervous exultation that this would be probably the last time thathe would have a servant to wait on him. He was beginning to feelstrangely at home already; the bean soup was strong and savoury, thebeer cool; and he was pleasantly exercised by his ride. Mr. Morris, too, in answer to his enquiries, said that he had been well looked after inthe servants' quarters of the guest-house, and had had an entertainingsupper with an agreeable Frenchman who, it seemed, had come with theCluniac commissioners. Respect for his master and a sense of theludicrous struggled in Mr. Morris's voice as he described theforeigner's pronunciation and his eloquent gestures. 

"He's not like a man, sir, " he said, and shook with reminiscentlaughter. 

 * * * * *

It was half an hour before Dom Anthony returned, and after hospitableenquiries, sat down by Chris again in the wide window-seat and began totalk. 

He told him that guests were not expected to attend the night-offices, and that indeed he strongly recommended Chris doing nothing of the kindat any rate that night; that masses were said at all hours from fiveo'clock onwards; that prime was said at seven, and was followed by the_Missa familiaris_ for the servants and work-people of the house. Breakfast would be ready in the guest-house at eight; the chapter-masswould be said at the half-hour and after the daily chapter whichfollowed it had taken place, the Prior wished to see Christopher. Thehigh mass was sung at ten, and dinner would be served at eleven. Hedirected his attention, too, to the card that hung by the door on whichthese hours were notified. 

Christopher already knew that for the first three or four days he wouldhave to remain in the guest-house before any formal step was taken withregard to him, but he said a word to Father Anthony about this. 

"Yes, " said the monk, "my Lord Prior will tell you about that. But youwill be here as a guest until Sunday, and on that day you will come tothe morning chapter to beg for admission. You will do that for threedays, and then, please God, you will be clothed as a novice. "

And once more he looked at him with deep smiling eyes. 

Chris asked him a few more questions, and Dom Anthony told him what hewished to know, though protesting with monastic etiquette that it wasnot his province. 

"Dom James Berkely is the novice-master, " he said, "you will find himvery holy and careful. The first matter you will have to learn is how towear the habit, carry your hands, and to walk with gravity. Then youwill learn how to bow, with the hands crossed on the knees, so--" and heillustrated it by a gesture--"if it is a profound inclination; and whenand where the inclinations are to be made. Then you will learn of thecustody of the eyes. It is these little things that help the soul atfirst, as you will find, like--like--the bindings of a peach-tree, thatit may learn how to grow and bear its fruit. And the Rule will be givenyou, and what a monk must have by rote, and how to sing. You will not beidle, Chris. "

It was no surprise to Christopher to hear how much of the lessons atfirst were concerned with external behaviour. In his visits to Lewesbefore, as well as from the books that Mr. Carleton had lent him, he hadlearnt that the perfection of the Religious Life depended to aconsiderable extent upon minutić that were both aids to, and the resultof, a tranquil and recollected mind, the acquirement of which was partof the object of the monk's ambition. The ideal, he knew, was theperfect direction of every part of his being, of hands and eyes, as wellas of the great powers of the soul; what God had joined together manmust not put asunder, and the man who had every physical movement undercontrol, and never erred through forgetfulness or impulse in theselittle matters, presumably also was master of his will, and retainedinternal as well as external equanimity. 

The great bell began to toll presently for compline, and theguest-master rose in the midst of his explanations. 

"My Lord Prior bade me thank you for the hares, " he said. "Perhaps yourservant will take the message back to Mr. Ralph to-morrow. Come. "

They went down the stairs together and out into the summer twilight, thegreat strokes sounding overhead in the gloom as they walked. Over thehigh wall to the left shone a light or two from Lewes town, and beyondrose up the shadowy masses of the downs over which Christopher hadridden that afternoon. Over those hills, too, he knew, lay his old home. As they walked together in silence up the paved walk to the west end ofthe church, a vivid picture rose before the young man's eyes of thelittle parlour where he had sat last night--of his silent mother in herblack satin; his father in the tall chair, Ralph in an unwontedly easyand genial mood lounging on the other side and telling stories of town, of the chaplain with his homely, pleasant face, slipping silently out atthe door. That was the last time that all that was his, --that he had aright and a place there. If he ever saw it again it would be as a guestwho had become the son of another home, with new rights and relations, and at the thought a pang of uncontrollable shrinking pricked at hisheart. 

But at the door of the church the monk drew his arm within his own for amoment and held it, and Chris saw the shadowed eyes under his brows reston him tenderly. 

"God bless you, Chris!" he said. 

CHAPTER IV

A COMMISSION

Within a few days of Christopher's departure to Lewes, Ralph also leftOverfield and went back to London. 

He was always a little intolerant at home, and generally appeared thereat his worst--caustic, silent, and unsympathetic. It seemed to him thatthe simple country life was unbearably insipid; he found there neitherwit nor affairs: to see day after day the same faces, to listen to thesame talk either on country subjects that were distasteful to him, or, out of compliment to himself, political subjects that were unfamiliar tothe conversationalists, was a very hard burden, and he counted suchthings as the price he must pay for his occasional duty visits to hisparents. He could not help respecting the piety of his father, but hewas none the less bored by it; and the atmosphere of silent cynicismthat seemed to hang round his mother was his only relief. He thought heunderstood her, and it pleased him sometimes to watch her, to calculatehow she would behave in any little domestic crisis or incident thataffected her, to notice the slight movement of her lips and her eyelidsgently lowering and rising again in movements of extreme annoyance. Buteven this was not sufficient compensation for the other drawbacks oflife at Overfield Court, and it was with a very considerable relief thathe stepped into his carriage at last towards the end of July, nodded andsmiled once more to his father who was watching him from the terracesteps with a wistful and puzzled face, anxious to please, and heard thefirst crack of the whip of his return journey. 

He had, indeed, a certain excuse for going, for a despatch-rider hadcome down from London with papers for him from Sir Thomas Cromwell, andit was not hard to assume a serious face and announce that he wasrecalled by affairs; and there was sufficient truth in it, too, for oneof the memoranda bore on the case of Elizabeth Barton, the holy maid ofKent, and announced her apprehension. Cromwell however, did not actuallyrecall him, but mentioned the fact of her arrest, and asked if he hadheard much said of her in the country, and what the opinion of her wasin that district. 

 * * * * *

The drive up to London seemed very short to him now; he went slowlythrough the bundle of papers on which he had to report, annotating themin order here and there, and staring out of the window now and againwith unseeing eyes. There were a dozen cases on which he was engaged, which had been forwarded to him during his absence in the country--thepriest at High Hatch was reported to have taken a wife, and Cromwelldesired information about this; Ralph had ridden out there one day andgossipped a little outside the parsonage; an inn-keeper a few miles tothe north of Cuckfield had talked against the divorce and the reigningConsort; a mistake had been made in the matter of a preaching license, and Cranmer had desired Cromwell to look into it; a house had been soldin Cheapside on which Ralph had been told to keep a suspicious eye, andhe was asked his opinion on the matter; and such things as theseoccupied his time fully, until towards four o'clock in the afternoon hiscarriage rolled up to the horse-ferry at Lambeth, and he thrust thepapers back into his bag before stepping out. 

On arriving at his own little house in Westminster, the rent of whichwas paid by his master, he left his other servants to carry up theluggage, and set out himself again immediately with Morris in a hackneycarriage for Chancery Lane. 

As he went, he found himself for the hundredth time thinking of thehistory of the man to whom he was going. 

Sir Thomas Cromwell was beginning to rise rapidly from a life ofadventure and obscurity abroad. He had passed straight from theCardinal's service to the King's three years before, and had since thenbeen knighted, appointed privy-councillor, Master of the Jewel-house, and Clerk of the Hanaper in the Court of Chancery. At the same time hewas actively engaged on his amazing system of espionage through which hewas able to detect disaffection in all parts of the country, and therebyrender himself invaluable to the King, who, like all the Tudors, whileperfectly fearless in the face of open danger was pitiably terrified ofsecret schemes. 

And it was to this man that he was confidential agent! Was there anylimit to the possibilities of his future?

Ralph found a carriage drawn up at the door and, on enquiry, heard thathis master was on the point of leaving; and even as he hesitated in theentrance, Cromwell shambled down the stairs with a few papers in hishand, his long sleeveless cloak flapping on each step behind him, andhis felt plumed cap on his head in which shone a yellow jewel. 

His large dull face, clean shaven like a priest's, lighted up briskly ashe saw Ralph standing there, and he thrust his arm pleasantly throughhis agent's. 

"Come home to supper, " he said, and the two wheeled round and went outand into the carriage. Mr. Morris handed the bag through the window tohis master, and stood bare-headed as the carriage moved off over thenewly laid road. 

It would have been a very surprising sight to Sir James Torridon to seehis impassive son's attitude towards Cromwell. He was deferential, eagerto please, nervous of rebuke, and almost servile, for he had found hishero in that tremendous personality. He pulled out his papers now, shookthem out briskly, and was soon explaining, marking and erasing. Cromwellleaned back in his corner and listened, putting in a word of comment nowand again, or dotting down a note on the back of a letter, and watchingRalph with a pleasant, oblique look, for he liked to see his peoplealert and busy. But he knew very well what his demeanour was like atother times, and had at first indeed been drawn to the young man by hissurprising insolence of manner and impressive observant silences. 

"That is very well, Mr. Torridon, " he said. "I will see to the license. Put them all away. "

Ralph obeyed, and then sat back too, silent indeed, but with a kind ofside-long readiness for the next subject; but Cromwell spoke no more ofbusiness for the present, only uttering short sentences about currentaffairs, and telling his friend the news. 

"Frith has been burned, " he said. "Perhaps you knew it. He was obstinateto the end, my Lord Bishop reported. He threw Saint Chrysostom and SaintAugustine back into their teeth. He gave great occasion to the funnyfellows. There was one who said that since Frith would have nopurgatory, he was sent there by my Lord to find out for himself whetherthere be such a place or not. There was a word more about his manner ofgoing there, 'Frith frieth, ' but 'twas not good. Those funny fellowsover-reach themselves. Hewet went with him to Smithfield and hell. "

Ralph smiled, and asked how they took it. 

"Oh, very well. A priest bade the folk pray no more for Frith than for adog, but Frith smiled on him and begged the Lord to forgive him hisunkind words. "

He was going on to tell him a little more about the talk of the Court, when the carriage drove up to the house in Throgmorton Street, nearAustin Friars, which Cromwell had lately built for himself. 

"My wife and children are at Hackney, " he said as he stepped out. "Weshall sup alone. "

It was a great house, built out of an older one, superbly furnished withItalian things, and had a large garden at the back on to which lookedthe windows of the hall. Supper was brought up almost immediately--acouple of woodcocks and a salad--and the two sat down, with a pair ofservants in blue and silver to wait on them. Cromwell spoke no more wordof business until the bottle of wine had been set on the table, and theservants were gone. And then he began again, immediately. 

"And what of the country?" he said. "What do they say there?" He took apeach from the carved roundel in the centre of the table, and seemedabsorbed in its contemplation. 

Ralph had had some scruples at first about reporting privateconversations, but Cromwell had quieted them long since, chiefly by theforce of his personality, and partly by the argument that a man's dutyto the State over-rode his duty to his friends, and that since only talkthat was treasonable would be punished, it was simpler to report allconversations in general that had any suspicious bearing, and that hehimself was most competent to judge whether or no they should befollowed up. Ralph, too, had become completely reassured by now that noinjury would be done to his own status among his friends, since hismaster had never yet made direct use of any of his information in such amanner as that it was necessary for Ralph to appear as a public witness. And again, too, he had pointed out that the work had to be done, andthat was better for the cause of justice and mercy that it should bedone by conscientious rather than by unscrupulous persons. 

He talked to him now very freely about the conversations in his father'shouse, knowing that Cromwell did not want more than a general specimensketch of public feeling in matters at issue. 

"They have great faith in the Maid of Kent, sir, " he said. "Mybrother-in-law, Nicholas, spoke of her prophecy of his Grace's death. Itis the devout that believe in her; the ungodly know her for a fool or aknave. "

"_Filii hujus saeculi prudentiores sunt_, "--quoted Cromwell gravely. "Your brother-in-law, I should think, was a child of light. "

"He is, sir. "

"I should have thought so. And what else did you hear?"

"There is a good deal of memory of the Lady Katharine, sir. I heard theforesters talking one day. "

"What of the Religious houses?"

Ralph hesitated. 

"My brother Christopher has just gone to Lewes, " he said. "So I heardmore of the favourable side, but I heard a good deal against them, too. There was a secular priest talking against them one day, with ourchaplain, who is a defender of them. "

"Who was he?" asked Cromwell, with the same sharp, oblique glance. 

"A man of no importance, sir; the parson of Great Keynes. "

"The Holy Maid is in trouble, " went on the other after a minute'ssilence. "She is in my Lord of Canterbury's hands, and we can leave herthere. I suppose she will be hanged. "

Ralph waited. He knew it was no good asking too much. 

"What she said of the King's death and the pestilence is enough to casther, " went on Cromwell presently. "And Bocking and Hadleigh will be inhis hands soon, too. They do not know their peril yet. "

They went on to talk of the friars, and of the disfavour that they werein with the King after the unfortunate occurrences of the previousspring, when Father Peto had preached at Greenwich before Henry on thesubject of Naboth's vineyard and the end of Ahab the oppressor. Therehad been a dramatic scene, Cromwell said, when on the following Sunday acanon of Hereford, Dr. Curwin, had preached against Peto from the samepulpit, and had been rebuked from the rood-loft by another of thebrethren, Father Elstow, who had continued declaiming until the Kinghimself had fiercely intervened from the royal pew and bade him besilent. 

"The two are banished, " said Cromwell, "but that is not the end of it. Their brethren will hear of it again. I have never seen the King sowrathful. I suppose it was partly because the Lady Katharine socossetted them. She was always in the church at the night-office whenthe Court was at Greenwich, and Friar Forrest, you know, was herconfessor. There is a rod in pickle. "

Ralph listened with all his ears. Cromwell was not very communicativeon the subject of the Religious houses, but Ralph had gathered fromhints of this kind that something was preparing. 

When supper was over and the servants were clearing away, Cromwell wentto the window where the glass glowed overhead with his new arms andscrolls--a blue coat with Cornish choughs and a rose on a fess betweenthree rampant lions--and stood there, a steady formidable figure, withhis cropped head and great jowl, looking out on to the garden. 

When the men had gone he turned again to Ralph. 

"I have something for you, " he said, "but it is greater than those othermatters--a fool could not do it. Sit down. "

He came across the room to the fireplace, as Ralph sat down, and himselftook a chair by the table, lifting the baudkin cushion and settling itagain comfortably behind him. 

"It is this, " he said abruptly. "You know that Master More has been introuble. There was the matter of the gilt flagon which Powell said hehad taken as a bribe, and the gloves lined with forty pound. Well, hedisproved that, and I am glad of it, glad of it, " he repeated steadily, looking down at his ring and turning it to catch the light. "But thereis now another matter--I hear he has been practising with the Holy Maidand hearkening to her ravings, and that my Lord of Rochester is in ittoo. But I am not sure of it. "

Cromwell stopped, glanced up at Ralph a moment, and then down again. 

"I am not sure of it, " he said again, "and I wish to be. And I think youcan help me. "

Ralph waited patiently, his heart beginning to quicken. This was a greatmatter. 

"I wish you to go to him, " said his master, "and to get him into talk. But I do not see how it can be managed. "

"He knows I am in your service, sir, " suggested Ralph. 

"Yes, yes, " said Cromwell a little impatiently, "that is it. He is nofool, and will not talk. This is what I thought of. That you should goto him from me, and feign that you are on his side in the matter. Butwill he believe that?" he ended gloomily, looking at the othercuriously. 

There was silence for a minute, while Cromwell drummed his fingerssoftly on the table. Then presently Ralph spoke. 

"There is this, sir, " he said. "I might speak to him about my brotherChris who, as I told you, has gone to Lewes at the Maid's advice, andthen see what Master More has to say. "

Cromwell still looked at him. 

"Yes, " he said, "that seems reasonable. And for the rest--well, I willleave that in your hands. "

They talked a few minutes longer about Sir Thomas More, and Cromwelltold the other what a quiet life the ex-Chancellor had led since hisresignation of office, of his house at Chelsea, and the like, and of thedecision that he had apparently come to not to mix any further in publicaffairs. 

"There is thunder in the air, " he said, "as you know very well, andMaster More is no mean weather-prophet. He mis-liked the matter of theLady Katharine, and Queen Anne is no friend of his. I think he is wiseto be quiet. "

Ralph knew perfectly well that this tolerant language did not representCromwell's true attitude towards the man of whom they were speaking, buthe assented to all that was said, and added a word or two about SirThomas More's learning, and of the pleasant manner in which he himselfhad been received when he had once had had occasion to see him before. 

"He was throwing Horace at me, " said the other, with a touch ofbitterness, "the last time that I was there. I do not know which heloves best, that or his prayers. "

Again Ralph recognised an animus. Cromwell had suffered somewhat fromlack of a classical education. 

"But it is a good thing to love the classics and devotion, " he went onpresently with a sententious air, "they are solaces in time of trouble. I have found that myself. "

He glanced up at the other and down again. 

"I was caught saying our Lady matins one day, " he said, "when theCardinal was in trouble. I remember I was very devout that morning. "

He went on to talk of Wolsey and of his relations with him, and Ralphwatched that heavy smooth face become reminiscent and almostsentimental. 

"If he had but been wiser;" he said. "I have noticed again and again thefolly of wise men. There is always clay mixed with gold. I supposenothing but the fire that Fryth denied can purge it out; and my lord'swas ambition. "

He wagged his head in solemn reprobation, and Ralph did not know whetherto laugh or to look grave. Then there fell a long silence, and Cromwellagain fell to fingering his signet-ring, taking it off his thumb androlling it on the smooth oak, and at last stood up with a brisker air. 

"Welt, " he said, "I have a thousand affairs, and my son Gregory iscoming here soon. Then you will see about that matter. Remember I wishto know what Master More thinks of her, that--that I may know what tothink. "

 * * * * *

Ralph understood sufficiently clearly, as he walked home in the eveninglight, what it was that his master wanted. It was no less than to catchsome handle against the ex-chancellor, though he had carefully abstainedfrom saying so. Ralph recognised the adroitness, and saw that while thedirections had been plain and easy to understand, yet that not one wordhad been spoken that could by any means be used as a handle againstCromwell. If anyone in England at that time knew how to wield speech itwas his master; it was by that weapon that he had prevailed with theKing, and still kept him in check; it was that weapon rashly used by hisenemies that he was continually turning against them, and under histutoring Ralph himself had begun to be practised in the same art. 

Among other causes, too, of his admiration for Cromwell, was thelatter's extraordinary business capacity. There was hardly an affair ofany importance in which he did not have a finger at least, and most ofthem he held in the palm of his hand, and that, not only in the mass butin their minutest details. Ralph had marvelled more than once at theminutić that he had seen dotted down on the backs of old letters lyingon his master's table. Matters of Church and State, inextricablyconfused to other eyes, was simple to this man; he understoodintuitively where the key of each situation lay, and dealt with them oneafter another briefly and effectively. And yet with all this no man worean appearance of greater leisure; he would gossip harmlessly for anhour, and yet by the end had said all that he wished to say, andgenerally learnt, too, from his companion whoever he might be, all hewished to learn. Ralph had watched him more than once at this business;had seen delicate subjects introduced in a deft unsuspicious sentencethat roused no alarm, and had marvelled at his power to play with menwithout their dreaming of what was going forward. 

And now it was Master More that was threatened. Ralph knew well thatthere was far more behind the scenes than he could understand or evenperceive, and recognised that the position of Sir Thomas was moresignificant than would appear, and that developments might be expectedto follow soon. 

For himself he had no shrinking from his task. He understood thatgovernment was carried on by such methods, and that More himself wouldbe the first to acknowledge that in war many things were permissiblethat would be outrageous in times of peace, and that these were times ofwar. To call upon a friend, to eat his bread and salt, and talkfamiliarly with him, and to be on the watch all the while for a weakspot through which that friend might be wounded, seemed to Ralph, trained now and perfected in Cromwell's school, a perfectly legitimatepolicy, and he walked homewards this summer evening, pleased with thisnew mark of confidence, and anxious to acquit himself well in his task. 

 * * * * *

The house that Ralph occupied in Westminster was in a street to the westof the Abbey, and stood back a little between its neighbours. It was avery small one, of only two rooms in width and one in depth, and threestories high; but it had been well furnished, chiefly with thingsbrought up from Overfield Court, to which Ralph had taken a fancy, andwhich his father had not denied him. He lived almost entirely in thefirst floor, his bedroom and sitting-room being divided by the narrowlanding at the head of the stairs that led up to the storey above, whichwas occupied by Mr. Morris and a couple of other servants. The lowerstorey Ralph used chiefly for purposes of business, and for interviewswhich were sufficiently numerous for one engaged in so many affairs. Cromwell had learnt by now that he could be trusted to say little and tolearn much, and the early acts of many little dramas that had ended intragedy had been performed in the two gravely-furnished rooms on theground floor. A good deal of the law-business, in its early stages, connected with the annulling of the King's marriage with Queen Katharinehad been done there; a great canonist from a foreign university hadexplained there his views in broken English, helped out with Latin, to acouple of shrewd-faced men, while Ralph watched the case for his master;and Cromwell himself had found the little retired house a conveniencefor meeting with persons whom he did not wish to frighten over much, while Ralph and Mr. Morris sat alert and expectant on the other side ofthe hall, with the door open, listening for raised voices or other signsof a quarrel. 

The rooms upstairs had been furnished with considerable care. The floorsof both were matted, for the plan involved less trouble than thecontinual laying of clean rushes. The sitting-room was panelled up sixfeet from the floor, and the three feet of wall above were covered withreally beautiful tapestry that Ralph had brought up from Overfield. There was a great table in the centre, along one side of which rested aset of drawers with brass handles, and in the centre of the table was adeep well, covered by a flap that lay level with the rest of the top. Another table stood against the wall, on which his meals were served, and the door of a cupboard in which his plate and knives were keptopened immediately above it, designed in the thickness of the wall. There were half-a-dozen chairs, two or three other pieces of furniture, a backed settle by the fire and a row of bookshelves opposite thewindows; and over the mantelpiece, against the tapestry, hung a pictureof Cromwell, painted by Holbein, and rejected by him before it wasfinished. Ralph had begged it from the artist who was on the point ofdestroying it. It represented the sitter's head and shoulders inthree-quarter face, showing his short hair, his shrewd heavy face, withits double chin, and the furred gown below. 

Mr. Morris was ready for his master and opened the door to him. 

"There are some letters come, Mr. Ralph, sir, " he said. "I have laidthem on your table. "

Ralph nodded, slipped off his thin cloak into his servant's handswithout speaking, laid down his cane and went upstairs. 

The letters were very much what he expected, and dealt with cases onwhich he was engaged. There was an entreaty from a country squire nearEpping Forest, whose hounds had got into trouble with the King'sforesters that he would intercede for him to Cromwell. A begging letterfrom a monk who had been ejected from his monastery for repeatedmisconduct, and who represented himself as starving; Ralph lifted thisto his nostrils and it smelt powerfully of spirits, and he laid it downagain, smiling to himself. A torrent of explanation from a schoolmasterwho had been reported for speaking against the sacrament of the altar, calling the saints to witness that he was no follower of Fryth in suchdetestable heresy. A dignified protest from a Justice of the Peace inKent who had been reproved by Cromwell, through Ralph's agency, foracquitting a sturdy beggar, and who begged that he might in future dealwith a responsible person; and this Ralph laid aside, smiling again andpromising himself that he would have the pleasure of granting therequest. An offer, written in a clerkly hand, from a fellow who couldnot sign his name but had appended a cross, to submit some importantevidence of a treasonable plot, on the consideration of secrecy and asuitable reward. 

A year ago such a budget would have given Ralph considerable pleasure, and a sense of his own importance; but business had been growing on himrapidly of late, as his master perceived his competence, and it gave himno thrill to docket this one, write a refusal to that, a guarded answerto another, and finally to open the well of his table and drop thebundle in. 

Then he turned round his chair, blew out one candle carefully, and setto thinking about Master Thomas More. 

CHAPTER V

MASTER MORE

It was not until nearly a month later that Ralph made an opportunity tocall upon Sir Thomas More. Cromwell had given him to understand thatthere was no immediate reason for haste; his own time was tolerablyoccupied, and he thought it as well not to make a show of over-greathurry. He wrote to Sir Thomas, explaining that he wished to see him on amatter connected with his brother Christopher, and received a courteousreply begging him to come to dinner on the following Thursday, theoctave of the Assumption, as Sir Thomas thought it proper to add. 

 * * * * *

It was a wonderfully pleasant house, Ralph thought, as his wherry cameup to the foot of the garden stairs that led down from the lawn to theriver. It stood well back in its own grounds, divided from the river bya wall with a wicket gate in it. There was a little grove of trees oneither side of it; a flock of pigeons were wheeling about thebell-turret that rose into the clear blue sky, and from which came astroke or two, announcing the approach of dinner-time as he went up thesteps. 

There was a figure lying on its face in the shadow by the house, asRalph came up the path, and a small dog, that seemed to be trying to digthe head out from the hands in which it was buried, ceased hisexcavations and set up a shrill barking. The figure rolled over, and satup; the pleasant brown face was all creased with laughter; small piecesof grass were clinging to the long hair, and Ralph, to his amazement, recognised the ex-Lord Chancellor of England. 

"I beg your pardon, sir, " said More, rising and shaking himself. "I hadno idea--you take me at a disadvantage; it is scarcely dignified"--andhe stopped, smiling and holding out one hand, while he stretched theother deprecatingly, to quiet that insistent barking. 

Ralph had a sensation of mingled contempt and sympathy as he took hishand. 

"I had the honour of seeing you once before, Master More, " he said. 

"Why, yes, " said More, "and I hope I cut a better figure last time, butAnubis would take no refusal. But I am ashamed, and beg you will notspeak of it to Mrs. More. She is putting on a new coif in your honour. "

"I will be discreet, " said Ralph, smiling. 

They went indoors almost immediately, when Sir Thomas had flicked thegrass sufficiently off his gown to escape detection, and straightthrough to the hall where the table was laid, and three or four girlswere waiting. 

"Your mother is not here yet, I see, " said Sir Thomas, when he had madeRalph known to his daughters, and the young man had kissed themdeferentially, according to the proper etiquette--"I will tell yousomewhat--hush--" and he broke off again sharply as the door from thestairs opened, and a stately lady, with a rather solemn anduninteresting face, sailed in, her silk skirts rustling behind her, andher fresh coif stiff and white on her head. A middle-aged man followedher in, looking a little dejected, and made straight across to where theladies were standing with an eagerness that seemed to hint at a sense ofescape. 

"Mrs. Alice, " said Sir Thomas, "this is Mr. Ralph Torridon, of whom youhave heard me speak. I was fortunate enough to welcome him on the lawnjust now. "

"I saw you, Mr. More, " said his wife with dignity, as she took Ralph'shand and said a word about the weather. 

"Then I will confess, " said Sir Thomas, smiling genially round, "Iwelcomed Mr. Torridon with the back of my head, and with Anubis bitingmy ears. "

Ralph felt strangely drawn to this schoolboy kind of man, who rompedwith dogs and lay on his stomach, and was so charmingly afraid of hiswife. His contempt began to melt as he looked at him and saw those wisetwinkling eyes, and strong humorous mouth, and remembered once more whohe was, and his reputation. 

Sir Thomas said grace with great gravity and signed himself reverentlybefore he sat down. There was a little reading first of the Scripturesand a commentary on it, and then as dinner went on Ralph began to attendless and less to his hostess, who, indeed appeared wholly absorbed indomestic details of the table and with whispering severely to theservants behind her hand, and to listen and look towards the further endwhere Sir Thomas sat in his tall chair, his flapped cap on his head, andtalked to his daughters on either side. Mr. Roper, the man who had comein with Mrs. More, was sitting opposite Ralph, and seemed to be chieflyoccupied in listening too. A bright-looking tall girl, whom her fatherhad introduced by the name of Cecily, sat between Ralph and her father. 

"Not at all, " cried Sir Thomas, in answer to something that Ralph didnot catch, "nothing of the kind! It was Juno that screamed. Argus wouldnot condescend to it. He was occupied in dancing before the bantams. "

Ralph lost one of the few remarks that Mrs. More addressed to him, inwondering what this meant, and the conversation at the other end sweptround a corner while he was apologising. When he again caught thecurrent Sir Thomas was speaking of wherries. 

"I would love to row a wherry, " he said. "The fellows do not know theirfortune; they might lead such sweet meditative lives; they do not, I amwell aware, for I have never heard such blasphemy as I have heard fromwherrymen. But what opportunities are theirs! If I were not your father, my darling, I would be a wherryman. _Si cognovisses et tu quae ad pacemtibi_! Mr. Torridon, would you not be a wherryman if you were not Mr. Torridon?"

"I thought not this morning, " said Ralph, "as I came here. It seemed hotrowing against the stream. "

"It is part of the day's work, " said More. "When I was Chancellor Iloved nothing more than a hot summer's day in Court, for I thought of mycool garden where I should soon be walking. I must show you the NewBuilding after dinner, Mr. Torridon. "

Cecily and Margaret presently had a short encounter across the table onsome subject that Ralph did not catch, but he saw Margaret on the otherside flush up and bring her lips sharply together. Sir Thomas leapt intothe breach. 

"_Unde leves animae tanto caluere furore?_" he cried, and glanced up atRalph to see if he understood the quotation, as the two girls droppedtheir eyes ashamed. 

"_Pugnavare pares, succubuere pares_, " said Ralph by a flash ofinspiration, and looking at the girls. 

Sir Thomas's eyes shone with pleasure. 

"I did not know you were such a treasure, Mr. Torridon. Now, MasterCromwell could not have done that. "

There fell a silence as that name was spoken, and all at the table eyedRalph. 

"He was saying as much to me the other day, " went on Ralph, excited byhis success. "He told me you knew Horace too well. "

"And that my morals were corrupted by him, " went on More. "I know hethinks that, but I had the honour of confuting him the other day withregard to the flagon and gloves. Now, there is a subject for Martial, Mr. Torridon. A corrupt statesman who has retired on his ill-gottengains disproves an accusation of bribery. Let us call him Atticus'Attice . .. Attice' . .. --We might say that he put on the gloves lest hisforgers should be soiled while he drank from the flagon, or something ofthe kind. "

Sir Thomas's eyes beamed with delight as he talked. To make an aptclassical quotation was like wine to him, but to have it cappedappropriately was like drunkenness. Ralph blessed his stars that he hadbeen so lucky, for he was no great scholar, and he guessed he had wonhis host's confidence. 

Dinner passed on quietly, and as they rose from table More came roundand took his guest by the arm. 

"You must come with me and see my New Building, " he said, "you areworthy of it, Mr. Torridon. "

He still held his arm affectionately as they walked out into the gardenbehind the house, and as he discoursed on the joys of a country life. 

"What more can I ask of God?" he said. "He has given me means and tastesto correspond, and what man can say more. I see visions, and am able tomake them realities. I dream of a dovecote with a tiled roof, andstraightway build it; I picture a gallery and a chapel and a libraryaway from the clack of tongues, and behold there it is. The eye cannotsay to the hand, 'I have no need of thee. ' To see and dream without thepower of performance is heart-breaking. To perform without the gift ofimagination is soul-slaying. The man is blessed that hath both eye andhand, tastes and means alike. "

It was a very pleasant retreat that Sir Thomas More had built forhimself at the end of his garden, where he might retire when he wantedsolitude. There was a little entrance hall with a door at one cornerinto the chapel, and a long low gallery running out from it, lined withbookshelves on one side, and with an open space on the other lighted bysquare windows looking into the garden. The polished boards were bare, and there was a path marked on them by footsteps going from end to end. 

"Here I walk, " said More, "and my friends look at me from those shelves, ready to converse but never to interrupt. Shall we walk here, Mr. Torridon, while you tell me your business?"

Ralph had, indeed, a touch of scrupulousness as he thought of his host'sconfidence, but he had learnt the habit of silencing impulses and ofonly acting on plans deliberately formed; so he was soon laying bare hisanxiety about Chris, and his fear that he had been misled by the HolyMaid. 

"I am very willing, Mr. More, " he said, "that my brother should be amonk if it is right, but I could not bear he should be so against God'sleading. How am I to know whether the maid's words are of God or no?"

Sir Thomas was silent a moment. 

"But he had thoughts of it before, I suppose, " he said, "or he would nothave gone to her. In fact, you said so. "

Ralph acknowledged that this was so. 

"--And for several years, " went on the other. 

Again Ralph assented. 

"And his tastes and habits are those of a monk, I suppose. He is longat his prayers, given to silence, and of a tranquil spirit?"

"He is not always tranquil, " said Ralph. "He is impertinent sometimes. "

"Yes, yes; we all are that. I was very impertinent to you at dinner intrying to catch you with Martial his epigram, though I shall not offendagain. But his humour may be generally tranquil in spite of it. Well, ifthat is so, I do not see why you need trouble about the Holy Maid. Hewould likely have been a monk without that. She only confirmed him. "

"But, " went on Ralph, fighting to get back to the point, "if I thoughtshe was trustworthy I should be the more happy. "

"There must always be doubtfulness, " said More, "in such matters. Thatis why the novitiate is so severe; it is to show the young men the worstat once. I do not think you need be unhappy about your brother. "

"And what is your view about the Holy Maid?" asked Ralph, suddenlydelivering his point. 

More stopped in his walk, cocked his head a little on one side like aclever dog, and looked at his companion with twinkling eyes. 

"It is a delicate subject, " he said, and went on again. 

"That is what puzzles me, " said Ralph. "Will you not tell me youropinion, Mr. More?"

There was again a silence, and they reached the further end of thegallery and turned again before Sir Thomas answered. 

"If you had not answered me so briskly at dinner, Mr. Torridon, do youknow that I should have suspected you of coming to search me out. Butsuch a good head, I think, cannot be allied with a bad heart, and Iwill tell you. "

Ralph felt a prick of triumph but none of remorse. 

"I will tell you, " went on More, "and I am sure you will keep itprivate. I think the Holy Maid is a good woman who has a maggot. "

Ralph's spirits sank again. This was a very non-committing answer. 

"I do not think her a knave as some do, but I think, to refer to what wesaid just now, that she has a large and luminous eye, and no hand worthmentioning. She sees many visions, but few facts. That tale about theHost being borne by angels from Calais to my mind is nonsense. AlmightyGod does not work miracles without reason, and there is none for that. The blessed sacrament is the same at Dover as at Calais. And a woman whocan dream that can dream anything, for I am sure she did not invent it. On other matters, therefore, she may be dreaming too, and that is whyonce more I tell you that to my mind you can leave her out of yourthoughts with regard to your brother. She is neither prophetess norpythoness. "

This was very unsatisfactory, and Ralph strove to remedy it. 

"And in the matter of the King's death, Mr. More?" he said. 

Again Sir Thomas stopped in his walk. 

"Do you know, Mr. Torridon, I think we may leave that alone, " he said alittle abruptly. And Ralph sucked in his lip and bit it sharply at theconsciousness of his own folly. 

"I hope your brother will be very happy, " went on the other after amoment, "and I am sure he will be, if his call is from God, as I thinklikely. I was with the Carthusians myself, you know, for four years, and sometimes I think I should have stayed there. It is a blessed life. I do not envy many folks, but I do those. To live in the dailycompanionship of our blessed Lord and of his saints as those do, and toknow His secrets--_secreta Domini_--even the secrets of His Passion andits ineffable joys of pain--that is a very fortunate lot, Mr. Torridon. I sometimes think that as it was with Christ's natural body so it iswith His mystical body: there be some members, His hands and feet andside, through which the nails are thrust, though indeed there is not onewhole spot in His body--_inglorious erit inter viros aspectus ejus--nosputavimus eum quasi leprosum_--but those parts of His body that areespecially pained are at once more honourable and more happy than thosethat are not. And the monks are those happy members. "

He was speaking very solemnly, his voice a little tremulous, and hiskindly eyes were cast down, and Ralph watched him sidelong with a littleawe and pity mingled. He seemed so natural too, that Ralph thought thathe must have over-rated his own indiscretion. 

A shadow fell across the door into the garden as they came near it, andone of the girls appeared in the opening. 

"Why, Meg, " cried her father, "what is it, my darling?"

"Beatrice has come, sir, " said the girl. "I thought you would wish toknow. "

More put out his arm and laid it round his daughter's waist as sheturned with him. 

"Come, Mr. Torridon, " he said, "if you have no more to say, let us goand see Beatrice. "

There was a group on the lawn under one of the lime trees, two or threegirls and Mr. Roper, who all rose to their feet as the three came up. More immediately sat down on the grass, putting his feet delicatelytogether before him. 

"Will, fetch this gentleman a chair. It is not fit for MasterCromwell's friend to sit on the grass like you and me. "

Ralph threw himself down on the lawn instantly, entreating Mr. Roper notto move. 

"Well, well, " said Sir Thomas, "let be. Sit down too, Will, _et cubitoremanete presso_. Mr. Torridon understands that, I know, even if MasterCromwell's friend does not. Why, tillie-vallie, as Mrs. More says, Ihave not said a word to Beatrice. Beatrice, this is Mr. Ralph Torridon, and this, Mr. Torridon, is Beatrice. Her other name is Atherton, but tome she is a feminine benediction, and nought else. "

Ralph rose swiftly and looked across at a tall slender girl that wassitting contentedly on an outlying root of the lime tree, beside of SirThomas, and who rose with him. 

"Mr. More cannot let my name alone, Mr. Torridon, " she said tranquilly, as she drew back after the salute. "He made a play upon it the otherday. "

"And have been ashamed of it ever since, " said More; "it was sacrilegewith such a name. Now, I am plain Thomas, and more besides. Why did yousend for me, Beatrice?"

"I have no defence, " said the girl, "save that I wanted to see you. "

"And that is the prettiest defence you could have made--if it does notamount to corruption. Mr. Torridon, what is the repartee to that?"

"I need no advocate, " said the girl; "I can plead well enough. "

Ralph looked up at her again with a certain interest. She seemed onmarvellously good terms with the whole family, and had an air of beingentirely at her ease. She had her black eyes bent down on to a piece ofgrass that she was twisting into a ring between her slender jewelledfingers, and her white teeth wore closed firmly on her lower lip as sheworked. Her long silk skirts lay out unregarded on the grass, and herbuckles gleamed beneath. Her voice was pleasant and rather deep, andRalph found himself wondering who she was, and why he had not seen herbefore, for she evidently belonged to his class, and London was a smallplace. 

"I see you are making one more chain to bind me to you, " said Morepresently, watching her. 

She held it up. 

"A ring only, " she said. 

"Then it is not for me, " said More, "for I do not hold with Dr. Melanchthon, nor yet Solomon in the matter of wives. Now, Mr. Torridon, tell us all some secrets. Betray your master. We are all agog. Leave offthat ring, Beatrice, and attend. "

"I am listening, " said the girl as serenely as before, still intent onher weaving. 

"The King breakfasted this morning at eight of the clock, " said Ralphgravely. "It is an undoubted fact, I had it on the highest authority. "

"This is excellent, " said Sir Thomas. "Let us all talk treason. I canadd to that. His Grace had a fall last night and lay senseless forseveral hours. "

He spoke with such gravity that Ralph glanced up. At the same momentBeatrice looked up from her work and their eyes met. 

"He fell asleep, " added Sir Thomas. 

 * * * * *

It was very pleasant to lie there in the shadow of the lime thatafternoon, and listen to the mild fooling, and Ralph forgot hismanners, and almost his errand too, and never offered to move. The grassbegan to turn golden as the sun slanted to the West, and the birds beganto stir after the heat of the day, and to chirp from tree to tree. Ahundred yards away the river twinkled in the sun, seen beyond the treesand the house, and the voices of the boatmen came, softened by distanceand water, as they plied up and down the flowing highway. Once a bargewent past under the Battersea bank, with music playing in the stern, andRalph raised himself on his elbow to watch it as it went down the streamwith flags flying behind, and the rhythmical throb of the row-lockssounding time to the dancing melody. 

Ralph did his best to fall in with the humour of the day, and told agood story or two in his slow voice--among them one of his motherexercising her gift of impressive silence towards a tiresome chatterboxof a man, with such effect that the conversationalist's words died onhis lips, after the third or fourth pause made for applause and comment. He told the story well, and Lady Torridon seemed to move among them, herskirts dragging majestically on the grass, and her steady, sombre facelooking down on them all beneath half-closed languid eye-lids. 

"He has never been near us again, " said Ralph, "but he never fails toask after my mother's distressing illness when I meet him in town. "

He was a little astonished at himself as he talked, for he was notaccustomed to take such pains to please, but he was conscious thatthough he looked round at the faces, and addressed himself to More, hewas really watching for the effect on the girl who sat behind. He wasaware of every movement that she made; he knew when she tossed the ringon the little sleeping brown body of the dog that had barked at himearlier in the day, and set to work upon another. She slipped that onher finger when she had done, and turned her hand this way and that, herfingers bent back, a ruby catching the light as she did so, looking atthe effect of the green circle against the whiteness. But he neverlooked at her again, except once when she asked him some question, andthen he looked her straight in her black eyes as he answered. 

A bell sounded out at last again from the tower, and startled him. Hegot up quickly. 

"I am ashamed, " he said smiling, "how dare I stay so long? It is yourkindness, Mr. More. "

"Nay, nay, " said Sir Thomas, rising too and stretching himself. "Youhave helped us to lose another day in the pleasantest mannerpossible--you must come again, Mr. Torridon. "

He walked down with Ralph to the garden steps, and stood by him talking, while the wherry that had been hailed from the other side made its wayacross. 

"Beatrice is like one of my own daughters, " he said, "and I cannot giveher better praise than that. She is always here, and always as you sawher today. I think she is one of the strongest spirits I know. What didyou think of her, Mr. Torridon?"

"She did not talk much, " said Ralph. 

"She talks when she has aught to say, " went on More, "and otherwise issilent. It is a good rule, sir; I would I observed it myself. "

"Who is she?" asked Ralph. 

"She is the daughter of a friend I had, and she lives just now with mywife's sisters, Nan and Fan. She is often in town with one of them. I amastonished you have not met her before. "

The wherry slid up to the steps and the man in his great boots slippedover the side to steady it. 

"Now is the time to begin your philosophy, " said More as Ralph steppedin, "and a Socrates is ready. Talk it over, Mr. Torridon. "

CHAPTER VI

RALPH'S INTERCESSION

Ralph was astonished to find how the thought of the tall girl he had metat Sir Thomas More's house remained with him. He had reported the resultof his interview with More himself to his master; and Cromwell hadreceived it rather coldly. He had sniffed once or twice. 

"That was not very well done, Mr. Torridon. I fear that you havefrightened him, and gained nothing by it. "

Ralph stood silent. 

"But I see you make no excuses, " went on Cromwell, "so I will make themfor you. I daresay he was frightened already; and knew all about whathad passed between her and the Archbishop. You must try again, sir. "

Ralph felt his heart stir with pleasure. 

"I may say I have made friends with Mr. More, sir, " he said. "I had goodfortune in the matter of a quotation, and he received me kindly. I cango there again without excusing my presence, as often as you will. "

Cromwell looked at him. 

"There is not much to be gained now, " he said, "but you can go if youwill; and you may perhaps pick up something here and there. The morefriends you make the better. "

Ralph went away delighted; he had not wholly failed then in his master'sbusiness, and he seemed to have set on foot a business of his own; andhe contemplated with some excitement his future visits to Chelsea. 

 * * * * *

He had his first word with the King a couple of months later. He hadoften, of course, seen him before, once or twice in the House of Lords, formidable and frowning on his throne, his gross chin on his hand, barking out a word or two to his subjects, or instructing them intheology, for which indeed he was very competent; and several times inprocessions, riding among his gentlemen on his great horse, splendid invelvet and gems; and he had always wondered what it was that gave himhis power. It could not be mere despotism, he thought, or his burlyEnglish nature; and it was not until he had seen him near at hand, andcome within range of his personality that he understood why it was thatmen bore such things from him. 

He was sent for one afternoon by Cromwell to bring a paper and was takenup at once by a servant into the gallery where the minister and the Kingwere walking together. They were at the further end from that at whichhe entered, and he stood, a little nervous at his heart, but with hisusual appearance of self-possession, watching the two great backs turnedto him, and waiting to be called. 

They turned again in a moment, and Cromwell saw him and beckoned, himself coming a few steps to meet him. The King waited, and Ralph wasaware of, rather than saw, that wide, coarse, strong face, and the longnarrow eyes, with the feathered cap atop, and the rich jewelled dressbeneath. The King stood with his hands behind his back and his legs wellapart. 

Cromwell took the paper from Ralph, who stepped back, hesitating what todo. 

"This is it, your Grace, " said the minister going back again. "YourGrace will see that it is as I said. "

Ralph perceived a new tone of deference in his master's voice that hehad never noticed before, except once when Cromwell was ironicallybullying a culprit who was giving trouble. 

The King said nothing, took the paper and glanced over it, standing alittle aside to let the light fall on it. 

"Your Grace will understand--" began Cromwell again. 

"Yes, yes, yes, " said the harsh voice impatiently. "Let the fellow takeit back, " and he thrust the paper into Cromwell's hand, who turned oncemore to Ralph. 

"Who is he?" said the King. "I have seen his face. Who are you?"

"This is Mr. Ralph Torridon, " said Cromwell; "a very useful friend tome, your Grace. "

"The Torridons of Overfield?" questioned Henry once more, who neverforgot a face or a name. 

"Yes, your Grace, " said Cromwell. 

"You are tall enough, sir, " said the King, running his narrow eyes upand down Ralph's figure;--"a strong friend. "

"I hope so, your Grace, " said Ralph. 

The King again looked at him, and Ralph dropped his eyes in the glare ofthat mighty personality. Then Henry abruptly thrust out his hand to bekissed, and as Ralph bent over it he was aware of the thick straightfingers, the creased wrist, and the growth of hair on the back of thehand. 

 * * * * *

Ralph was astonished, and a little ashamed at his own excitement as hepassed down the stairs again. It was so little that had happened; hisown part had been so insignificant; and yet he was tingling from head tofoot. He felt he knew now a little better how it was that the King'swill, however outrageous in its purposes, was done so quickly. It wasthe sheer natural genius of authority and royalty that forced itthrough; he had felt himself dominated and subdued in those few moments, so that he was not his own master. As he went home through the street ortwo that separated the Palace gate from his own house, he found himselfanalysing the effect of that presence, and, in spite of its repellence, its suggestion of coarseness, and its almost irritating imperiousness, he was conscious that there was a very strong element of attractivenessin it too. It seemed to him the kind of attractiveness that there is fora beaten dog in the chastising hand: the personality was so overwhelmingthat it compelled allegiance, and that not wholly one of fear. He foundhimself thinking of Queen Katharine and understanding a little betterhow it was that the refined, delicately nurtured and devout woman, soconstant in her prayers, so full of the peculiar fineness of characterthat gentle birth and religion alone confer, could so cling to thisfierce lord of hers, throw herself at his feet with tears before all thecompany, and entreat not to be separated from him, calling him her "dearlord, " her "love, " and her most "merciful and gracious prince. "

 * * * * *

The transition from this train of thought to that bearing on Beatricewas not a difficult one; for the memory of the girl was continually inhis mind. He had seen her half a dozen times now since their firstmeeting; for he had availed himself to the full of Cromwell'sencouragement to make himself at home at Chelsea; and he found that hisinterest in her deepened every time. With a touch of amusement he foundhimself studying Horace and Terence again, not only for Sir ThomasMore's benefit, but in order to win his approval and his good report tohis household, among whom Beatrice was practically to be reckoned. 

He was pleased too by More's account of Beatrice. 

"She is nearly as good a scholar as my dear Meg, " he had said one day. "Try her, Mr. Torridon. "

Ralph had carefully prepared an apt quotation that day, and fired it offpresently, not at Beatrice, but, as it were, across her; but there wasnot the faintest response or the quiver of an eyelid. 

There was silence a moment; and then Sir Thomas burst out--

"You need not look so demure, my child; we all know that youunderstand. "

Beatrice had given him a look of tranquil amusement in return. 

"I will not be made a show of, " she said. 

Ralph went away that day more engrossed than ever. He began to askhimself where his interest in her would end; and wondered at itsintensity. 

As he questioned himself about it, it seemed that to him it was to agreat extent her appearance of detached self-possession that attractedhim. It was the quality that he most desired for himself, and one whichhe had in measure attained; but he was aware that in the presence ofCromwell at least it deserted him. He knew well that he had found hismaster there, and that he himself was nothing more than ahero-worshipper before a shrine; but it provoked him to feel that therewas no one who seemed to occupy the place of a similar divinity withregard to this girl. Obviously she admired and loved Sir ThomasMore--Ralph soon found out how deeply in the course of his visits--butshe was not in the least afraid of her friend. She serenely contradictedhim when she disagreed with what he said, would fail to keep herappointments at his house with the same equanimity, and in spite of SirThomas's personality never appeared to give him more than a friendly andaffectionate homage. With regard to Ralph himself, it was the same. Shewas not in the least awed by him, or apparently impressed by hisreputation which at this time was growing rapidly as that of a capableand daring agent of Cromwell's; and even once or twice when hecondescended to hint at the vastness of the affairs on which he wasengaged, in a desperate endeavour to rouse her admiration, she onlylooked at him steadily a moment with very penetrating eyes, and began tospeak of something else. He began to feel discouraged. 

 * * * * *

The first hint that Ralph had that he had been making a mistake in hisestimate of her, came from Margaret Roper, who was still living atChelsea with her husband Will. 

Ralph had walked up to the house one bleak afternoon in early springalong the river-bank from Westminster, and had found Margaret alone inthe dining-hall, seated by the window with her embroidery in her hand, and a Terence propped open on the sill to catch the last gleams of lightfrom the darkening afternoon. She greeted Ralph warmly, for he was avery familiar figure to them all by now, and soon began to talk, when hehad taken a seat by the wide open fireplace whence the flames flickeredout, casting shadows and lights round the high room, across thehigh-hung tapestries and in the gloomy corners. 

"Beatrice is here, " she said presently, "upstairs with father. I thinkshe is doing some copying for him. "

"She is a great deal with him, " observed Ralph. 

"Why, yes; father thinks so much of her. He says that none can write sowell as she, or has such a quick brain. And then she does not talk, hesays, nor ask foolish woman-questions like the rest of us. " And Margaretglanced up a moment, smiling. 

"I suppose I must not go up, " said Ralph, a little peevishly; for he wastired with his long day. 

"Why, no, you must not, " said Margaret, "but she will be down soon, Mr. Torridon. "

There was silence for a moment or two; and then Margaret spoke again. 

"Mr. Torridon, " she said, "may I say something?" Ralph made a littlesound of assent. The warmth of the fire was making him sleepy. 

"Well, it is this, " said Margaret slowly, "I think you believe thatBeatrice does not like you. That is not true. She is very fond of you;she thinks a great deal of you, " she added, rather hastily. 

Ralph sat up; his drowsiness was gone. 

"How do you know that, Mrs. Roper?" he asked. His voice soundedperfectly natural, and Margaret was reassured at the tone of it. Shecould not see Ralph well; it was getting dark now. 

"I know it well, " she said. "Of course we talk of you when you aregone. "

"And does Mrs. Beatrice talk of me?"

"Not so much, " said Margaret, "but she listens very closely; and asks usquestions sometimes. " The girl's heart was beating with excitement asshe spoke; but she had made up her mind to seek this opportunity. Itseemed a pity, she thought, that two friends of hers should somisunderstood one another. 

"And what kind of questions?" asked Ralph again. 

"She wonders--what you really think--" went on Margaret slowly, bendingdown over her embroidery, and punctuating her words withstitches--"about--about affairs--and--and she said one day that--"

"Well?" said Ralph in the same tone. 

"That she thought you were not so severe as you seemed, " ended Margaret, her voice a little tremulous with amusement. 

Ralph sat perfectly still, staring at the great fire-plate on which asmoky Phoebus in relief drove the chariot of the sun behind the tallwavering flames that rose from the burning logs. He knew very well whyMargaret had spoken, and that she would not speak without reason; butthe fact revealed was so bewilderingly new to him that he could not takeit in. Margaret looked at him once or twice a little uneasily; and atlast sighed. 

"It is too dark, " she said, "I must fetch candles. "

She slipped out of the side-door that led to the servants' quarters, andRalph was left alone. All his weariness was gone now; the whirl ofimages and schemes with which his brain had been seething as he walkedup the river-bank half-an-hour before, had receded into obscurity; andone dominating thought filled their place: What if Margaret were right?And what did he mean to do himself? Surely he was not--

The door from the entrance passage opened, and a tall slender figurestood there, now in light, now in shadow, as the flames rose and fell. 

"Meg, " said a voice. 

Ralph sat still a moment longer. 

"Meg, " said Beatrice again, "how dark you are. "

Ralph stood up. 

"Mrs Roper has just gone, " he said, "you must put up with me, Mrs. Beatrice. "

"Who is it?" said the girl advancing. "Mr. Torridon?"

She had a paper in her hand as she came across the floor, and Ralph drewout a chair for her on the other side of the hearth. 

"Yes, " he said. "Mrs. Roper has gone for lights. She will be backimmediately. "

Beatrice sat down. 

"It is a troublesome word, " she said. "Master More cannot read ithimself, and has sent me to ask Meg. He says that every dutiful daughtershould be able to read her father's hand. "

And Ralph could see a faint amused smile in her black eyes, as thefirelight shone on them. 

"Master More always has an escape ready, " he said, as he too sat down. 

The girl's hand holding the paper suddenly dropped on to her knee, andthe man saw she was looking at him oddly. 

"Yes?" he said interrogatively; and then--

"Why do you look at me like that, Mrs. Beatrice?"

"It is what you said. Do you really think that, Mr. Torridon?"

Ralph was bewildered for a moment. 

"I do not understand, " he said. 

"Do you truly think he always has an escape ready?" repeated the girl. 

Then Ralph understood. 

"You mean he is in danger, " he said steadily. "Well, of course he is. There is no great man that is not. But I do not see why he should notescape as he has always done. "

"You think that, Mr. Torridon?"

"Why, yes;" went on Ralph, a little hastily. "You remember the matterof the bribe. See how he cleared himself. Surely, Mrs. Beatrice--"

"And you really think so, " said the girl. "I know that you know what wedo not; and I shall believe what you say. "

"How can I tell?" remonstrated Ralph. "I can only tell you that in thismatter I know nothing that you do not. Master More is under nosuspicion. "

Beatrice drew a breath of relief. 

"I am glad I spoke to you, sir, " she said. "It has been on my mind. Andsomething that he said a few minutes ago frightened me. "

"What did he say?" asked Ralph curiously. 

"Ah! it was not much. It was that no man knew what might come next; thatmatters were very strange and dismaying--and--and that he wanted thispaper copied quickly, for fear--"

The girl stopped again, abruptly. 

"I know what you feel, Mrs. Beatrice, " said Ralph gently. "I know howyou love Master More, and how terrified we may become for our friends. "

"What do you think yourself, Mr. Torridon, " she said suddenly, almostinterrupting him. 

He looked at her doubtfully a moment, and half wished that Margaretwould come back. 

"That is a wide question, " he said. 

"Well, you know what I mean, " she said coolly, completely herself again. She was sitting back in her chair now, drawing the paper serenely to andfro between her fingers; and he could see the firelight on her chin andbrows, and those steady eyes watching him. He had an impulse ofconfidence. 

"I do think changes are coming, " he said. "I suppose we all do. "

"And you approve?"

"Oh! how can I say off-hand?--But I think changes are needed. "

She was looking down at the fire again now, and did not speak for amoment. 

"Master More said you were of the new school, " she said meditatively. 

Ralph felt a curious thrill of exultation. Margaret was right then; thisgirl had been thinking about him. 

"There is certainly a stirring, " he said; and his voice was a littlerestrained. 

"Oh, I am not blind or deaf, " said the girl. "Of course, there is astirring--but I wondered--"

Then Margaret came in with the candles. 

Ralph went away that evening more excited than he liked. It seemed as ifMistress Roper's words had set light to a fire ready laid, and he couldperceive the warmth beginning to move about his heart and odd waveringlights flickering on his circumstances and business that had not beenthere before. 

 * * * * *

He received his first letter from Beatrice a few weeks later, and itthrew him into a strait between his personal and official claims. 

Cromwell at this time was exceedingly occupied with quelling the ardourof the House of Lords, who were requesting that the Holy Maid of Kentand her companions might have an opportunity of defending themselvesbefore the Act of Attainder ordered by the King was passed against them;but he found time to tell his agent that trouble was impending over Moreand Fisher; and to request him to hand in any evidence that he mighthave against the former. 

"I suppose we shall have to let the Bishop off with a fine, " said theminister, "in regard to the Maid's affair; but we shall catch himpresently over the Act; and Mr. More is clear of it. But we shall havehim too in a few days. Put down what you have to say, Mr. Torridon, andlet me have it this evening. "

And then he rustled off down the staircase to where his carriage waswaiting to take him to Westminster, where he proposed to tell thescrupulous peers that the King was not accustomed to command twice, andthat to suspect his Grace of wishing them to do an injustice was a pieceof insolence that neither himself nor his royal master had expected ofthem. 

Ralph was actually engaged in putting down his very scanty accusationsagainst Sir Thomas More when the letter from Beatrice was brought up tohim. He read it through twice in silence; and then ordered the courierto wait below. When the servant had left the room, he read it through athird time. 

It was not long; but it was pregnant. 

"I entreat you, sir, " wrote the girl, "for the love of Jesu, to let usknow if anything is designed against our friend. Three weeks ago youtold me it was not so; I pray God that may be true still. I know thatyou would not lift a finger against him yourself--" (Ralph glanced athis own neat little list at these words, and bit his pen)--"but I wishyou to do what you can for him and for us all. " Then followed anerasure. 

Ralph carried the paper to the window, flattened it against the panesand read clearly the words, "If my" under the scratching lines, andsmiled to himself as he guessed what the sentence was that she wasbeginning. 

Then the letter continued. 

"I hear on good authority that there is something against him. He willnot escape; and will do nothing on such hearsay, but only tells us totrust God, and laughs at us all. Good Mr. Torridon, do what you can. Your loving friend, B. A. "

Ralph went back from the window where he was still standing, and satdown again, bending his head into his hands. He had no sort of scruplesagainst lying as such or betraying Mr. More's private conversation; hiswhole training was directed against such foolishness, and he had learntat last from Cromwell's incessant precept and example that the good ofthe State over-rode all private interests. But he had a disinclinationto lie to Beatrice; and he felt simply unable to lose her friendship bytelling her the truth. 

As he sat there perfectly still, the servant peeped in once softly tosee if the answer was ready, and noiselessly withdrew. Ralph did notstir; but still sat on, pressing his eyeballs till they ached and fieryrings twisted before him in the darkness. Then he abruptly sat up, blinked a moment or two, took up a pen, bit it again, and laid it downand sat eyeing the two papers that lay side by side on his desk. 

He took up his own list, and read it through. After all, it was veryinsignificant, and contained no more than minute scraps of conversationthat Sir Thomas More had let drop. He had called Queen Katharine "poorwoman" three or four times; had expressed a reverence for the Pope ofRome half a dozen times, and had once called him the Vicar of Christ. Hehad been silent when someone had mentioned Anne Boleyn's name; he hadpraised the Carthusians and the Religious Life generally, at somelength. 

They were the kind of remarks that might mean nothing or a great deal;they were consistent with loyalty; they were not inconsistent withtreason; in fact they were exactly the kind of material out of whichserious accusations might be manufactured by a skilled hand, though asthey stood they proved nothing. 

A further consideration to Ralph was his duty to Cromwell; he scarcelyfelt it seemly to lie whole-heartedly to him; and on the other hand hefelt now simply unable to lie to Beatrice. There was only one way out ofit, --to prevaricate to them both. 

He took up his own paper, glanced at it once more; and then with aslightly dramatic gesture tore it across and across, and threw it on theground. Then he took up his pen and wrote to Beatrice. 

"I have only had access to one paper against our friend--that I havedestroyed, though I do not know what Master Cromwell will say. But Itell you this to show at what a price I value your friendship. 

"Of course our friend is threatened. Who is not in these days? But Iswear to you that I do not know what is the design. "

He added a word or two more for politeness' sake, prayed that "God mighthave her in His keeping, " and signed himself as she had done, her"loving friend. "

Then he dried the ink with his pounce box, sealed the letter with greatcare, and took it down to the courier himself. 

 * * * * *

He faced Cromwell in the evening with a good deal of terror, but withgreat adroitness; swore positively that More had said nothing actuallytreasonable, and had found, on putting pen to paper, that theaccusations were flimsier than he thought. 

"But it is your business to see that they be not so, " stormed hismaster. Ralph paused a moment respectfully. 

"I cannot make a purse out of a sow's ear, sir. I must have at leastsome sort of silk. "

When Cromwell had ceased to walk up and down, Ralph pointed out withconsiderable shrewdness that he did not suppose that his evidence wasgoing to form the main ground of the attack on More; and that it wouldmerely weaken the position to bring such feeble arguments to bear. 

"Why he would tear them to shreds, sir, in five minutes; he would makeout that they were our principal grounds--he is a skilled lawyer. If Imay dare to say so, Master Cromwell, let your words against Mr. More befew and choice. "

This was bolder speaking than he had ever ventured on before; butCromwell was in a good humour. The peers had proved tractable and hadagreed to pass the attainder against Elizabeth Barton without any moretalk of justice and the accused's right of defence; and he looked now atRalph with a grim approval. 

"I believe you are right, Mr. Torridon. I will think, over it. "

A week later the blow fell. 

 * * * * *

Cromwell looked up at him one Sunday evening as he came into the room, with his papers, and without any greeting spoke at once. 

"I wish you to go to Lambeth House to-morrow morning early, Mr. Torridon. Master More is to be there to have the Oath of Successiontendered to him with the others. Do your best to persuade him to takeit; be his true friend. "

A little grim amusement shone in his eyes as he spoke. Ralph looked athim a moment. 

"I mean it, Mr. Torridon: do your best. I wish him to think you hisfriend. "

 * * * * *

As Ralph went across the Thames in a wherry the following morning, hewas still thinking out the situation. Apparently Cromwell wished to keepin friendly touch with More; and this now, of course, was only possiblethrough Ralph, and would have been impossible if the latter's evidencehad been used, or were going to be used. It was a relief to him to knowthat the consummation of his treachery was postponed at least for thepresent; (but he would not have called it treachery). 

As Lambeth towers began to loom ahead, Ralph took out Beatrice's letterthat had come in answer to his own a few days before, and ran his eyesover it. It was a line of passionate thanks and blessing. Surely he hadreached her hidden heart at last. He put the letter back in his innerpocket, just before he stepped ashore. It no doubt would be a usefulevidence of his own sincerity in his interview with More. 

There was a great crowd in the court as he passed through, for many werebeing called to take the oath, which, however, was not made strictlylegal until the following Second Act in the autumn. Several carriageswere drawn up near the house door, and among them Ralph recognised theliveries of his master and of Lord Chancellor Audley. A number of horsesand mules too were tethered to rings in the wall on the other side withgrooms beside them, and ecclesiastics and secretaries were coming andgoing, disputing in groups, calling to one another, in the pleasantApril sunshine. 

On enquiry he found that the Commissioners were sitting in one of thedownstair parlours; but one of Cromwell's servants at the door told himthat he was not to go in there, but that Mr. More was upstairs byhimself, and that if he pleased he would show him the way. 

It was an old room looking on to the garden, scantily furnished, with apatch of carpet by the window and a table and chair set upon it. Moreturned round from the window-seat on which he was kneeling to look out, and smiled genially as Ralph heard the servant close the door. 

"Why, Mr. Torridon, are you in trouble too? This is the detention-roomwhither I am sent to consider myself. "

He led Ralph, still holding his hand, to the window-seat, where heleaned again looking eagerly into the garden. 

"There go the good boys, " he said, "to and fro in the playground; andhere sit I. I suppose I have nothing but the rod to look for. "

Ralph felt a little awkward in the presence of this gaiety; and for aminute or two leaned out beside More, staring mechanically at thefigures that passed up and down. He had expected almost to find him athis prayers, or at least thoughtfully considering himself. 

More commented agreeably on the passers-by. 

"Dr. Wilson was here a moment ago; but he is off now, with a man oneither side. He too is a naughty fellow like myself, and will not listento reason. There is the Vicar of Croydon, good man, coming out of thebuttery wiping his mouth. "

Ralph looked down at the priest's flushed excited face; he was talkingwith a kind of reckless gaiety to a friend who walked beside him. 

"He was sad enough just now, " went on the other, "while he was stillobstinate; but his master hath patted him on the head now and given himcake and wine. He was calling out for a drink just now (which he hathgot, I see) either for gladness or for dryness, or else that we mightknow _quod ille notus erat pontifici_. "

Dr. Latimer passed presently, his arms on either side flung round apriest's neck; he too was talking volubly and laughing; and the skirtsof his habit wagged behind him. 

"He is in high feather, " said More, "and I have no doubt that hisconscience is as clear as his eyes. Come, Mr. Torridon; sit you down. What have you come for?"

Ralph sat back on the window-seat with his back to the light, and hishat between his knees. 

"I came to see you, sir; I have not been to the Commissioners. I heardyou were here. "

"Why, yes, " said More, "here I am. "

"I came to see if I could be of any use to you, Master More; I know afriend's face is a good councillor sometimes, even though that friend bea fool. "

More patted him softly on the knee. 

"No fool, " he said, "far from it. "

He looked at him so oddly that Ralph feared that he suspected him; so hemade haste to bring out Beatrice's letter. 

"Mistress Atherton has written me this, " he said. "I was able to do hera little service--at least I thought it so then. "

More took the letter and glanced at it. 

"A very pretty letter, " he said, "and why do you show it me?"

Ralph looked at him steadily. 

"Because I am Master Cromwell's servant; and you never forget it. "

More burst into a fit of laughter; and then took Ralph kindly by thehand. 

"You are either very innocent or very deep, " he said. "And what have youcome to ask me?"

"I have come to ask nothing, Master More, " said Ralph indignantly, withdrawing his hand--"except to be of service to you. "

"To talk about the oath, " corrected the other placidly. "Very well then. Do you begin, Mr. Torridon. "

Ralph made a great effort, for he was sorely perplexed by Sir Thomas'attitude, and began to talk, putting all the reasons forward that hecould think of for the accepting of the oath. He pointed out thatgovernment and allegiance would be impossible things if every man had toexamine for himself the claims of his rulers; when vexed and elaboratequestions arose--and this certainly was one such--was it not safer tofollow the decrees of the King and Parliament, rather than to take up aposition of private judgment, and decide upon details of which a subjectcould have no knowledge? How, too, could More, under the circumstances, take upon himself to condemn those who had subscribed the oath?--henamed a few eminent prelates, the Abbot of Westminster and others. 

"I do not condemn them, " put in More, who was looking interested. 

"Then you are uncertain of the matter?" went on Ralph who had thoughtout his line of argument with some care. 

More assented. 

"But your duty to the King's grace is certain; therefore it shouldoutweigh a thing that is doubtful. "

Sir Thomas sucked in his lower lip, and stared gravely on the youngman. 

"You are very shrewd, sir, " he said. "I do not know how to answer thatat this moment; but I have no reasonable doubt but that there is ananswer. "

Ralph was delighted with his advantage, and pursued it eagerly; andafter a few minutes had won from More an acknowledgment that he might bewilling to consider the taking of the oath itself; it was the otherclauses that touched his conscience more. He could swear to be loyal toAnne's children; but he could not assent to the denunciation of the Popecontained in the preamble of the Act, and the oath would commit him tothat. 

"But you will tell that to the Commissioners, sir?" asked Ralph eagerly. 

"I will tell them all that I have told you, " said More smiling. 

Ralph himself was somewhat doubtful as to whether the concession wouldbe accepted; but he professed great confidence, and secretlycongratulated himself with having made so much way. But presently aremark of More's showed that he appreciated the situation. 

"I am very grateful to you, Mr. Torridon, for coming and talking to me;and I shall tell my wife and children so. But it is of no use. They areresolved to catch me. First there was the bribe; then the matter of theMaid; then this; and if I took a hundred oaths they would find one morethat I could not, without losing my soul; and that indeed I do notpropose to do. _Quid enim proficit homo?_"

There was a knock at the door a moment later, and a servant came in tobeg Mr. More to come downstairs again; the Commissioners were ready forhim. 

"Then good-day, Mr. Torridon. You will come and see me sometimes, evenif not at Chelsea. Wherever I may be it will be as nigh heaven asChelsea. "

Ralph went down with him, and parted from him at the door of theCommissioner's room; and half-an-hour later a message was sent out tohim by Cromwell that he need wait no longer; Mr. More had refused theoath, and had been handed over to the custody of the Abbot ofWestminster. 

CHAPTER VII

A MERRY PRISONER

The arrest of Sir Thomas More and Bishop Fisher and their committal tothe Tower a few days later caused nothing less than consternation inEngland and of furious indignation on the Continent. It was evident thatgreatness would save no man; the best hope lay in obscurity, and men whohad been loud in self-assertion now grew timorous and silent. 

Ralph was now in the thick of events. Besides his connection with More, he had been present at one of the examinations of the Maid of Kent andher admirers; had formed one of the congregation at Paul's Cross whenthe confession drawn up for her had been read aloud in her name by Dr. Capon, who from the pulpit opposite the platform where the penitentswere set, preached a vigorous sermon against credulity and superstition. Ralph had read the confession over a couple of days before in Cromwell'sroom, and had suggested a few verbal alterations; and he had beenfinally present, a few days after More's arrest, at the last scene ofthe drama, when Elizabeth Barton, with six priests, suffered, under theprovisions of an act of attainder, on Tyburn gallows. 

All these events were indications of the course that things were takingin regard to greater matters. Parliament had now advanced further thanever in the direction of a breach with Rome, and had transferred thepower of nomination to bishoprics from the Holy See to the Crown, and, what was as least as significant, had dealt in a similar manner with theauthority over Religious houses. 

On the other side, Rome had declared definitely against the annulling ofQueen Katharine's marriage, and to this the King had retorted by turningthe pulpits against the Pope, and in the course of this had foundhimself compelled to deal sharply with the Franciscans, who were at thesame time the most popular and the most papal of all preachers. In thefollowing out of this policy, first several notable friars wereimprisoned, and next a couple of subservient Religious, a Dominican andan Augustinian, were appointed grand visitors of the rebellious Order. 

A cloud of terror now began to brood over the Religious houses inEngland, as the news of these proceedings became known, and Ralph had apiteous letter from his father, entreating him to give some explanationof the course of affairs so far as was compatible with loyalty to hismaster, and at least his advice as to Christopher's profession. 

"We hear sad tales, dear son, " wrote Sir James, "on all sides are fears, and no man knows what the end will be. Some even say that the Orderswill be reduced in number. And who knows what may be toward now that theBishop and Mr. More are in trouble. I know not what is all this thatParliament has been doing about the Holy Father his authority; but I amsure that it cannot be more than what other reigns have brought about indeclaring that the Prince is temporal lord of his land. But, howeverthat may be, what do you advise that your brother should do? He is to beprofessed in August, unless it is prevented, and I dare not put out myhand to hinder it, until I know more. I do not ask you, dear son, totell me what you should not; I know my duty and yours too well for that. But I entreat you to tell me what you can, that I may not consent toyour brother's profession if it is better that it should not take placeuntil affairs are quieter. Your mother would send you her dear love, Iknow, if she knew I were writing, but she is in her chamber, and themessenger must go with this. Jesu have you in His blessed keeping!"

Ralph wrote back that he knew no reason against Christopher'sprofession, except what might arise from the exposure of the Holy Maidon whose advice he had gone to Lewes, and that if his father and brotherwere satisfied on that score, he hoped that Christopher would followGod's leading. 

At the same time that he wrote this he was engaged, under Cromwell'sdirections, in sifting the evidence offered by the grand visitors toshow that the friars refused to accept the new enactments on the subjectof the papal jurisdiction. 

 * * * * *

On the other hand, the Carthusians in London had proved more submissive. There had been a struggle at first when the oath of the succession hadbeen tendered to them, and Prior Houghton, with the Procurator, HumphreyMiddlemore, had been committed to the Tower. The oath affirmed thenullity of Queen Katharine's marriage with the King on the allegedground of her consummated marriage with Henry's elder brother, andinvolved, though the Carthusians did not clearly understand it so at thetime, a rejection of the Pope's authority as connected with thedispensation for Katharine's union with Henry. In May their scrupleswere removed by the efforts of some who had influence with them, and thewhole community took the oath as required of them, though with thepathetic addition of a clause that they only submitted "so far as itwas lawful for them so to do. " This actual submission, to Cromwell'smind and therefore to Ralph's, was at first of more significance thanwas the uneasy temper of the community, as reported to them, whichfollowed their compliance; but as the autumn drew on this opinion wasmodified. 

It was in connection with this that Ralph became aware for the firsttime of what was finally impending with regard to the King's supremacyover the Church. 

He had been sitting in Cromwell's room in the Chancery all through onemorning, working at the evidence that was flowing in from all sides ofdisaffection to Henry's policy, sifting out worthless and frivolouscharges from serious ones. Every day a flood of such testimony poured infrom the spies in all parts of the country, relating to the deepeningdissatisfaction with the method of government; and Cromwell, as theKing's adviser, came in for much abuse. Every kind of manifestation ofthis was reported, the talk in the ale-houses and at gentlemen's tablesalike, words dropped in the hunting-field or over a game of cards; andthe offenders were dealt with in various ways, some by a sharp rebuke orwarning, others by a sudden visit of a pursuivant and his men. 

Ralph made his report as usual at the end of the morning, and was on thepoint of leaving, when his master called him back from the door. 

"A moment, " he said, "I have something to say. Sit down. "

When Ralph had taken the chair again that he had just left, Cromwelltook up a pen, and began to play with it delicately as he talked. 

"You will have noticed, " he began, "how hot the feeling runs in thecountry, and I am sure you will also have understood why it is so. Itis not so much what has happened, --I mean in the matter of the marriageand of the friars, --but what folk fear is going to happen. It seems tothe people that security is disappearing; they do not understand thattheir best security lies in obedience. And, above all, they think thatmatters are dangerous with regard to the Church. They know now that thePope has spoken, and that the King pays no heed, but, on the other hand, waxes more bold. And that because his conscience bids him. Rememberthat, sir, when you have to do with his Highness. "

He glanced at Ralph again, but there was no mockery in his solemn eyes. Then he went on. 

"I am going to tell you, Mr. Torridon, that these folks are partlyright, and that his Grace has not yet done all that he intends. There isyet one more step to take--and that is to declare the King supreme overthe Church of England. "

Ralph felt those strong eyes bent upon him, and he nodded, making nosign of approval or otherwise. 

"This is no new thing, Mr. Torridon, " went on Cromwell, after a moment'ssilence. "The King of England has always been supreme, though I willacknowledge that this has become obscured of late. But it is time thatit be re-affirmed. The Popes have waxed presumptuous, and have laidclaim to titles that Christ never gave them, and it is time that they bereminded that England is free, and will not suffer their domination. Asfor the unity of the Catholic Church, that can be attended to later on, and on firmer ground; when the Pope has been taught not to wax so proud. There will be an Act passed by Parliament presently, perhaps next year, to do this business, and then we shall know better what to do. Untilthat, it is very necessary, as you have already seen, to keep the folksquiet, and not to suffer any contradiction of his Grace's rights. Do youunderstand me, Mr. Torridon?"

Cromwell laid the pen clown and leaned back in his chair, with hisfingers together. 

"I understand, sir, " said Ralph, in a perfectly even tone. 

"Well, that is all that I have to say, " ended his master, still watchinghim. "I need not tell you how necessary secrecy is in the matter. "

Ralph was considerably startled as he went home, and realized betterwhat it was that he had heard. While prudent persons were alreadytrembling at the King's effrontery and daring in the past, Henry wasmeditating a yet further step. He began to see now that the instinct ofthe country was, as always, sharper than that of the individual, andthat these uneasy strivings everywhere rose from a very definiteperception of danger. The idea of the King's supremacy, as representedby Cromwell, would not seem to be a very startling departure; similarprotests of freedom had been made in previous reigns, but now, followingas it did upon overt acts of disobedience to the Sovereign Pontiff, andof disregard of his authority in matters of church-law and even of thestatus of Religious houses, it seemed to have a significance thatprevious protests had lacked. 

And behind it all was the King's conscience! This was a new thought toRalph, but the more he considered it the more it convinced him. It was acurious conscience, but a mighty one, and it was backed by anindomitable will. For the first time there opened out to Ralph's mind aglimpse of the possibility that he had scarcely dreamed of hitherto--ofa Nationalism in Church affairs that was a reality rather than atheory--in which the Bishop of Rome while yet the foremost bishop ofChristendom and endowed with special prerogatives, yet should have nofinger in national affairs, which should be settled by the homeauthorities without reference to him. No doubt, he told himself, areadjustment was needed--visions and fancies had encrusted themselves soquickly round the religion credible by a practical man that a scouringwas called for. How if this should be the method by which not only suchaccretions should be done away, but yet more practical matters should bearranged, and steps taken to amend the unwarranted interferences andpecuniary demands of this foreign bishop?

He had had more than one interview with Sir Thomas More in the Tower, and once was able to take him news of his own household at Chelsea. Fora month none of his own people, except his servant, was allowed to visithim, and Ralph, calling on him about three weeks after the beginning ofhis imprisonment, found him eager for news. 

He was in a sufficiently pleasant cell in the Beauchamp Tower, furnishedwith straw mats underfoot, and straw hangings in place of a wainscot;his bed stood in one corner, with his crucifix and beads on a littletable beside it, and his narrow window looked out through eleven feet ofwall towards the Court and the White Tower. His books, too, which hisservant, John Wood, had brought from Chelsea, and which had not yet beentaken from him, stood about the room, and several lay on the table amonghis papers, at which he was writing when Ralph was admitted by thewarder. 

"I am very glad to see you, Mr. Torridon, " he said, "I knew you wouldnot forget an old friend, even though he could not take your counsel. Idaresay you have come to give it me again, however. "

"If I thought you would take it, " began Ralph. 

"But I will not, " said More smiling, "no more than before. Sit down, Mr. Torridon. "

Ralph had come at Cromwell's suggestion, and with a very greatwillingness of his own, too. He knew he could not please Beatrice morethan by visiting her friend, and he himself was pleased and amused tothink that he could serve his master's interests from one side and hisown from another by one action. 

He talked a little about the oath again, and mentioned how many hadtaken it during the last week or two. 

"I am pleased that they can do it with a good conscience, " observedMore. "And now let us talk of other matters. If I would not do it for mydaughter's sake, who begged me, I would not do it for the sake of boththe Houses of Parliament, nor even, dear Mr. Torridon, for yours andMaster Cromwell's. "

Ralph saw that it was of no use, and began to speak of other things. Hegave him news of Chelsea. 

"They are not very merry there, " he said, "and I hardly suppose youwould wish them to be. "

"Why not?" cried More, with a beaming face, "I am merry enough. I wouldnot be a monk; so God hath compelled me to be one, and treats me as oneof His own spoilt children. He setteth me on His lap and dandleth me. Ihave never been so happy. "

He told Ralph presently that his chief sorrow was that he could not goto mass or receive the sacraments. The Lieutenant, Sir EdwardWalsingham, who had been his friend, had told him that he would verygladly have given him liberties of this kind, but that he dared not, forfear of the King's displeasure. 

"But I told him, " said More, "not to trouble himself that I liked hischeer well enough as it was, and if ever I did not he was to put me outof his doors. "

After a little more talk he showed Ralph what he was writing. It was atreatise called a "Dialogue of Comfort against Tribulation. "

"It is to persuade myself, " he said, "that I am no more a prisoner thanI was before; I know I am, but sometimes forget it. We are all God'sprisoners. "

Ralph glanced down the page just written and was astonished at its goodhumour. 

"Some prisoner of another gaol, " he read, "singeth, danceth in his twofetters, and feareth not his feet for stumbling at a stone; while God'sprisoner, that hath but his one foot fettered by the gout, liethgroaning on a couch, and quaketh and crieth out if he fear there wouldfall on his foot no more than a cushion. "

 * * * * *

Ralph went straight up the river from the Tower to Chelsea to take themnews of the prisoner, and was silent and moody as he went. He had beenhalf touched and half enraged by More's bearing--touched by hissimplicity and cheerfulness and enraged by his confidence in a badcause. 

Mrs. Alice More behaved as usual when he got there: she had a genius forthe obvious; commented on the weariness of living in one room, thedistress at the thought that one was fastened in at the will of another;deplored the plainness of the prison fare, and the folly of her husbandin refusing an oath that she herself and her children and the vastmajority of the prominent persons in England had found so simple inaccepting. She left nothing unsaid. 

Finally, she apologized for the plainness of her dress. 

"You must think me a slattern, Mr. Torridon, but I cannot help it. Ihave not the heart nor the means, now that my man is in prison, to dobetter. "

And her solemn eyes filled with tears. 

When he had given the news to the family he went aside from the group inthe garden to where Beatrice Atherton was sitting below the Jesu tree, with work on her lap. 

He had noticed as he talked that she was sitting there, and had raisedhis voice for her benefit. He fancied, and with a pleasure at thedelicate instinct, that she did not wish to appear as intimatelyinterested in the news from the Tower as those who had a better right tobe. He was always detecting now faint shades in her character, as heknew her better, that charmed and delighted him. 

She was doing some mending, and only glanced up and down again withoutceasing or moving, as Ralph stood by her. 

"I thought you never used the needle, " he began in a moment. 

"It is never too late to mend, " she said, without the faintest movement. 

Ralph felt again an odd prick of happiness. It gave him a distinctthrill of delight that she would make such an answer and so swiftly; andat such a time, when tragedy was round her and in her heart, for he knewhow much she loved the man from whom he had just come. 

He sat down on the garden chair opposite, and watched her fingers andthe movements of her wrist as she passed the needle in and out, andneither spoke again till the others had dispersed. 

"You heard all I said?" said Ralph at last. 

She bowed her head without answering. 

"Shall I go and bring you news again presently?"

"If you please, " she said. 

"I hope to be able to do some little things for him, " went on Ralph, dropping his eyes, and he was conscious that she momentarily looked up. 

--"But I am afraid there is not much. I shall speak for him to MasterCromwell and the Lieutenant. "

The needle paused and then went on again. 

Ralph was conscious of an extraordinary momentousness in every word thathe said. He was well aware that this girl was not to be wooed byviolence, but that he must insinuate his mind and sympathies delicatelywith hers, watching for every movement and ripple of thought. He hadknown ever since his talk with Margaret Roper that Beatrice was, as itwere, turned towards him and scrutinising him, and that any mistake onhis part, however slight, might finally alienate her. Even his gestures, the tones of his voice, his manner of walking, were important elements. He knew now that he was the kind of person who might be acceptable toher--or rather that his personality contained one facet that pleasedher, and that he must be careful now to keep that facet turned towardsher continually at such an angle that she caught the flash. He hadsufficient sense, not to act a part, for that, he knew, she would soondiscover, but to be natural in his best way, and to use the fineinstincts that he was aware of possessing to tell him exactly how shewould wish him to express himself. It would be a long time yet, herecognised, before he could attain his final object; in fact he was notperfectly certain what he wanted; but meanwhile he availed himself ofevery possible opportunity to get nearer, and was content with hisprogress. 

He was sorely tempted now to discuss Sir Thomas's position and todescribe his own, but he perceived from her own aloofness just now thatit would seem a profanity, so he preserved silence instead, knowing thatit would be eloquent to her. At last she spoke again, and there was asuggestion of a tremor in her voice. 

"I suppose you can do nothing for him really? He must stay in theTower?"

Ralph threw out his hands, silently, expostulating. 

"Nothing?" she said again, bending over her work. 

Ralph stood up, looking down at her, but made no answer. 

"I--I would do anything, " she said deliberately, "anything, I think, forthe man--" and then broke off abruptly. 

 * * * * *

Ralph went away from Chelsea that afternoon with a whirling head anddancing heart. She had said no more than that, but he knew what she hadmeant, and knew, too that she would not have said as much to anyone towhom she was indifferent. Of course, it was hopeless to think ofbringing about More's release, but he could at least pretend to try, andRalph was aware that to chivalrous souls a pathetic failure oftenappeals more than an excellent success. 

Folks turned to look after him more than once as he strode home. 

CHAPTER VIII

A HIGHER STEP

As Chris, on the eve of his profession, looked back over the year thathad passed since his reception at the guest-house, he scarcely knewwhether it seemed like a week or a century. At times it appeared as ifthe old life in the world were a kind of far-away picture in which hesaw himself as one detached from his present personality, moving amongcurious scenes in which now he had no part; at other times the familiarpast rushed on him fiercely, deafened him with its appeal, and claimedhim as its own. In such moods the monastery was an intolerable prison, the day's round an empty heart-breaking formality in which his soul wasbeing stifled, and even his habit, which he had once touched soreverently, the badge of a fool. 

The life of the world at such times seemed to him the only sanity; thesemen used the powers that God had given them, were content with simpleand unostentatious doings and interests, reached the higher vocation bytheir very naiveté, and did not seek to fly on wings that were not meantto bear them. How sensible, Christopher told himself, was Ralph's ideal!God had made the world, so Ralph lived in it--a world in which great andsmall affairs were carried on, and in which he interested himself. Godhad made horses and hawks, had provided materials for carriages and fineclothes and cross-bows, had formed the sexes and allowed for love anddomestic matters, had created brains with their capacities of passionand intellect; and so Ralph had taken these things as he found them, hunted, dressed, lived, managed and mixed with men. At times in his cellChris saw that imposing figure in all its quiet bravery of dress, thatsane, clever face, those pitying and contemptuous eyes looking at him, and heard the well-bred voice asking and commenting and wondering at themisguided zeal of a brother who could give all this up, and seek to livea life that was built on and sustained by illusions. 

One event during his first six months of the novitiate helped tosolemnise him and to clear the confusion. 

Old Dom Augustine was taken sick and died, and Chris for the first timein his life watched the melting tragedy of death. The old monk had beenmoved from the dortor to the sick-room when the end seemed imminent, andone afternoon Chris noticed the little table set outside the door, withits candles and crucifix, the basin of cotton-wool, and the other signsthat the last sacraments were to be administered. He knew little of theold man, except his bleared face and shaking hands as he had seen themin choir, and had never been greatly impressed by him; but it wasanother matter when in the evening of the same day, at his master'sorder he passed into the cell and knelt down with the others to see theend. 

The old monk was lying now on the cross of ashes that had been spread onthe floor; his features looked pinched and white in the candlelight; hisold mouth moved incessantly, and opened now and again to gasp; but therewas an august dignity on his face that Chris had never seen therebefore. 

Outside the night was still and frosty; only now and again the heavystroke of the bell told the town that a soul was passing. 

Dom Augustine had received Viaticum an hour before. Chris had heard thesteady tinkle of the bell, like the sound of Aaron's garments, as thepriest who had brought him Communion passed back with his sacred burden, and Chris had fallen on his knees where he stood as he caught a glimpseof the white procession passing back to the church, their frosty breathgoing up together in the winter night air, the wheeling shadows, and theglare of the torches giving a pleasant warm light in the dull cloister. 

But all that was over now, and the end was at hand. 

As Chris knelt there, mechanically responding to the prayers on whichthe monk's soul was beginning to lift itself and flutter for escape, there fell a great solemnity on his spirit. The thought, as old asdeath, made itself real to him, that this was the end of every man andof himself too. Where Dom Augustine lay, he would lie, with his pastbehind him, of which every detail would be instinct with eternal import. All the tiny things of the monastic life--the rising in time for thenight office, attention during it, the responses to grace, the littlemovements prescribed by etiquette, the invisible motions of a soul thathad or had not acted for the love of God, those stirrings, falls, aspirations, that incessant activity of eighty years--all so incrediblyminute from one point of view, so incredibly weighty from another--theaccount of all those things was to be handed in now, and an eternaljudgment given. 

He looked at the wearied, pained old face again, at the tight-shut eyes, the jerking movements of the unshaven lips, and wondered what waspassing behind;--what strange colloquy of the soul with itself or itsMaster or great personages of the Court of Heaven. And all was set inthis little bare setting of white walls, a tumbled bed, a shutteredwindow, a guttering candle or two, a cross of ashes on boards, a ringof faces, and a murmur of prayers!

The solemnity rose and fell in Chris's soul like a deep organ-notesounding and waning. How homely and tender were these last rites, thisaccompaniment of the departing soul to the edge of eternity with allthat was dear and familiar to it--the drops of holy water, the mellowlight of candles, and the sonorous soothing Latin! And yet--and yet--howpowerless to save a soul that had not troubled to make the necessaryefforts during life, and had lost the power of making them now!

 * * * * *

When all was over he went out of the cell with an indescribable gravity athis heart. 

 * * * * *

When the great events in the spring of '34 began to take place, Chriswas in a period of abstracted peace, and the rumours of them came to himas cries from another planet. 

Dom Anthony Marks came into the cloister one day from the guest-housewith a great excitement in his face, "Here is news!" he said, joining himself to Chris and another young monkwith whom the lonely novice was sometimes allowed to walk. "MasterHumphreys, from London, tells me they are all in a ferment there. "

Chris looked at him with a deferential coldness, and waited for more. 

"They say that Master More hath refused the oath, and that he is lodgedin the Tower, and my Lord of Rochester too. "

The young monk burst into exclamations and questions, but Chris wassilent. It was sad enough, but what did it matter to him? What did itreally matter to anyone? God was King. 

Dom Anthony was in a hurry, and scuffled off presently to tell thePrior, and in an hour or two there was an air of excitement through thehouse. Chris, however, heard nothing more except the little that thenovice-master chose to tell him, and felt a certain contempt for theanxious-eyed monks who broke the silence by whispers behind doors, andthe peace of the monastery by their perturbed looks. 

 * * * * *

Even when a little later in the summer the commissioner came down totender the oath of succession Chris heard little and cared less. He wasaware of a fine gentleman striding through the cloister, lolling in thegarth, and occupying a prominent seat in the church; he noticed that hismaster was long in coming to him after the protracted chapter-meetings, but it appeared to him all rather an irrelevant matter. These thingswere surely quite apart from the business for which they were allgathered in the house--the _opus Dei_ and the salvation of souls; thisor that legal document did not seriously affect such high matters. 

The novice-master told him presently that the community had signed theoath, as all others were doing, and that there was no need for anxiety:they were in the hands of their Religious Superiors. 

"I was not anxious, " said Chris abruptly, and Dom James hastened to snubhim, and to tell him that he ought to have been, but that novices alwaysthought they knew everything, and were the chief troubles that Religioushouses had to put up with. 

Chris courteously begged pardon, and went to his lessons wondering whatin the world all the pother was about. 

But such moods of detachment were not continuous they visited him forweeks at a time, when his soul was full of consolation, and he wasamazed that any other life seemed possible to anyone. He seemed tohimself to have reached the very heart and secret of existence--surelyit was plain enough; God and eternity were the only things worthconsidering; a life passed in an ecstasy, if such were possible, wassurely more consonant with reality than one of ordinary activities. Activities were, after all, but concessions to human weakness and desirefor variety; contemplation was the simple and natural attitude of a soulthat knew herself and God. 

But he was a man as well as a novice, and when these moods ebbed fromhis soul they left him strangely bitter and dry: the clouds wouldgather; the wind of discontent would begin to shrill about the angles ofhis spirit, and presently the storm of desolation would be up. 

He had one such tempestuous mood immediately before his profession. 

During its stress he had received a letter from his father which he wasallowed to read, in which Sir James half hinted at the advisability ofpostponing the irrevocable step until things were quieter, and his hearthad leaped at the possibility of escape. He did not know till then howstrong had grown the motive of appearing well in the eyes of hisrelatives and of fearing to lose their respect by drawing back; and nowthat his father, too, seemed to suggest that he had better re-considerhimself, it appeared that a door was opened in the high monastery wallthrough which he might go through and take his honour with him. 

He passed through a terrible struggle that night. 

Never had the night-office seemed so wearisomely barren. The glamourthat had lighted those dark walls and the double row of cowls anddown-bent faces, the mystical beauty of the single flames here andthere that threw patches of light on the carving of the stalls and thesombre habits, and gave visibility and significance to what without themwas obscure, the strange suggestiveness of the high-groined roof and thehigher vault glimmering through the summer darkness--all this had fadedand left him, as it seemed, sane and perceptive of facts at last. Outthere through those transepts lay the town where reasonable folk slept, husband and wife together, and the children in the great bed next door, with the tranquil ordinary day behind them and its fellow before; therewere the streets, still now and dark and empty but for the sleepingdogs, where the signs swung and the upper stories leaned together, andwhere the common life had been transacted since the birth of the townand would continue till its decay. And beyond lay the cool round hills, with their dark dewy slopes, over which he had ridden a year ago, andall England beyond them again, with its human life and affairs andinterests; and over all hung the serene stars whence God looked downwell pleased with all that He had made. 

And, meanwhile, here he stood in his stall in his night shoes and blackhabit and cropped head, propped on his misericorde, with the great pagesopen before him, thumbed and greasy at their corners, from which he wasrepeating in a loud monotone formula after formula that had had time togrow familiar from repetition, but not yet sweet from associations--herehe stood with heavy eyelids after his short sleep, his feet aching andhot, and his whole soul rebellious. 

 * * * * *

He was sent by his novice-master next day to the Prior, with hisfather's letter in his hand, and stood humbly by the door while thePrior read it. Chris watched him under half-raised eye-lids; saw theclean-cut profile with its delicate mouth bent over the paper, and thehand with the enamelled ring turn the page. Prior Crowham was acultivated, well-bred man, not over strong-willed, but courteous andsympathetic. He turned a little to Chris in his carved chair, as he laidthe letter down. 

"Well, " he said, smiling, "it is for you to choose whether you willoffer yourself. Of course, there is uneasiness abroad, as this lettersays, but what then?"

He smiled pleasantly at the young man, and Chris felt a little ashamed. There was silence for a moment. 

"It is for you to choose, " said the Prior again, "you have been happywith us, I think?"

Chris pressed his lips together and looked down. 

"Of course Satan will not leave you alone, " went on the monk presently. "He will suggest many reasons against your profession. If he did not, Ishould be afraid that you had no vocation. "

Again he waited for an answer, and again Chris was silent. His soul wasso desolate that he could not trust himself to say all that he felt. 

"You must wait a little, " went on the Prior, "recommend yourself to ourLady and our Patron, and then leave yourself in their hands. You willknow better when you have had a few days. Will you do this, and thencome to me again?"

"Yes, my Lord Prior, " said Chris, and he took up the letter, bowed, andwent out. 

 * * * * *

Within the week relief and knowledge came to him. He had done what themonk had told him, and it had been followed by a curious sense of reliefat the thought suggested to him that the responsibility of decision didnot rest on him but on his heavenly helpers. And then as he served massthe answer came. 

It was in the chapel of the Blessed Virgin, a little building enteredfrom the north transept, with its windows opening directly on to theroad leading up into the town; there was no one there but the two. Itwas about seven o'clock on the feast of the Seven Martyrs, and thechapel was full of a diffused tender morning light, for the chapel wassheltered from the direct sunshine by the tall church on its south. 

As they went up to the altar the bell sounded for the Elevation at thehigh-altar of the church, at the _missa familiaris_, and the footstep ofsomeone passing through the north transept ceased instantly at thesound. The priest ascended the steps, set down the vessels, spread thecorporal, opened the book, and came down again for the preparation. There was no one else in the chapel, and the peace of the place in thesummer light, only vitalized by the brisk chirping of a sparrow underthe eaves, entered into Christopher's soul. 

As the mass went on it seemed as if a veil were lifting from his spirit, and leaving it free and sensible again. The things around him fell intotheir proper relationships, and there was no doubt in his mind that thisnewly restored significance of theirs was their true interpretation. They seemed penetrated and suffused by the light of the inner world; thered-brocaded chasuble moving on a level with his eyes, stirring with theshifting of the priest's elbows, was more than a piece of rich stuff, the white alb beneath more than mere linen, the hood thrown back in theamice a sacramental thing. He looked up at the smoky yellow flamesagainst the painted woodwork at the back of the altar, at thediscoloured stones beside the grey window-mouldings still with theslanting marks of the chisel upon them, at the black rafters overhead, and last out through the shafted window at the heavy July foliage of theelm that stood by the road and the brilliant morning sky beyond; andonce more he saw what these things meant and conveyed to an immortalsoul. The words that he had said during these last weeks so mechanicallywere now rich and alive again, and as he answered the priest heperceived the spiritual vibration of them in the inner world of whichhis own soul was but a part. And then the climax was reached, and helifted the skirt of the vestment with his left hand and shook the bellin his right; the last shreds of confusion were gone, and his spiritbasked tranquil and content and certain again in the light that wasnewly risen on him. 

He went to the novice-master after the morning-chapter, and told himthat he had made up his mind to offer himself for profession if it wasthought advisable by the authorities. 

 * * * * *

Towards the end of August he presented himself once more before thechapter to make his solemn demand; his petition was granted, and a dayappointed for his profession. 

Then he withdrew into yet stricter seclusion to prepare for the step. 

CHAPTER IX

LIFE AT LEWES

Under the direction of the junior-master who overlooked the young monksfor some years after their profession, Chris continued his work ofillumination, for which he had shown great aptitude during his year ofnoviceship. 

The art was beginning to disappear, since the introduction of printinghad superseded the need of manuscript, but in some Religious Houses itwas still thought a suitable exercise during the hours appointed formanual labour. 

It was soon after the beginning of the new year that Chris was entrustedwith a printed antiphonary that had its borders and initials left white;and he carried the great loose sheets with a great deal of pride to thelittle carrel or wooden stall assigned to him in the northern cloister. 

It was a tiny room, scarcely six feet square, lighted by the window intothe cloister-garth, and was almost entirely filled by the chair, thesloping desk against the wall, and the table where the pigments andbrushes lay ready to the hand. The door opened on to the cloister itselfwhere the professed monks were at liberty to walk, and on the oppositeside stood the broad aumbries that held the library of the house; and itwas from the books here that Chris was allowed to draw ideas for hisdesigns. It was a great step in that life of minute details when now forthe first time he was permitted to follow his own views, instead ofmerely filling in with colour outlines already drawn for him; and hefound his scheme for the decoration a serious temptation to distractionduring the office. As he stood among the professed monks, in his ownstall at last, he found his eyes wandering away to the capitals of theround pillars, the stone foliage and fruit that burst out of the slendershafts, the grim heads that strained forward in mitre and crownoverhead, and even the living faces of his brethren and superiors, clearagainst the dark woodwork. When he bent his eyes resolutely on his bookhe found his mind still intent on his more secular business; he mentallycorrected this awkward curve of the initial, substituted an oak spraywith acorns for that stiff monstrosity, and set my Lord Prior's facegrinning among griffins at the foot of the page where humour was morereadily admitted. 

It was an immense joy when he closed his carrel-door, after his hour'ssiesta in the dormitory, and sat down to his work. He was still warmwith sleep, and the piercing cold of the unwarmed cloister did notaffect him, but he set his feet on the sloping wooden footstool thatrested on the straw for fear they should get cold, and turned smiling tohis side-table. 

There were all the precious things laid out; the crow's quills sharpenedto an almost invisible point for the finer lines, the two sets ofpencils, one of silver-point that left a faint grey line, and the otherof haematite for the burnishing of the gold, the badger and mineverbrushes, the sponge and pumice-stone for erasures; the horns for blackand red ink lay with the scissors and rulers on the little upper shelfof his desk. There were the pigments also there, which he had learnt togrind and prepare, the crushed lapis lazuli first calcined by heataccording to the modern degenerate practice, with the cheap German bluebeside it, and the indigo beyond; the prasinum; the vermilion and redlead ready mixed, and the rubrica beside it; the yellow orpiment, and, most important of all, the white pigments, powdered chalk and eggshells, lying by the biacca. In a separate compartment covered carefullyfrom chance draughts or dust lay the precious gold leaf, and a littlevessel of the inferior fluid gold used for narrow lines. 

 * * * * *

His first business was to rule the thick red lines down the side of thetext, using a special metal pen for it; and then to begin to sketch inhis initials and decorations. For this latter part of the work he haddecided to follow the lines of Foucquet from a Book of the Hours that hehad taken out of its aumbry; a mass of delicate foliage and leaves, withmedallions set in it united by twisted thorn-branches twining upwardsthrough the broad border. These medallions on the first sheet hepurposed to fill with miniatures of the famous relics kept at Lewes, thehanging sleeve of the Blessed Virgin in its crystal case, thedrinking-cup of Cana, the rod of Moses, and the Magdalene's box ofointment. In the later pages which would be less elaborate he wouldintroduce the other relics, and allow his humour free play in designingfor the scrolls at the foot tiny portraits of his brethren; the Priorshould be in a mitre and have the legs and tail of a lion, thenovice-master, with a fox's brush emerging from his flying cowl, shouldbe running from a hound who carried a discipline in his near paw. Butthere was time yet to think of these things; it would be weeks beforethat page could be reached, and meanwhile there was the foliage to bedone, and the rose leaf that lay on his desk to be copied minutely froma hundred angles. 

 * * * * *

His distractions at mass and office were worse than ever now that thegreat work was begun, and week after week in confession there was thesame tale. The mere process was so absorbing, apart from the joy ofcreation and design. More than once he woke from a sweating nightmare inthe long dormitory, believing that he had laid on gold-leaf withoutfirst painting the surface with the necessary mordant, or had run hisstilus through his most delicate miniature. But he made extraordinaryprogress in the art; and the Prior more than once stepped into hiscarrel and looked over his shoulder, watching the slender fingers withthe bone pen between them polishing the gold till it shone like amirror, or the steady lead pencil moving over the white page infaultless curve. Then he would pat him on the shoulder, and go out inapproving silence. 

 * * * * *

Chris was supremely content that he had done right in asking forprofession. It appeared to him that he had found a life that was aboveall others worthy of an immortal soul. The whole day's routine wasdirected to one end, the performance of the _Opus Dei_, the uttering ofpraises to Him who had made and was sustaining and would receive againall things to Himself. 

They rose at midnight for the night-office that the sleeping world mightnot be wholly dumb to God; went to rest again; rose once more with theworld, and set about a yet sublimer worship. A stream of sacrificepoured up to the Throne through the mellow summer morning, or the coldwinter darkness and gloom, from altar after altar in the great church. Christopher remembered pleasantly a morning soon after the beginning ofhis novitiate when he had been in the church as a set of priests came inand began mass simultaneously; the mystical fancy suggested itself asthe hum of voices began that he was in a garden, warm and bright withgrace, and that bees were about him making honey--that fragrantsweetness of which it had been said long ago that God should eat--and asthe tinkle of the Elevation sounded out here and there, it seemed to himas a signal that the mysterious confection was done, and that everyaltar sprang into perfume from those silver vessels set with jewel andcrystal. 

When the first masses were over, there was a pause in which the _mixtum_was taken--bread and wine or beer--standing in the refectory, after ashort prayer that the Giver of all good gifts might bless the food anddrink of His servants, and was closed again by another prayer saidprivately for all benefactors. Meanwhile the bell was ringing for theLady mass, to remind the monks that the interval was only as it were aparenthetical concession; and after Terce and the Lady Mass followed theChapter, in which faults were confessed and penances inflicted, and theliving instruments of God's work were examined and scoured for use. Themartyrology was read at this time, as well as some morning prayers, tokeep before the monks' minds the remembrance of those great vessels ofGod's household called to so high an employment. It was then, too, thatother business of the house was done, and the seal affixed to anynecessary documents. Christopher had an opportunity once of examiningthis seal when it had been given him to clean, and he looked with awe onthe figures of his four new patrons, St. Peter, St. Pancras, St. Pauland Our Lady, set in niches above a cliff with the running water of theOuse beneath, and read the petition that ran round the circle--

"_Dulcis agonista tibi convertit domus ista Pancrati memorum precibusmemor esto tuorum. _"

When the chapter was over, and the deaths of any brethren of the orderhad been announced, and their souls prayed for, there was a pause forrecreation in the cloister and the finishing of further business beforethey assembled again in time to go into church for the high mass, atwhich the work and prayers of the day were gathered up and consecratedin a supreme offering. Even the dinner that followed was a religiousceremony; it began by a salutation of the Christ in glory that was onthe wall over the Prior's table, and then a long grace was sung beforethey took their seats. The reader in the stone-pulpit on the south wallof the refectory began his business on the sounding of a bell; and at asecond stroke there was a hum and clash of dishes from the kitchen end, and the aproned servers entered in line bearing the dishes. Immediatelythe meal was begun the drink destined for the poor at the gate was setaside, and a little later a representative of them was brought into therefectory to receive his portion; at the close again what was left overwas collected for charity; while the community after singing part of thegrace after meat went to finish it in the church. 

Chris learned to love the quiet religious graciousness of the refectory. The taking of food here was a consecrated action; it seemed asacramental thing. He loved the restraint and preciseness of it, ensuredby the solemn crucifix over the door with its pathetic inscription"SITIO, " the polished oak tables, solid and narrow, the shining pewterdishes, the folded napkins, the cleanly-served plentiful food, to eachman his portion, the indescribable dignity of the prior's little table, the bowing of the servers before it, the mellow grace ringing out in itsmonotone that broke into minor thirds and octaves of melody, like agrave line of woodwork on the panelling bursting into a stiff leaf ortwo at its ends. There was a strange and wonderful romance it about onearly autumn evenings as the light died out behind the stained windowsand the reader's face glowed homely and strong between his two candleson the pulpit. And surely these tales of saints, the extract from theRule, these portions of Scripture sung with long pauses and on amonotone for fear that the reader's personality should obscure themessage of what he read--surely this was a better accompaniment to thetaking of food, in itself so gross a thing, than the feverish chatter ofa secular hall and the bustling and officiousness of paid servants. 

After a general washing of hands the monks dispersed to their work, andthe novices to bowls or other games; the Prior first distributing thegarden instruments, and then beginning the labour with a commendation ofit to God; and after finishing the manual work and a short time ofstudy, they re-assembled in the cloister to go to Vespers. This, likethe high mass, was performed with the ceremonial proper to the day, andwas followed by supper, at which the same kind of ceremonies wereobserved as at dinner. When this was over, after a further shortinterval the evening reading or Collation took place in thechapter-house, after which the monks were at liberty to go and warmthemselves at the one great fire kept up for the purpose in thecalefactory; and then compline was sung, followed by Our Lady's Anthem. 

This for Chris was one of the climaxes of the day's emotions. He wasalways tired out by now with the day's work, and longing for bed, andthis approach to the great Mother of Monks soothed and quieted him. Itwas sung in almost complete darkness, except for a light or two in thelong nave where a dark figure or two would be kneeling, and the pleasantfamiliar melody, accompanied softly by the organ overhead after the baresinging of Compline, seemed like a kind of good-night kiss. Theinfinite pathos of the words never failed to touch him, the cry of thebanished children of Eve, weeping and mourning in this vale of tears toMary whose obedience had restored what Eve's self-will had ruined, andthe last threefold sob of endearment to the "kindly, loving, sweet, Virgin Mary. " After the high agonisings and aspirations of the day'sprayer, the awfulness of the holy Sacrifice, the tramping monotony ofthe Psalter, the sting of the discipline, the aches and sweats of themanual labour, the intent strain of the illuminating, this song to Marywas a running into Mother's arms and finding compensation there for alltoils and burdens. 

Finally in complete silence the monks passed along the dark cloister, sprinkled with holy water as they left the church, up to the dormitorywhich ran over the whole length of the chapter house, the bridges andother offices, to sleep till midnight. 

 * * * * *

The effect of this life, unbroken by external distractions, was to makeChris's soul alert and perceptive to the inner world, and careless oreven contemptuous of the ordinary world of men. This spiritual realmbegan for the first time to disclose its details to him, and to showitself to some extent a replica of nature. It too had its varyingclimate, its long summer of warmth and light, its winter of darkdiscontent, its strange and bewildering sunrises of Christ upon thesoul, when He rose and went about His garden with perfume and music, orstayed and greeted His creature with the message of His eyes. Chrisbegan to learn that these spiritual changes were in a sense independentof him, that they were not in his soul, but rather that his soul was inthem. He could be happy and content when the winds of God were cold andHis light darkened, or sad and comfortless when the flowers of gracewere apparent and the river of life bright and shining. 

And meanwhile the ordinary world went on, but far away and dimly heardand seen; as when one looks down from a castle-garden on to hummingstreets five hundred feet below; and the old life at Overfield, andRalph's doings in London seemed unreal and fantastic activities, purposeless and empty. 

Little by little, however, as the point of view shifted, Chris began tofind that the external world could not be banished, and that theannoyances from the clash of characters discordant with his own were aspositive as those which had distressed him before. Dom Anselm Bowden'sway of walking and the patch of grease at the shoulder of his cowl, never removed, and visible as he went before him into the church was asdistractingly irritating as Ralph's contempt; the buzz in the voice of acantor who seemed always to sing on great days was as distressing as hisown dog's perversity at Overfield, or the snapping of a bow-string. 

When _accidie_ fell upon Chris it seemed as if this particular house wasentirely ruined by such incidents; the Prior was finickin, thejunior-master tyrannical, the paints for illumination inferior inquality, the straw of his bed peculiarly sharp, the chapter-houseunnecessarily draughty. And until he learnt from his confessor that thisspiritual ailment was a perfectly familiar one, and that its symptomsand effects had been diagnosed centuries before, and had taken him athis word and practised the remedies he enjoined, Chris sufferedconsiderably from discontent and despair alternately. At times otherswere intolerable, at times he was intolerable to himself, reproachinghimself for having attempted so high a life, criticising his fellowsfor so lowering it to a poor standard. 

 * * * * *

The first time that he was accused in chapter of a fault against theRule was a very great and shocking humiliation. 

He had accused himself as usual on his knees of his own remissions, ofmaking an unnecessarily loud noise in drinking, of intoning a wrongantiphon as cantor, of spilling crumbs in the refectory; and then leanedback on his heels well content with the insignificance of his list, tolisten with a discreet complacency to old Dom Adrian, who had overslepthimself once, spilled his beer twice, criticised his superior, andtalked aloud to himself four times during the Greater Silence, and whonow mumbled out his crimes hastily and unconcernedly. 

When the self-accusations were done, the others began, and to his horrorChris heard his own name spoken. 

"I accuse Dom Christopher Torridon of not keeping the guard of the eyesat Terce this morning. "

It was perfectly true; Chris had been so much absorbed in noticing aneffect of shade thrown by a corbel, and in plans for incorporating itinto his illumination that he had let a verse pass as far as the starthat marked the pause. He felt his heart leap with resentment. Then aflash of retort came to him, and he waited his turn. 

"I accuse Dom Bernard Parr of not keeping the guard of the eyes at Tercethis morning. He was observing me. "

Just the faintest ripple passed round the line; and then the Prior spokewith a tinge of sharpness, inflicting the penances, and giving Chris aheavy sentence of twenty strokes with the discipline. 

When Chris's turn came he threw back his habit petulantly, andadministered his own punishment as the custom was, with angry fervour. 

As he was going out the Prior made him a sign, and took him through intohis own cell. 

"Counter-accusations are contrary to the Rule, " he said. "It must nothappen again, " and dismissed him sternly. 

And then Chris for a couple of days had a fierce struggle againstuncharitableness, asking himself whether he had not eyed Dom Bernardwith resentment, and then eyeing him again. It seemed too as if a fiendsuggested bitter sentences of reproach, that he rehearsed to himself, and then repented. But on the third morning there came one of thosestrange breezes of grace that he was beginning to experience more andmore frequently, and his sore soul grew warm and peaceful again. 

 * * * * *

It was in those kinds of temptation now that he found his warfare tolie; internal assaults so fierce that it was terribly difficult to knowwhether he had yielded or not, sudden images of pride and anger and lustthat presented themselves so vividly and attractively that it seemed hemust have willed them; it was not often that he was tempted to sin inword or deed--such, when they came, rushed on him suddenly; but in therealm of thought and imagination and motive he would often find himself, as it were, entering a swarm of such things, that hovered round him, impeding his prayer, blinding his insight, and seeking to sting the veryheart of his spiritual life. Then once more he would fight himself freeby despising and rejecting them, or would emerge without conscious willof his own into clearness and serenity. 

But as he looked back he regretted nothing. It was true that thewarfare was more subtle and internal, but it was more honourable too;for to conquer a motive or tame an imagination was at once more arduousand more far-reaching in its effects than a victory in merely outwardmatters, and he seldom failed to thank God half-a-dozen times a day forhaving given him the vocation of a monk. 

There was one danger, however, that he did not realise, and hisconfessor failed to point it out to him; and that was the danger of thewrong kind of detachment. As has been already seen the theory of theReligious Life was that men sought it not merely for the salvation oftheir own souls, but for that of the world. A monastery was a placewhere in a special sense the spiritual commerce of the world was carriedon: as a workman's shed is the place deputed and used by the world forthe manufacture of certain articles. It was the manufactory of gracewhere skilled persons were at work, busy at a task of prayer andsacrament which was to be at other men's service. If the father of afamily had a piece of spiritual work to be done, he went to themonastery and arranged for it, and paid a fee for the sustenance ofthose he employed, as he might go to a merchant's to order a cargo andsettle for its delivery. 

Since this was so then, it was necessary that the spiritual workmenshould be in a certain touch with those for whom they worked. It wastrue that they must be out of the world, undominated by its principlesand out of love with its spirit; but in another sense they must live inits heart. To use another analogy they were as windmills, lifted up fromthe earth into the high airs of grace, but their base must be on theground or their labour would be ill-spent. They must be mystically onewith the world that they had resigned. 

Chris forgot this; and laboured, and to a large extent succeeded, indetaching himself wholly; and symptoms of this mistake showed themselvesin such things as tending to despise secular life, feeling impatientwith the poor to whom he had to minister, in sneering in his heart atleast at anxious fussy men who came to arrange for masses, attroublesome women who haunted the sacristy door in a passion ofelaborateness, and at comfortable families who stamped into high massand filled a seat and a half, but who had yet their spiritual burdensand their claims to honour. 

But he was to be brought rudely down to facts again. He was beginning toforget that England was about him and stirring in her agony; and he wasreminded of it with some force in the winter after his profession. 

 * * * * *

He was going out to the gate-house one day on an errand from thejunior-master when he became aware of an unusual stir in the court. There were a couple of palfreys there, and half-a-dozen mules behind, whilst three or four strange monks with a servant or two stood at theirbridles. 

Chris stopped to consider, for he had no business with guests; and as hehesitated the door of the guest-house opened, and two prelates came outwith Dom Anthony behind them--tall, stately men in monks' habits withfurred cloaks and crosses. Chris slipped back at once into the cloisterfrom which he had just come out, and watched them go past to the Prior'slodging. 

They appeared at Vespers that afternoon again, sitting in the firstreturned stalls near the Prior, and Chris recognised one of them as thegreat Abbot of Colchester. He looked at him now and again during Vesperswith a reverential awe, for the Abbot was a great man, a spiritual peerof immense influence and reputation, and watched that fatherly face, his dignified bows and stately movements, and the great sapphire thatshone on his hand as he turned the leaves of his illuminated book. 

The two prelates were at supper, sitting on either side of the Prior onthe dais; and afterwards the monks were called earlier than usual fromrecreation into the chapter-house. 

The Prior made them a little speech saying that the Abbot had somethingto say to them, and then sat down; his troubled eyes ran over the facesof his subjects, and his fingers twitched and fidgetted on his knees. 

The Abbot did not make them a long discourse; but told them briefly thatthere was trouble coming; he spoke in veiled terms of the Act ofSupremacy, and the serious prayer that was needed; he said that a timeof testing was close at hand, and that every man must scrutinise his ownconscience and examine his motives; and that the unlearned had betterfollow the advice and example of their superiors. 

It was all very vague and unsatisfactory; but Chris became aware ofthree things. First, that the world was very much alive and could not bedismissed by a pious aspiration or two; second, that the world was aboutto make some demand that would have to be seriously dealt with, andthird, that there was nothing really to fear so long as their souls wereclean and courageous. The Abbot was a melting speaker, full at once of afatherly tenderness and vehemence, and as Chris looked at him he feltthat indeed there was nothing to fear so long as monks had suchrepresentatives and protectors as these, and that the world had betterlook to itself for fear it should dash itself to ruin against such rocksof faith and holiness. 

But as the spring drew on, an air of suspense and anxiety made itselfevident in the house. News came down that More and Fisher were still inprison, that the oath was being administered right and left, that theKing had thrown aside all restraints, and that the civil breach withRome seemed in no prospect of healing. As for the spiritual breach themonks did not seriously consider it yet; they regarded themselves asstill in union with the Holy See whatever their rulers might say or do, and only prayed for the time when things might be as before and thereshould be no longer any doubt or hesitation in the minds of weakbrethren. 

But the Prior's face grew more white and troubled, and his temperuncertain. 

Now and again he would make them speeches assuring them fiercely thatall was well, and that all they had to do was to be quiet and obedient;and now he would give way to a kind of angry despair, tell them that allwas lost, that every man would have to save himself; and then for daysafter such an exhibition he would be silent and morose, rapping hisfingers softly as he sat at his little raised table in the refectory, walking with downcast eyes up and down the cloister muttering andstaring. 

Towards the end of April he sent abruptly for Chris, told him that hehad news from London that made his presence there necessary, and orderedhim to be ready to ride with him in a week or two. 

CHAPTER X

THE ARENA

It was in the evening of a warm May day that the Prior and Chris arrivedat the hostelry in Southwark, which belonged to Lewes Priory. 

It was on the south side of Kater Lane, opposite St. Olave's church, agreat house built of stone with arched gates, with a large porch openingstraight into the hall, which was high and vaulted with a frieze ofgrotesque animals and foliage running round it. There were a fewservants there, and one or two friends of the Prior waiting at the porchas they arrived; and one of them, a monk himself from the cell atFarley, stepped up to the Prior's stirrup and whispered to him. 

Chris heard an exclamation and a sharp indrawing of breath, but was toowell trained to ask; so he too dismounted and followed the others intothe hall, leaving his beast in the hands of a servant. 

The Prior was already standing by the monk at the upper end, questioninghim closely, and glancing nervously this way and that. 

"To-day?" he asked sharply, and looked at the other horrified. 

The monk nodded, pale-faced and anxious, his lower lip sucked in. 

The Prior turned to Chris. 

"They have suffered to-day, " he said. 

News had reached Lewes nearly a week before that the Carthusians hadbeen condemned, for refusing to acknowledge the King as head of theEnglish Church, but it had been scarcely possible to believe that thesentence would be carried out, and Chris felt the blood beat in histemples and his lips turn suddenly dry as he heard the news. 

"I was there, my Lord Prior, " said the monk. 

He was a middle-aged man, genial and plump, but his face was white andanxious now, and his mouth worked. "They were hanged in their habits, "he went on. "Prior Houghton was the first despatched;" and he added aterrible detail or two. 

"Will you see the place, my Lord Prior?" he said, "You can ride there. Your palfrey is still at the door. "

Prior Robert Crowham looked at him a moment with pursed lips; and thenshook his head violently. 

"No, no, " he said. "I--I must see to the house. " The monk looked atChris. 

"May I go, my Lord Prior?" he asked. 

The Prior stared at him a moment, in a desperate effort to fix hisattention; then nodded sharply and wheeled round to the door that led tothe upper rooms. 

"Mother of God!" he said. "Mother of God!" and went out. 

Chris went through with the strange priest, down the hall and out intothe porch again. The others were standing there, fearful and whispering, and opened out to let the two monks pass through. 

Chris had been tired and hot when he arrived, but he was conscious nowof no sensation but of an overmastering desire to see the place; hepassed straight by his horse that still stood with a servant at hishead, and turned up instinctively toward the river. 

The monk called after him. 

"There, there, " he cried, "not so fast--we have plenty of time. "

They took a wherry at the stairs and pushed out with the stream. Thewaterman was a merry-looking man who spoke no word but whistled tohimself cheerfully as he laid himself to the oars, and the boat began tomove slantingly across the flowing tide. He looked at the monks now andagain; but Chris was seated, staring out with eyes that saw nothing downthe broad stream away to where the cathedral rose gigantic and gracefulon the other side. It was the first time he had been in London since acouple of years before his profession, but the splendour and strength ofthe city was nothing to him now. It only had one significance to hismind, and that that it had been this day the scene of a martyrdom. Hismind that had so long lived in the inner world, moving amongsupernatural things, was struggling desperately to adjust itself. 

Once or twice his lips moved, and his hands clenched themselves underhis scapular; but he saw and heard nothing; and did not even turn hishead when a barge swept past them, and a richly dressed man leaned fromthe stem and shouted something mockingly. The other monk lookednervously and deprecatingly up, for he heard the taunting threat acrossthe water that the Carthusians were a good riddance, and that therewould be more to follow. 

They landed at the Blackfriars stairs, paid the man, who was stillwhistling as he took the money, and passed up by the little stream thatflowed into the river, striking off to the left presently, and leavingthe city behind them. They were soon out again on the long straight roadthat led to Tyburn, for Chris walked desperately fast, paying littleheed to his companion except at the corners when he had to wait to knowthe way; and presently Tyburn-gate began to raise its head high againstthe sky. 

Once the strange monk, whose name Chris had not even troubled to ask, plucked him by his hanging sleeve. 

"The hurdles came along here, " he said; and Chris looked at him vacantlyas if he did not understand. 

Then they were under Tyburn-gate, and the clump of elms stood beforethem. 

 * * * * *

It was a wide open space, dusty now and trampled. 

What grass there had been in patches by the two little streams thatflowed together here, was crushed and flat under foot. The elms castlong shadows from the west, and birds were chirping in the branches;there was a group or two of people here and there looking curiouslyabout them. A man's voice came across the open space, explaining; andhis arm rose and wheeled and pointed and paused--three or four childrenhung together, frightened and interested. 

But Chris saw little of all this. He had no eyes for the passingdetails; they were fixed on the low mound that rose fifty yards away, and the three tall posts, placed in a triangle and united bycross-beams, that stood on it, gaunt against the sky. 

As he came nearer to it, walking as one in a dream across the dustyground and trampled grass, and paying no heed to the priest behind himwho whispered with an angry nervousness, he was aware of the ends ofthree or four ropes that hung motionless from the beams in the stillevening air; and with his eyes fixed on these in exaltation and terrorhe stumbled up the sloping ground and came beneath them. 

There was a great peace round him as he stood there, stroking one ofthe uprights with a kind of mechanical tenderness; the men were silentas they saw the two monks there, and watched to see what they would do. 

The towers of Tyburn-gate rose a hundred yards away, empty now, butcrowded this morning; and behind them the long road with the fields andgreat mansions on this side and that, leading down to the city in frontand Westminster on the right, those two dens of the tiger that hadsnarled so fiercely a few hours before, as she licked her lips red withmartyrs' blood. It was indescribably peaceful now; there was no soundbut the birds overhead, and the soft breeze in the young leaves, and thetrickle of the streams defiled to-day, but running clean and guiltlessnow; and the level sunlight lay across the wide flat ground and threwthe shadow of the mound and gallows nearly to the foot of the gate. 

But to Chris the place was alive with phantoms; the empty space hadvanished, and a sea of faces seemed turned up to him; he fancied thatthere were figures about him, watching him too, brushing his sleeve, faces looking into his eyes, waiting for some action or word from him. For a moment his sense of identity was lost; the violence of theassociations, and perhaps even the power of the emotions that had beenwrought there that day, crushed out his personality; it was surely hewho was here to suffer; all else was a dream and an illusion. From hisvery effort of living in eternity, a habit had been formed that nowasserted itself; the laws of time and space and circumstance for themoment ceased to exist; and he found himself for an eternal instantfacing his own agony and death. 

 * * * * *

Then with a rush facts re-asserted themselves, and he started andlooked round as the monk touched him on the arm. 

"You have seen it, " he said in a sharp undertone, "it is enough. Weshall be attacked. " Chris paid him no heed beyond a look, and turnedonce more. 

It was here that they had suffered, these gallant knights of God; theyhad stood below these beams, their feet on the cart that was theirchariot of glory, their necks in the rope that would be their heavenlybadge; they had looked out where he was looking as they made theirlittle speeches, over the faces to Tyburn-gate, with the same sun thatwas now behind him, shining into their eyes. 

He still stroked the rough beam; and as the details came home, and heremembered that it was this that had borne their weight, he leaned andkissed it; and a flood of tears blinded him. 

Again the priest pulled his sleeve sharply. 

"For God's sake, brother!" he said. 

Chris turned to him. 

"The cauldron, " he said; "where was that?"

The priest made an impatient movement, but pointed to one side, awayfrom where the men were standing still watching them; and Chris sawbelow, by the side of one of the streams a great blackened patch ofground, and a heap of ashes. 

The two went down there, for the other monk was thankful to get to anyless conspicuous place; and Chris presently found himself standing onthe edge of the black patch, with the trampled mud and grass beyond itbeside the stream. The grey wood ashes had drifted by now far across theground, but the heavy logs still lay there, charred and smoked, that hadblazed beneath the cauldron where the limbs of the monks had beenseethed; and he stared down at them, numbed and fascinated by thehorror of the thought. His mind, now in a violent reaction, seemedunable to cope with its own knowledge, crushed beneath its weight; andhis friend heard him repeating with a low monotonous insistence--

"Here it was, " he said, "here; here was the cauldron; it was here. "

Then he turned and looked into his friend's eyes. 

"It was here, " he said; "are you sure it was here?"

The other made an impatient sound. 

"Where else?" he said sharply. "Come, brother, you have seen enough. "

 * * * * *

He told him more details as they walked home; as to what each had said, and how each had borne himself. Father Reynolds, the Syon monk, hadlooked gaily about him, it seemed, as he walked up from the hurdle; thesecular priest had turned pale and shut his eyes more than once; thethree Carthusian priors had been unmoved throughout, showing neithercarelessness nor fear; Prior Houghton's arm had been taken off to theLondon Charterhouse as a terror to the others; their heads, he hadheard, were on London Bridge. 

Chris walked slowly as he listened, holding tight under his scapular thescrap of rough white cloth he had picked up near the cauldron, drinkingin every detail, and painting it into the mental picture that wasforming in his mind; but there was much more in the picture than theother guessed. 

The priest was a plain man, with a talent for the practical, and knewnothing of the vision that the young monk beside him was seeing--of theair about the gallows crowded with the angels of the Agony and Passion, waiting to bear off the straggling souls in their tender experiencedhands; of the celestial faces looking down, the scarred and gloriousarms stretched out in welcome; of Mary with her mother's eyes, and hervirgins about her--all ring above ring in deepening splendour up to thewhite blinding light above, where the Everlasting Trinity lay poised inlove and glory to receive and crown the stalwart soldiers of God. 

CHAPTER XI

A CLOSING-IN

Ralph kept his resolution to pretend to try and save Sir Thomas More, and salved his own conscience by protesting to Beatrice that his effortswere bound to fail, and that he had no influence such as she imagined. He did certainly more than once remark to Cromwell that Sir Thomas was apleasant and learned man, and had treated him kindly, and once had goneso far as to say that he did not see that any good would be served byhis death; but he had been sharply rebuked, and told to mind his ownbusiness; then, softening, Cromwell had explained that there was noquestion of death for the present; but that More's persistent refusal toyield to the pressure of events was a standing peril to the King'spolicy. 

This policy had now shaped itself more clearly. In the autumn of '34 thebill for the King's supremacy over the Church of England began to takeform; and Ralph had several sights of the documents as all business ofthis kind now flowed through Cromwell's hands, and he was filled withadmiration and at the same time with perplexity at the adroitness of thewording. It was very short, and affected to assume rather than to enactits object. 

"Albeit the King's Majesty justly and rightfully is and ought to be, " itbegan, "the supreme head of the Church of England, and so is recognisedby the clergy of this realm in their Convocations, yet, nevertheless, for corroboration and confirmation thereof . .. And to repress and extirpall errors, heresies and other enormities . .. Be it enacted by authorityof this present Parliament that the King our sovereign lord . .. Shall betaken, accepted, and reputed the only supreme head in earth of theChurch of England, called _Anglicans Ecclesia_. " The bill then proceededto confer on him a plenitude of authority over both temporal andspiritual causes. 

There was here considerable skill in the manner of its drawing up, whichit owed chiefly to Cromwell; for it professed only to re-state a matterthat had slipped out of notice, and appealed to the authority ofConvocation which had, truly, under Warham allowed a resolution to thesame effect, though qualified by the clause, "as far as God's lawpermits, " to pass in silence. 

Ralph was puzzled by it: he was led to believe that it could contain novery radical change from the old belief, since the clergy had in a sensealready submitted to it; and, on the other hand, the word "the onlysupreme head in earth" seemed not only to assert the Crown's civilauthority over the temporalities of the Church, but to excludedefinitely all jurisdiction on the part of the Pope. 

"It is the assertion of a principle, " Cromwell said to him when he askedone day for an explanation; "a principle that has always been held inEngland; it is not intended to be precise or detailed: that will followlater. "

Ralph was no theologian, and did not greatly care what the bill did ordid not involve. He was, too, in that temper of inchoate agnosticismthat was sweeping England at the time, and any scruples that he had inhis more superstitious moments were lulled by the knowledge that theclergy had acquiesced. What appeared more important to him than anyhair-splittings on the exact provinces of the various authorities inquestion, was the necessity of some step towards the crippling of thespiritual empire whose hands were so heavy, and whose demands soimperious. He felt, as an Englishman, resentful of the leading stringsin which, so it seemed to him, Rome wished to fetter his country. 

The bill passed through parliament on November the eighteenth. 

 * * * * *

Ralph lost no opportunity of impressing upon Beatrice how much he hadrisked for the sake of her friend in the Tower, and drew very movingsketches of his own peril. 

The two were sitting together in the hall at Chelsea one winters eveningsoon after Christmas. The high panelling was relieved by lines ofgreenery, with red berries here and there; a bunch of mistletoe leanedforward over the sloping mantelpiece, and there was an acrid smell ofholly and laurel in the air. It was a little piteous, Ralph thought, under the circumstances. 

Another stage had been passed in More's journey towards death, in theprevious month, when he had been attainted of misprision of treason byan act designed to make good the illegality of his former conviction, and the end was beginning to loom clear. 

"I said it would be no use, Mistress Beatrice, and it is none--MasterCromwell will not hear a word. "

Beatrice looked up at Ralph, and down again, as her manner was. Herhands were lying on her lap perfectly still as she sat upright in hertall chair. 

"You have done what you could, I know, " she said, softly. 

"Master Cromwell did not take it very well, " went on Ralph with anappearance of resolute composure, "but that was to be expected. "

Again she looked up, and Ralph once more was seized with the desire toprecipitate matters and tell her what was in his heart, but he repressedit, knowing it was useless to speak yet. 

It was a very stately and slow wooing, like the movement of a minuet;each postured to each, not from any insincerity, except perhaps a littlenow and then on Ralph's side, but because for both it was a natural modeof self-expression. It was an age of dignity abruptly broken here andthere by violence. There were slow and gorgeous pageants followed bybrutal and bestial scenes, like the life of a peacock who pacescomposedly in the sun and then scuttles and screams in the evening. Butwith these two at present there was no occasion for abruptness, andRalph, at any rate, contemplated with complacency his own graciousnessand grandeur, and the skilfully posed tableaux in which he took such asedate part. 

As the spring drew on and the crocuses began to star the grass along theriver and the sun to wheel wider and wider, the chill and the darknessbegan to fall more heavily on the household at Chelsea. They weregrowing very poor by now; most of Sir Thomas's possessions elsewhere hadbeen confiscated by the King, though by his clemency Chelsea was stillleft to Mrs. Alice for the present; and one by one the precious thingsbegan to disappear from the house as they were sold to obtainnecessaries. All the private fortune of Mrs. More had gone by the end ofthe winter, and her son still owed great sums to the Government onbehalf of his father. 

At the beginning of May she told Ralph that she was making anotherappeal to Cromwell for help, and begged him to forward her petition. 

"My silks are all gone, " she said, "and the little gold chain and crossthat you may remember, Mr. Torridon, went last month, too--I cannot tellwhat we shall do. Mr. More is so obstinate"--and her eyes filled withtears--"and we have to pay fifteen shillings every week for him and Johna' Wood. "

She looked so helpless and feeble as she sat in the window seat, stripped now of its tapestry cushions, with the roofs of the NewBuilding rising among its trees at the back, where her husband hadwalked a year ago with such delight, that Ralph felt a touch ofcompunction, and promised to do his best. 

He said a word to Cromwell that evening as he supped with him atHackney, and his master looked at him curiously, sitting forward in thecarved chair he had had from Wolsey, in his satin gown, twisting thestem of his German glass in his ringed fingers. 

"And what do you wish me to do, sir?" he asked Ralph with a kind ofpungent irony. 

Ralph explained that he scarcely knew himself; perhaps a word to hisGrace--

"I will tell you what it is, Mr. Torridon, " broke in his master, "youhave made another mistake. I did not intend you to be their friend, butto seem so. "

"I can scarcely seem so, " said Ralph quietly, but with a certainindignation at his heart, "unless I do them little favours sometimes. "

"You need not seem so any longer, " said Cromwell drily, "the time ispast. "

And he set his glass down and sat back. 

Yet Ralph's respect and admiration for his master became no less. He hadthe attractiveness of extreme and unscrupulous capability. It gave Ralphthe same joy to watch him as he found in looking on at an expert fencer;he was so adroit and strong and ready; mighty and patient in defence, watchful for opportunities of attack and merciless when they came. Hisadmirers scarcely gave a thought to the piteousness of the adversary;they were absorbed in the scheme and proud to be included in it; and menof heart and sensibility were as hard as their master when they carriedout his plans. 

 * * * * *

The fate of the Carthusians would have touched Ralph if he had been amere onlooker, as it touched so many others, but he had to play his partin the tragedy, and was astonished at the quick perceptions of Cromwelland his determined brutality towards these peaceful contemplatives whomhe recognised as a danger-centre against the King's policy. 

He was present first in Cromwell's house when the three Carthusianpriors of Beauvale, Axholme and London called upon him of their ownaccord to put their questions on the meaning of the King's supremacy:but their first question, as to how was it possible for a layman to holdthe keys of the kingdom of heaven was enough, and without any furtherevidence they were sent to the Tower. 

Then, again, he was present in the Court of the Rolls a few days laterwhen Dom Laurence, of Beauvale, and Dom Webster, of Axholme, wereexamined once more. There were seven or eight others present, laymen andecclesiastics, and the priors were once more sent back to the Tower. 

And so examination after examination went on, and no answer could be gotout of the monks, but that they could never reconcile it with theirconscience to accept the King to be what the Act of Supremacy declaredthat he was. 

Ralph's curiosity took him down to the Charterhouse one day shortlybefore the execution of the priors; he had with him an order fromCromwell that carried him everywhere he wished to go; but he did notpenetrate too deeply. He was astonished at the impression that the placemade on him. 

As he passed up the Great Cloister there was no sound but from a bird ortwo singing in the afternoon sunlight of the garth; each cell-door, withits hatch for the passage of food, was closed and silent; and Ralph felta curious quickening of his heart as he thought of the human life passedin the little houses, each with its tiny garden, its workshop, its tworooms, and its paved ambulatory, in which each solitary lived. Howstrangely apart this place was from the buzz of business from which hehad come! And yet he knew very well that the whole was as good ascondemned already. 

He wondered to himself how they had taken the news of the tragedy thatwas beginning--those white, demure men with shaved heads and faces, anddowncast eyes. He reflected what the effect of that news must be; as itpenetrated each day, like a stone dropped softly into a pool, leaving noripple. There, behind each brown door, he fancied to himself, a strangealchemy was proceeding, in which each new terror and threat from outsidewas received into the crucible of a beating heart and transmuted byprayer and welcome into some wonderful jewel of glory--at least so thesepoor men believed; and Ralph indignantly told himself it was nonsense;they were idlers and dreamers. He reminded himself of a sneer he hadheard against the barrels of Spanish wine that were taken in week byweek at the monastery door; if these men ate no flesh too, at least theyhad excellent omelettes. 

But as he passed at last through the lay-brothers' choir and stoodlooking through the gates of the Fathers' choir up to the rich altarwith its hangings and its posts on either side crowned with gildedangels bearing candles, to the splendid window overhead, against which, as in a glory, hung the motionless silk-draped pyx, the awe fell on himagain. 

This was the place where they met, these strange, silent men; everypanel and stone was saturated with the prayers of experts, offered threetimes a day--in the night-office of two or three hours when the worldwas asleep; at the chapter-mass; and at Vespers in the afternoon. 

His heart again stirred a little, superstitiously he angrily toldhimself, at the memory of the stories that were whispered about in town. 

Two years ago, men said, a comet had been seen shining over the house. As the monks went back from matins, each with his lantern in his hand, along the dark cloister, a ray had shot out from the comet, had glowedupon the church and bell-tower, and died again into darkness. Again, alittle later, two monks, one in his cell-garden and the other in thecemetery, had seen a blood-red globe, high and menacing, hanging in theair over the house. 

Lastly, at Pentecost, at the mass of the Holy Ghost, offered at the endof a triduum with the intention of winning grace to meet any sacrificethat might be demanded, not one nor two, but the whole community, including the lay-brothers outside the Fathers' Choir, had perceived asoft whisper of music of inexpressible sweetness that came and wentoverhead at the Elevation. The celebrant bowed forward in silence overthe altar, unable to continue the mass, the monks remained petrifiedwith joy and awe in their stalls. 

Ralph stared once more at the altar as he remembered this tale; at therow of stalls on either side, the dark roof overhead, the glowing glasson either side and in front--and asked himself whether it was true, whether God had spoken, whether a chink of the heavenly gate had beenopened here to let the music escape. 

It was not true, he told himself; it was the dream of a man mad withsleeplessness, foolish with fasting and discipline and vigils: one haddreamed it and babbled of it to the rest and none had liked to be lessspiritual or perceptive of divine manifestations. 

A brown figure was by the altar now to light the candles for Vespers; ataper was in his hand, and the spot of light at the end moved like astar against the gilding and carving. Ralph turned and went out. 

Then on the fourth of May he was present at the execution of the threepriors and the two other priests at Tyburn. There was an immense crowdthere, nearly the whole Court being present; and it was reported hereand there afterwards that the King himself was there in a group of fivehorsemen, who came in the accoutrements of Borderers, vizored and armed, and took up their position close to the scaffold. There fell a terriblesilence as the monks were dragged up on the hurdles, in their habits, all three together behind one horse. They were cut down almost at once, and the butchery was performed on them while they were still alive. 

Ralph went home in a glow of resolution against them. A tragedy such asthat which he had seen was of necessity a violent motive one way or theother, and it found him determined that the sufferers were in the wrong, and left him confirmed in his determination. Their very passivityenraged him. 

Meanwhile, he had of course heard nothing of his brother's presence inLondon, and it was with something of a shock that on the next afternoonhe heard the news from Mr. Morris that Mr. Christopher was below andwaiting for him in the parlour. 

As he went down he wondered what Chris was doing in London, and what hehimself could say to him. He was expecting Beatrice, too, to call uponhim presently with her maid to give him a message and a bundle ofletters which he had promised to convey to Sir Thomas More. But he wasdetermined to be kind to his brother. 

Chris was standing in his black monk's habit on the other side of thewalnut table, beside the fire-place, and made no movement as Ralph cameforward smiling and composed. His face was thinner than his brotherremembered it, clean-shaven now, with hollows in the checks, and hiseyes were strangely light. 

"Why, Chris!" said Ralph, and stopped, astonished at the other'smotionlessness. 

Then Chris came round the table with a couple of swift steps, his handsraised a little from the wide, drooping sleeves. 

"Ah! brother, " he said, "I have come to bring you away: this is a wickedplace. "

Ralph was so amazed that he fell back a step. 

"Are you mad?" he said coldly enough, but he felt a twitch ofsuperstitious fear at his heart. 

Chris seized the rich silk sleeve in both his hands, and Ralph felt themtrembling and nervous. 

"You must come away, " he said, "for Jesu's sake, brother! You must notlose your soul. "

Ralph felt the old contempt surge up and drown his fear. The familiarityof his brother's presence weighed down the religious suggestion of hishabit and office. This is what he had feared and almost expected;--thatthe cloister would make a fanatic of this fantastic brother of his. 

He glanced round at the door that he had left open, but the house wassilent. Then he turned again. 

"Sit down, Chris, " he said, with a strong effort at self-command, and hepulled his sleeve away, went back and shut the door, and then cameforward past where his brother was standing, to the chair that stoodwith its back to the window. 

"You must not be fond and wild, " he said decidedly. "Sit down, Chris. "

The monk came past him to the other side of the hearth, and faced himagain, but did not sit down. He remained standing by the fire-place, looking down at Ralph, who was in his chair with crossed legs. 

"What is this folly?" said Ralph again. 

Chris stared down at him a moment in silence. 

"Why, why--" he began, and ceased. 

Ralph felt himself the master of the situation, and determined to bepaternal. 

"My dear lad, " he said, "you have dreamed yourself mad at Lewes. Whendid you come to London?"

"Yesterday, " said Chris, still with that strange stare. 

"Why, then--" began Ralph. 

"Yes--you think I was too late, but I saw it, " said Chris; "I was therein the evening and saw it all again. "

All his nervous tension seemed relaxed by the warm common-senseatmosphere of this trim little room, and his brother's composure. Hislips were beginning to tremble, and he half turned and gripped themantel-shelf with his right hand. Ralph noticed with a kind ofcontemptuous pity how the heavy girded folds of the frock seemed tocontain nothing, and that the wrist from which the sleeve had fallenback was slender as a reed. Ralph felt himself so infinitely hisbrother's superior that he could afford to be generous and kindly. 

"Dear Chris, " he said, smiling, "you look starved and miserable. Shall Itell Morris to bring you something? I thought you monks fared betterthan that. "

In a moment Chris was on his knees on the rushes; his hands gripped hisbrother's arms, and his wild eyes were staring up with a fanatical fireof entreaty in them. His words broke out like a torrent. 

"Ralph, " he said, "dear brother! for Jesu's sake, come away! I haveheard everything. I know that these streets are red with blood, and thatyour hands have been dipped in it. You must not lose your soul. I knoweverything; you must come away. For Jesu's sake!"

Ralph tore himself free and stood up, pushing back his chair. 

"Godbody!" he said, "I have a fool for a brother. Stand up, sir. I willhave no mumming in my house. "

He rapped his foot fiercely on the floor, staring down at Chris who hadthrown himself back on his heels. 

"Stand up, sir, " he said again. 

"Will you hear me, brother?"

Ralph hesitated. 

"I will hear you if you will talk reason. I think you are mad. "

Chris got up again. He was trembling violently, and his hands twitchedand clenched by his sides. 

"Then you shall hear me, " he said, and his voice shook as he spoke. "Itis this--"

"You must sit down, " interrupted Ralph, and he pointed to the chairbehind. 

Chris went to it and sat down. Ralph took a step across to the door andopened it. 

"Morris, " he called, and came back to his chair. 

There was silence a moment or two, till the servant's step sounded inthe hall, and the door opened. Mr. Morris's discreet face lookedsteadily and composedly at his master. 

"Bring the pasty, " said Ralph, "and the wine. "

He gave the servant a sharp look, seemed to glance out across the hallfor a moment and back again. There was no answering look on Mr. Morris'sface, but he slipped out softly, leaving the door just ajar. 

Then Ralph turned to Chris again. 

Chris had had time to recover himself by now, and was sitting very paleand composed after his dramatic outburst, his hands hidden under hisscapular, and his fingers gripped together. 

"Now tell me, " said Ralph, with his former kindly contempt. He had begunto understand now what his brother had come about, and was determined tobe at once fatherly and decisive. This young fool must be taught hisplace. 

"It is this, " said Chris, still in a trembling voice, but it grewsteadier as he went on. "God's people are being persecuted--there is nolonger any doubt. They were saints who died yesterday, and MasterCromwell is behind it all; and--and you serve him. "

Ralph jerked his head to speak, but his brother went on. 

"I know you think me a fool, and I daresay you an right. But this Iknow, I would sooner be a fool than--than--"

--"than a knave" ended Ralph. "I thank you for your good opinion, mybrother. However, let that pass. You have come to teach me my business, then?"

"I have come to save your soul, " said Chris, grasping the arms of hischair, and eyeing him steadily. 

"You are very good to me, " said Ralph bitterly. "Now, I do not want anymore play-acting--" He broke off suddenly as the door opened. "And hereis the food. Chris, you are not yourself"--he gave a swift look at hisservant again--"and I suppose you have had no food to-day. "

Again he glanced out through the open door as Mr. Morris turned to go. 

Chris paid no sort of attention to the food. He seemed not to have seenthe servant's entrance and departure. 

"I tell you, " he said again steadily, with his wide bright eyes fixed onhis brother, "I tell you, you are persecuting God's people, and I amcome, not as your brother only, but as a monk, to warn you. "

Ralph waved his hand, smiling, towards the dish and the bottle. Itseemed to sting Chris with a kind of fury, for his eyes blazed and hismouth tightened as he stood up abruptly. 

"I tell you that if I were starving I would not break bread in thishouse: it is the house of God's enemy. "

He dashed out his left hand nervously, and struck the bottle spinningacross the table; it crashed over on to the floor, and the red winepoured on to the boards. 

"Why, there is blood before your eyes, " he screamed, mad with hunger andsleeplessness, and the horrors he had seen; "the ground cries out. "

Ralph had sprung up as the bottle fell, and stood trembling and glaringacross at the monk; the door opened softly, and Mr. Morris stood alertand discreet on the threshold, but neither saw him. 

"And if you were ten times my brother, " cried Chris, "I would not touchyour hand. "

There came a knocking at the door, and the servant disappeared. 

"Let him come, if it be the King himself, " shouted the monk, "and hearthe truth for once. "

The servant was pushed aside protesting, and Beatrice came straightforward into the room. 

CHAPTER XII

A RECOVERY

There was a moment of intense silence, only emphasized by the settlingrustle of the girl's dress. The door had closed softly, and Mr. Morrisstood within, in the shadow by the window, ready to give help if it wereneeded. Beatrice remained a yard inside the room, very upright anddignified, a little pale, looking from one to the other of the twobrothers, who stared back at her as at a ghost. 

Ralph spoke first, swallowing once or twice in his throat beforespeaking, and trying to smile. 

"It is you then, " he said. 

Beatrice moved a step nearer, looking at Chris, who stood white andtense, his eyes wide and burning. 

"Mr. Torridon, " said Beatrice softly, "I have brought the bundle. Mywoman has it. "

Still she looked, as she spoke, questioningly at Chris. 

"Oh! this is my brother, the monk, " snapped Ralph bitterly, glancing athim. "Indeed, he is. "

Then Chris lost his self-control again. 

"And this is my brother, the murderer; indeed, he is. "

Beatrice's lips parted, and her eyes winced. She put out her handhesitatingly towards Ralph, and dropped it again as he moved a littletowards her. 

"You hear him?" said Ralph. 

"I do not understand, " said the girl, "your brother--"

"Yes, I am his brother, God help me, " snarled Chris. 

Beatrice's lips closed again, and a look of contempt came into herface. 

"I have heard enough, Mr. Torridon. Will you come with me?"

Chris moved forward a step. 

"I do not know who you are, madam, " he said, "but do you understand whatthis gentleman is? Do you know that he is a creature of MasterCromwell's?"

"I know everything, " said Beatrice. 

"And you were at Tyburn, too?" questioned Chris bitterly, "perhaps withthis brother of mine?"

Beatrice faced him defiantly. 

"What have you to say against him, sir?"

Ralph made a movement to speak, but the girl checked him. 

"I wish to hear it. What have you to say?"

"He is a creature of Cromwell's who plotted the death of God's saints. This brother of mine was at the examinations, I hear, and at thescaffold. Is that enough?"

Chris had himself under control again by now, but his words seemed toburn with vitriol. His lips writhed as he spoke. 

"Well?" said Beatrice. 

"Well, if that is not enough; how of More and my Lord of Rochester?"

"He has been a good friend to Mr. More, " said Beatrice, "that I know. "

"He will get him the martyr's crown, surely, " sneered Chris. 

"And you have no more to say?" asked the girl quietly. 

A shudder ran over the monk's body; his mouth opened and closed, and thefire in his eyes flared up and died; his clenched hands rose and fell. Then he spoke quietly. 

"I have no more to say, madam. "

Beatrice moved across to Ralph, and put her hand on his arm, lookingsteadily at Chris. Ralph laid his other hand on hers a moment, thenraised it, and made an abrupt motion towards the door. 

Chris went round the table; Mr. Morris opened the door with an impassiveface, and followed him out, leaving Beatrice and Ralph alone. 

 * * * * *

Chris had come back the previous evening from Tyburn distracted almostto madness. He had sat heavily all the evening by himself, brooding andmiserable, and had not slept all night, but waking visions had movedcontinually before his eyes, as he turned to and fro on his narrow bedin the unfamiliar room. Again and again Tyburn was before him, peopledwith phantoms; he had seen the thick ropes, and heard their creaking, and the murmur of the multitude; had smelt the pungent wood-smoke andthe thick drifting vapour from the cauldron. Once it seemed to him thatthe very room was full of figures, white-clad and silent, who watchedhim with impassive pale faces, remote and unconcerned. He had flunghimself on his knees again and again, had lashed himself with thediscipline that he, too, might taste of pain; but all the serenity ofdivine things was gone. There was no heaven, no Saviour, no love. He wasbound down here, crushed and stifled in this apostate city whose soundsand cries came up into his cell. He had lost the fiery vision of theconqueror's welcome; it was like a tale heard long ago. Now he wasbeaten down by physical facts, by the gross details of the tragedy, thestrangling, the blood, the smoke, the acrid smell of the crowd, andheaven was darkened by the vapour. 

It was not until the next day, as he sat with the Prior and a strangeror two, and heard the tale once more, and the predictions about More andFisher, that the significance of Ralph's position appeared to himclearly. He knew no more than before, but he suddenly understood what heknew. 

A monk had said a word of Cromwell's share in the matters, and the Priorhad glanced moodily at Chris for a moment, turning his eyes only as hesat with his chin in his hand; and in a moment Chris understood. 

This was the work that his brother was doing. He sat now more distractedthan ever: mental pictures moved before him of strange council-roomswith great men in silk on raised seats, and Ralph was among them. Heseemed to hear his bitter questions that pierced to the root of thefaith of the accused, and exposed it to the world, of their adherence tothe Vicar of Christ, their uncompromising convictions. 

He had sat through dinner with burning eyes, but the Prior noticednothing, for he himself was in a passion of absorption, and gave Chris ahasty leave as he rose from table to go and see his brother if hewished. 

Chris had walked up and down his room that afternoon, framing sentencesof appeal and pity and terror, but it was useless: he could not fix hismind; and he had gone off at last to Westminster at once terrified forRalph's soul, and blazing with indignation against him. 

And now he was walking down to the river again, in the cool of theevening, knowing that he had ruined his own cause and his right to speakby his intemperate fury. 

 * * * * *

It was another strange evening that he passed in the Prior's chamberafter supper. The same monk, Dom Odo, who had taken him to Tyburn theday before, was there again; and Chris sat in a corner, with thereaction of his fury on him, spent and feverish, now rehearsing thescene he had gone through with Ralph, and framing new sentences that hemight have used, now listening to the talk, and vaguely gathering itsmeaning. 

It seemed that the tale of blood was only begun. 

Bedale, the Archdeacon of Cornwall, had gone that day to theCharterhouse; he had been seen driving there, and getting out at thedoor with a bundle of books under his arm, and he had passed in throughthe gate over which Prior Houghton's arm had been hung on the previousevening. It was expected that some more arrests would be madeimmediately. 

"As for my Lord of Rochester, " said the monk, who seemed to revel in thebusiness of bearing bad news, "and Master More, I make no doubt theywill be cast. They are utterly fixed in their opinions. I hear that mylord is very sick, and I pray that God may take him to Himself. He ismade Cardinal in Rome, I hear; but his Grace has sworn that he shallhave no head to wear the hat upon. "

Then he went off into talk upon the bishop, describing his sufferings inthe Tower, for he was over eighty years old, and had scarcely sufficientclothes to cover him. 

Now and again Chris looked across at his Superior. The Prior sat therein his great chair, his head on his hand, silent and absorbed; it wasonly when Dom Odo stopped for a moment that he glanced up impatientlyand nodded for him to go on. It seemed as if he could not hear enough, and yet Chris saw him wince, and heard him breathe sharply as each newdetail came out. 

The monk told them, too, of Prior Houghton's speech upon the cart. 

"They asked him whether even then he would submit to the King's laws, and he called God to witness that it was not for obstinacy or perversitythat he refused, but that the King and the Parliament had decreedotherwise than our Holy Mother enjoins; and that for himself he wouldsooner suffer every kind of pain than deny a doctrine of the Church. Andwhen he had prayed from the thirtieth Psalm, he was turned off. "

The Prior stared almost vacantly at the monk who told his story with akind of terrified gusto, and once or twice his lips moved to speak; buthe was silent, and dropped his chin upon his hand again when the otherhad done. 

 * * * * *

Chris scarcely knew how the days passed away that followed his arrivalin London. He spent them for the most part within doors, writing for thePrior in the mornings, or keeping watch over the door as his Superiortalked with prelates and churchmen within, for ecclesiastical London wasas busy as a broken ant-hill, and men came and went continually--scared, furtive monks, who looked this way and that, an abbot or two up for theHouse of Lords, priors and procurators on business. There were continualcommunications going to and fro among the religious houses, for theprince of them, the contemplative Carthusian, had been struck at, and noone knew where the assault would end. 

Meanwhile, Chris had heard no further news from Ralph. ` He thought ofwriting to him, and even of visiting him again, but his heart sickenedat the thought of it. It was impossible, he told himself, that anycommunication should pass between them until his brother had forsakenhis horrible business; the first sign of regret must come from the onewho had sinned. He wondered sometimes who the girl was, and, as ahot-headed monk, suspected the worst. A man who could live as Ralph wasliving could have no morals left. She had been so friendly with him, soready to defend him, so impatient, Chris thought, of any possibility ofwrong. No doubt she, too, was one of the corrupt band, one of the greatladies that buzzed round the Court, and sucked the blood of God'speople. 

His own interior life, however, so roughly broken by his newexperiences, began to mend slowly as the days went on. 

He had begun, like a cat in a new house, to make himself slowly at homein the hostel, and to set up that relation between outward objects andhis own self that is so necessary to interior souls not yet living indetachment. He arranged his little room next the Prior's to be as muchas possible like his cell, got rid of one or two pieces of furniturethat distracted him, set his bed in another corner, and hung up hisbeads in the same position that they used to occupy at Lewes. Eachmorning he served the Prior's mass in the tiny chapel attached to thehouse, and did his best both then and at his meditation to draw in thetorn fibres of his spirit. At moments of worship the supernatural worldbegan to appear again, like points of living rock emerging through sand, detached and half stifled by external details, but real and abiding. Little by little his serenity came back, and the old atmospherereasserted itself. After all, God was here as there; grace, penance, theguardianship of the angels and the sacrament of the altar was the sameat Southwark as at Lewes. These things remained; while all else wasaccidental--the different height of his room, the unfamiliar angles inthe passages, the new noises of London, the street cries, the clash ofmusic, the disordered routine of dally life. 

Half-way through June, after a long morning's conversation with astranger, the Prior sent for him. 

He was standing by the tall carved fire-place with his back to the door, his head and one hand leaning against the stone, and he turned rounddespondently as Chris came in. Chris could see he was deadly pale andthat his lips twitched with nervousness. 

"Brother, " he said, "I have a perilous matter to go through, and youmust come with me. "

Chris felt his heart begin to labour with heavy sick beats. 

"I am to see my Lord of Rochester. A friend hath obtained the order. Weare to go at five o'clock. See that you be ready. We shall take boat atthe stairs. "

Chris waited, with his eyes deferentially cast down. 

"He is to be tried again on Thursday, " went on the Prior, "and myfriends wish me to see him, God knows--"

He stopped abruptly, made a sign with his hand, and as Chris left theroom he saw that he was leaning once more against the stone-work, andthat his head was buried in his arms. 

Three more Carthusians had been condemned in the previous week, but theBishop's trial, though his name was in the first indictment, waspostponed a few days. 

He too, like Sir Thomas More, had been over a year in the Tower; he hadbeen deprived of his see by an Act of Parliament, his palace had beenbroken into and spoiled, and he himself, it was reported, was beingtreated with the greatest rigour in the Tower. 

Chris was overcome with excitement at the thought that he was to seethis man. He had heard of his learning, his holiness, and hisausterities on all hands since his coming to London. When the bishop hadleft Rochester at his summons to London a year before there had been awonderful scene of farewell, of which the story was still told in town. The streets had been thronged with a vast crowd weeping and praying, ashe rode among them bare-headed, giving his blessing as he went. He hadchecked his horse by the city-gate, and with a loud voice had biddenthem all stand by the old religion, and let no man take it from them. And now here he lay himself in prison for the Faith, a Cardinal of theHoly Roman Church, with scarcely clothes to cover him or food to eat. Atthe sacking of his palace, too, as the men ran from room to room tearingdown the tapestries, and piling the plate together, a monk had found agreat iron box hidden in a corner. They cried to one another that itheld gold "for the bloody Pope"; and burst it open to find a hair shirt, and a pair of disciplines. 

 * * * * *

It was a long row down to the Tower from Southwark against thein-flowing tide. As they passed beneath the bridge Chris stared up atthe crowding houses, the great gates at either end, and the facescraning down; and he caught one glimpse as they shot through the narrowpassage between the piers, of the tall wall above the gate, the polesrising from it, and the severed heads that crowned them. Somewhere amongthat forest of grim stems the Carthusian priors looked down. 

As he turned in his seat he saw the boatman grinning to himself, andfollowing his eyes observed the Prior beside him with a white fixed facelooking steadily downwards towards his feet. 

They found no difficulty when they landed at the stairs, and showed theorder at the gate. The warder called to a man within the guard-room whocame out and went before them along the walled way that led to theinner ward. They turned up to the left presently and found themselves inthe great court that surrounded the White Tower. 

The Prior walked heavily with his face downcast as if he wished to avoidnotice, and Chris saw that he paid no attention to the men-at-arms andother persons here and there who saluted his prelate's insignia. Therewere plenty of people going about in the evening sunshine, soldiers andattendants, and here and there at the foot of a tower stood a halberdierin his buff jacket leaning on his weapon. There were many distinguishedpersons in the Tower now, both ecclesiastics and laymen who had refusedto take one or both of the oaths, and Chris eyed the windowswonderingly, picturing to himself where each lay, and with what courage. 

But more and more as he went he wondered why the Prior and he were here, and who had obtained the order of admittance, for he had not had a sightof it. 

When they reached the foot of the prison-tower the warder said a word tothe sentry, and took the two monks straight past, preceding them up thenarrow stairs that wound into darkness. There were windows here andthere, slits in the heavy masonry, through which Chris caught glimpses, now of the moat on the west, now of the inner ward with the White Towerhuge and massive on the east. 

The Prior, who went behind the warder and in front of Chris, stoppedsuddenly, and Chris could hear him whispering to himself; and at thesame time there sounded the creaking of a key in front. 

As the young monk stood there waiting, grasping the stone-work on hisright, again the excitement surged up; and with it was mingled somethingof terror. It had been a formidable experience even to walk those fewhundred yards from the outer gate, and the obvious apprehensiveness ofthe Prior who had spoken no audible word since they had landed, was farfrom reassuring. 

Here he stood now for the first time in his life within those terriblewalls; he had seen the low Traitor's Gate on his way that was for somany the gate of death. Even now as he gripped the stone he could seeout to the left through the narrow slit a streak of open land beyond themoat and the wall, and somewhere there he knew lay the little risingground, that reddened week after week in an ooze of blood and slime. Andnow he was at the door of one who without doubt would die there soon forthe Faith that they both professed. 

The Prior turned sharply round. 

"You!" he said, "I had forgotten: you must wait here till I call youin. "

There was a sounding of an opening door above; the Prior went up andforward, leaving him standing there; the door closed, but not beforeChris had caught a glimpse of a vaulted roof; and then the warder stoodby him again, waiting with his keys in his hand. 

CHAPTER XIII

PRISONER AND PRINCE

The sun sank lower and had begun to throw long shadows before the dooropened again and the Prior beckoned. As Chris had stood there staringout of the window at the green water of the moat and the shadowed wallbeyond, with the warder standing a few steps below, now sighing at thedelay, now humming a line or two, he had heard voices now and again fromthe room above, but it had been no more than a murmur that died oncemore into silence. 

 * * * * *

Chris was aware of a dusty room as he stepped over the threshold, barewalls, one or two solid pieces of furniture, and of the Prior's figurevery upright in the light from the tiny window at one side; and then heforgot everything as he looked at the man that was standing smiling bythe table. 

It was a very tall slender figure, dressed in a ragged black gownturning green with age; a little bent now, but still dignified; the facewas incredibly lean, with great brown eyes surrounded by wrinkles, and alittle white hair, ragged, too, and long, hung down under the oldflapped cap. The hand that Chris kissed seemed a bundle of reeds boundwith parchment, and above the wrist bones the arm grew thinner stillunder the loose, torn sleeve. 

Then the monk stood up and saw those kindly proud eyes looking into hisown. 

The Prior made a deferential movement and said a word or two, and thebishop answered him. 

"Yes, yes, my Lord Prior; I understand--God bless you, my son. "

The bishop moved across to the chair, and sat down, panting a little, for he was torn by sickness and deprivation, and laid his long handstogether. 

"Sit down, brother, " he said, "and you too, my Lord Prior. "

Chris saw the Prior move across to an old broken stool, but he himselfremained standing, awed and almost terrified at that worn face in whichthe eyes alone seemed living; so thin that the cheekbones stood outhideously, and the line of the square jaw. But the voice was wonderfullysweet and penetrating. 

"My Lord Prior and I have been talking of the times, and what is best tobe done, and how we must all be faithful. You will be faithful, brother?"

Chris made an effort against the absorbing fascination of that face andvoice. 

"I will, my lord. "

"That is good; you must follow your prior and be obedient to him. Youwill find him wise and courageous. "

The bishop nodded gently towards the Prior, and Chris heard a sobbingindrawn breath from the corner where the broken stool stood. 

"It is a time of great moment, " went on the bishop; "much hangs on howwe carry ourselves. His Grace has evil counsellors about him. "

There was silence for a moment or two; Chris could not take his eyesfrom the bishop's face. The frightful framework of skin and bones seemedluminous from within, and there was an extraordinary sweetness on thosetightly drawn lips, and in the large bright eyes. 

"His Grace has been to the Tower lately, I hear, and once to theMarshalsea, to see Dom Sebastian Newdegate, who, as you know, was atCourt for many years till he entered the Charterhouse; but I have had novisit from him, nor yet, I should think, Master More--you must not judgehis Grace too hardly, my son; he was a good lad, as I knew very well--avery gallant and brave lad. A Frenchman said that he seemed to have comedown from heaven. And he has always had a great faith and devotion, anda very strange and delicate conscience that has cost him much pain. Buthe has been counselled evilly. "

Chris remembered as in a dream that the bishop had been the King's tutoryears before. 

"He is a good theologian too, " went on the bishop, "and that is hismisfortune now, though I never thought to say such a thing. Perhaps hewill become a better one still, if God has mercy on him, and he willcome back to his first faith. But we must be good Catholics ourselves, and be ready to die for our Religion, before we can teach him. "

Again, after another silence, he went on. 

"You are to be a priest, I hear, my son, and to take Christ's yoke moreclosely upon you. It is no easy one in these days, though love will makeit so, as Himself said. I suppose it will be soon now?"

"We are to get a dispensation, my lord, for the interstices, " said thePrior. 

Chris had heard that this would be done, before he left Lewes, and hewas astonished now, not at the news, but at the strange softness of thePrior's voice. 

"That is very well, " went on the bishop. "We want all the faithfulpriests possible. There is a great darkness in the land, and we needlights to lighten it. You have a brother in Master Cromwell's service, sir, I hear?"

Chris was silent. 

"You must not grieve too much. God Almighty can set all right. It may behe thinks he is serving Him. We are not here to judge, but to give ourown account. "

The bishop went on presently to ask a few questions and to talk ofMaster More, saying that he had managed to correspond with him for awhile, but that now all the means for doing so had been taken away fromthem both, as well as his own books. 

"It is a great grief to me that I cannot say my office, nor say nor hearmass: I must trust now to the Holy Sacrifice offered by others. "

He spoke so tenderly and tranquilly that Chris was hardly able to keepback his tears. It seemed that the soul still kept its serene poise inthat wasted body, and was independent of it. There was no weakness norpeevishness anywhere. The very room with its rough walls, its cobwebbedroof, its uneven flooring, its dreadful chill and gloom, seemed alivewith a warm, redolent, spiritual atmosphere generated by this keen, puresoul. Chris had never been near so real a sanctity before. 

"You have seen nothing of my Rochester folk, I suppose?" went on thebishop to the Prior. 

The Prior shook his head. 

"I am very downcast about them sometimes; I saw many of them at thecourt the other day. I forget that the Good Shepherd can guard His ownsheep. And they were so faithful to me that I know they will be faithfulto Him. "

 * * * * *

There came a sound of a key being knocked upon the door outside, and thebishop stood up, slowly and painfully. 

"That will be Mr. Giles, " he said, "hungry for supper. "

The two monks sank down on their knees, and as Chris closed his eyes heheard a soft murmur of blessing over his head. 

Then each kissed his hand and Chris went to the door, half blind withtears. 

He heard a whisper from the bishop to the Prior, who still lingered amoment, and a half sob--

"God helping me!"--said the Prior. 

There was no more spoken, and the two went down the stairs together intothe golden sunshine with the warder behind them. 

Chris dared not look at the other. He had had a glimpse of his face ashe stood aside on the stairs to let him pass, and what he saw there toldhim enough. 

 * * * * *

There were plenty of boats rocking on the tide at the foot of the riverstairs outside the Tower, and they stepped into one, telling the man torow to Southwark. 

It was a glorious summer evening now. The river lay bathed in the levelsunshine that turned it to molten gold, and it was covered with boatsplying in all directions. There were single wherries going to and fromthe stairs that led down on all sides into the water, and barges hereand there, of the great merchants or nobles going home to supper, with aline of oars on each side, and a glow of colour gilding in the stem andprow, were moving up stream towards the City. London Bridge stood outbefore them presently, like a palace in a fairy-tale, blue and romanticagainst the western glow, and above it and beyond rose up the tall spireof the Cathedral. On the other side a fringe of houses began a little tothe east of the bridge, and ran up to the spires of Southwark on theother side, and on them lay a glory of sunset with deep shadows barringthem where the alleys ran down to the water's edge. Here and therebehind rose up the heavy masses of the June foliage. A troop of swans, white patches on the splendour, were breasting up against theout-flowing tide. 

The air was full of sound; the rattle and dash of oars, men's voicescoming clear and minute across the water; and as they got out nearmid-stream the bell of St. Paul's boomed far from away, indescribablysolemn and melodious; another church took it up, and a chorus of mellowvoices tolled out the Angelus. 

Chris was half through saying it to himself, when across the soft murmursounded the clash of brass far away beyond the bridge. 

The boatman paused at his oars, turned round a moment, grasping them inone hand, and stared up-stream under the other. Chris could see amovement among the boats higher up, and there seemed to break out acommotion at the foot of the houses on London Bridge, and then far awaycame the sound of cheering. 

"What is it?" asked the Prior sharply, lifting his head, as the boatmangave an exclamation and laid furiously to his oars again. 

The man jerked his head backwards. 

"The King's Grace, " he said. 

 * * * * *

For a minute or two nothing more was to be seen. A boat or two near themwas seen making off to the side from mid-stream, to leave a clearpassage, and there were cries from the direction of the bridge wheresomeone seemed to be in difficulties with the strong stream and thepiers. A wherry that was directly between them and the bridge movedoff, and the shining water-way was left for the King's Grace to comedown. 

Then, again, the brass horns sounded nearer. 

Chris was conscious of an immense excitement. The dramatic contrast ofthe scene he had just left with that which he was witnessing overpoweredhim. He had seen one end of the chain of life, the dying bishop in theTower, in his rags; now he was to see the other end, the Sovereign atwhose will he was there, in all the magnificence of a pageant. The Priorwas sitting bolt upright on the seat beside him; one hand lay on hisknee, the knuckles white with clenching, the other gripped the side ofthe boat. 

Then, again, the fierce music sounded, and the first boat appeared underone of the wider spans of the bridge, a couple of hundred yards away. 

The stream was running out strongly by now, and the boatman tugged toget out of it into the quieter water at the side, and as he pulled anoar snapped. The Prior half started up as the man burst out into anexclamation, and began to paddle furiously with the other oar, but theboat revolved helplessly, and he was forced to change it to the oppositeside. 

Meanwhile the boats were beginning to stream under the bridge, andChris, seeing that the boat in which he sat was sufficiently out of theway to allow a clear passage in mid-stream even if not far enoughremoved for proper deference, gave himself up to watching the splendidsight. 

The sun had now dropped behind the high houses by the bridge, and ashadow lay across the water, but nearer at hand the way was clear, andin a moment more the leading boat had entered the sunlight. 

There was no possibility of mistake as to whether this were the royalbarge or no. It was a great craft, seventy feet from prow to stem atthe very least, and magnificent with colour. As it burst out into thesun, it blazed blindingly with gold; the prow shone with blue andcrimson; the stern, roofed in with a crimson canopy with flying tassels, trailed brilliant coarse tapestries on either side; and the RoyalStandard streamed out behind. 

Chris tried to count the oars, as they swept into the water with arhythmical throb and out again, flashing a fringe of drops and showing acoat painted on each blade. There seemed to be eight or ten a side. Acouple of trumpeters stood in the bows, behind the gilded carvedfigurehead, their trumpets held out symmetrically with the squarehangings flapping as they came. 

He could see now the heads of the watermen who rowed, with the caps ofthe royal livery moving together like clockwork at the swing of theoars. 

Behind followed the other boats, some half dozen in all; and as eachpair burst out into the level sunlight with a splendour of gold andcolour, and the roar from London Bridge swelled louder and louder, for amoment the young monk forgot the bitter underlying tragedy of all thathe had seen and knew--forgot oozy Tower-hill and trampled Tyburn and theloaded gallows--forgot even the grim heads that stared out with deadtortured eyes from the sheaves of pikes rising high above him at thismoment against the rosy sky--forgot the monks of the Charterhouse andtheir mourning hearts; the insulted queen, repudiated and declared aconcubine--forgot all that made life so hard to live and understand atthis time--as this splendid vision of the lust of the eyes broke out inpulsating sound and colour before him. 

But it was only for a moment. 

There was a group of half-a-dozen persons under the canopy of theseat-of-state of the leading boat; the splendid centre of the splendidshow, brilliant in crimson and gold and jewels. 

On the further side sat two men. Chris did not know their faces, but ashis eyes rested on them a moment he noticed that one was burly andclean-shaven, and wore some insignia across his shoulders. At the nearside were the backs of two ladies, silken clad and slashed with crimson, their white jewelled necks visible under their coiled hair and tightsquare cut caps. And in the centre sat a pair, a man and a woman; and onthese he fixed his eyes as the boat swept up not twenty yards away, forhe knew who they must be. 

The man was leaning back, looking gigantic in his puffed sleeves andwide mantle; one great arm was flung along the back of the tapestriedseat, and his large head, capped with purple and feathers, was bendingtowards the woman who sat beyond. Chris could make out a fringe ofreddish hair beneath his ear and at the back of the flat head betweenthe high collar and the cap. He caught a glimpse, too, of a sedate facebeyond, set on a slender neck, with downcast eyes and red lips. And thenas the boat came opposite, and the trumpeters sent out a brazen crashfrom the trumpets at their lips, the man turned his head and staredstraight at the boat. 

It was an immensely wide face, fringed with reddish hair, scanty aboutthe lips and more full below; and it looked the wider from the narrowdrooping eyes set near together and the small pursed mouth. Below, hischin swelled down fold after fold into his collar, and the cheeks werewide and heavy on either side. 

It was the most powerful face that Chris had ever seen or dreamedof--the animal brooded in every line and curve of it--it would havebeen brutish but for the steady pale stare of the eyes and the tightlittle lips. It fascinated and terrified him. 

The flourish ended, the roar of the rowlocks sounded out again like thebeating of a furious heart; the King turned his head again and saidsomething, and the boat swept past. 

Chris found that he had started to his feet, and sat down again, breathing quickly and heavily, with a kind of indignant loathing thatwas new to him. 

This then was the master of England, the heart of all theirtroubles--that gorgeous fat man with the broad pulpy face, in hiscrimson and jewels; and that was his concubine who sat demure besidehim, with her white folded ringed hands on her lap, her beautiful eyescast down, and her lord's hot breath in her ear! It was these that werepurifying the Church of God of such men as the Cardinal-bishop in theTower, and the witty holy lawyer! It was by the will of such as thesethat the heads of the Carthusian Fathers, bound brow and chin withlinen, stared up and down with dead eyes from the pikes overhead. 

He sat panting and unseeing as the other boats swept past, full of theKing's friends all going down to Greenwich. 

There broke out a roar from the Tower behind, and he started and turnedround to see the white smoke eddying up from the edge of the wall besidethe Traitor's gate; a shrill cheer or two, far away and thin, soundedfrom the figures on the wharf and the boatmen about the stairs. 

The wherryman sat down again and put on his cap. 

"Body of God!" he said, "there was but just time. "

And he began to pull again with his single oar towards the shore. 

Chris looked at the Prior a moment and down again. He was sitting withtight lips, and hands clasped in his lap, and his eyes were wild andpiteous. 

They borrowed an oar presently from another boat, and went on up towardsSouthwark. The wherryman pawed once to spit on his hands as they nearedthe rush of the current below the bridge. 

"That was Master Cromwell with His Grace, " he said. 

Chris looked at him questioningly. 

"Him with the gold collar, " he added, "and that was Audley by him. "

The Prior had glanced at Chris as Cromwell's name was mentioned; butsaid nothing for the present. And Chris himself was lost again inmusing. That was Ralph's master then, the King's right-hand man, fearednext in England after the King himself--and Chancellor Audley, too, andAnne, all in one wooden boat. How easy for God to put out His hand andfinish them! And then he was ashamed at his own thought, so faithlessand timid; and he remembered Fisher once more and his gallant spirit inthat broken body. 

A minute or two later they had landed at the stairs, and were makingtheir way up to the hostel. 

The Prior put out his hand and checked him as he stepped ahead to knock. 

"Wait, " he said. "Do you know who signed the order we used at theTower?"

Chris shook his head. 

"Master Cromwell, " said the Prior. "And do you know by whose hand itcame?"

Chris stared in astonishment. 

"It was by your brother, " he said. 

CHAPTER XIV

THE SACRED PURPLE

It was a bright morning a few days later when the Bishop of Rochestersuffered on Tower Hill. 

Chris was there early, and took up his position at the outskirts of thelittle crowd, facing towards the Tower itself; and for a couple of hourswatched the shadows creep round the piles of masonry, and the lightdeepen and mellow between him and the great mass of the White Tower afew hundred yards away. There was a large crowd there a good whilebefore nine o'clock, and Chris found himself at the hour no longer onthe outskirts but in the centre of the people. 

He had served the Prior's mass at six o'clock, and had obtained leavefrom him the night before to be present at the execution; but the Priorhimself had given no suggestion of coming. Chris had begun to see thathis superior was going through a conflict, and that he wished to sparehimself any further motives of terror; he began too to understand thatthe visit to the bishop had had the effect of strengthening the Prior'scourage, whatever had been the intention on the part of the authoritiesin allowing him to go. He was still wondering why Ralph had lent himselfto the scheme; but had not dared to press his superior further. 

 * * * * *

The bishop had made a magnificent speech at his trial, and hadprotested with an extraordinary pathos, that called out a demonstrationfrom the crowd in court, against Master Rich's betrayal of hisconfidence. Under promise of the King that nothing that he said to hisfriend should be used against him, the bishop had shown his mind in aprivate conversation on the subject of the Supremacy Act, and now thishad been brought against him by Rich himself at the trial. 

"Seeing it pleased the King's Highness, " said the bishop, "to send to methus secretly to know my poor advice and opinion, which I most gladlywas, and ever will be, ready to offer to him when so commanded, methinksit very hard to allow the same as sufficient testimony against me, toprove me guilty of high treason. "

Rich excused himself by affirming that he said or did nothing more thanwhat the King commanded him to do; and the trial ended by the bishop'scondemnation. 

 * * * * *

As Chris waited by the scaffold he prayed almost incessantly. There wassufficient spur for prayer in the menacing fortress before him with itshundred tiny windows, and the new scaffold, some five or six feet high, that stood in the foreground. He wondered how the bishop was passing histime and thought he knew. The long grey wall beyond the moat, and thetowers that rose above it, were suggestive in their silent strength. From where he stood too he could catch a glimpse of the shining reachesof the river with the green slopes on the further side; and the freedomand beauty of the sight, the delicate haze that hung over the water, thebirds winging their way across, the boats plying to and fro, struck avivid contrast to the grim fatality of the prison and the scaffold. 

A bell sounded out somewhere from the Tower, and a ripple ran throughthe crowd. There was an immensely tall man a few yards from Chris, andChris could see his face turn suddenly towards the lower ground by theriver where the gateway rose up dark against the bright water. The man'sface suddenly lighted with interest, and Chris saw his lips move and hiseyes become intent. Then a surging movement began, and the monk wasswept away to the left by the packed crowd round him. There were faceslining the wall and opposite, and all were turned one way. A greatmurmur began to swell up, and a woman beside him turned white and beganto sob quietly. 

His eyes caught a bright point of light that died again, flashed out, and resolved itself into a gleaming line of halberds, moving on towardsthe right above the heads, up the slope to the scaffold. He saw a horsetoss his head; and then a feathered cap or two swaying behind. 

Then for one instant between the shifting heads in front he caught sightof a lean face framed in a flapped cap swaying rhythmically as if borneon a chair. It vanished again. 

The flashing line of halberds elongated itself, divided, and camebetween the scaffold and him; and the murmur of the crowd died to aheart-shaking silence. A solemn bell clanged out again from the interiorof the prison, and Chris, his wet hands knit together, began to countthe strokes mechanically, staring at the narrow rail of the scaffold, and waiting for the sight that he knew would come. Then again he wasswept along a yard or two to the right, and when he had recovered hisfeet a man was on the scaffold, bending forwards and gesticulating. Another head rose into the line of vision, and this man too turnedtowards the steps up which he had come, and stood, one handoutstretched. 

Again a murmur and movement began; Chris had to look to his foothold, and when he raised his head again a solemn low roar was rising up andswelling, of pity and excitement, for, silhouetted against the sunlitTower behind, stood the man for whose sake all were there. 

He was in a black gown and tippet, and carried his two hands clasped tohis breast; and in them was a book and a crucifix. His cap was on hishead, and the white face, incredibly thin, looked out over the heads ofthe crowd. 

Chris hardly noticed that the scaffold was filling with people, until afigure came forward, in black, with a masked face, and boweddeferentially to the bishop; and in an instant silence fell again. 

He saw the bishop turn and bow slightly in return, and in the stillnessthat wonderful voice sounded out, with the clear minuteness of wordsspoken in the open air, clear and penetrating over the whole ground. 

"I forgive you very heartily; and I hope you will see me overcome thisstorm lustily. "

The black figure fell back, and the bishop stood hesitating, lookingthis way and that as if for direction. 

The Lieutenant of the Tower came forward; but Chris could only see hislips move, as a murmur had broken out again at the bishop's answer; buthe signed with his hand and stepped behind the prisoner. 

The bishop nodded, lifted his hand and took off his cap; and his whitehair appeared; then he fumbled at his throat, holding the book andcrucifix in his other hand; and, with the Lieutenant's help, slipped offhis tippet and loose gown; and as he freed himself, and stood in hisdoublet and hose, a great sobbing cry of horror and compassion rose fromthe straining faces, for he seemed scarcely to be a living man, sodreadful was his emaciation. Above that lean figure of death looked outthe worn old face, serene and confident. He was again holding the bookand crucifix clasped to his breast, as he stepped to the edge of thescaffold. 

The cry died to a murmur and ceased abruptly as he began his speech, every word of which was audible. 

"Christian people, " he began, "I am come hither to die for the faith ofChrist's holy Catholic Church. " He raised his voice a little, and itrang out confidently. "And I thank God that hitherto my stomach hathserved me very well thereunto, so that yet I have not feared death. Wherefore I desire you all to help and assist with your prayers, that atthe very point and instant of death's stroke I may in that very momentstand steadfast, without fainting in any one point of the CatholicFaith, free from any fear. "

He paused again; his hands closed one on the other. He glanced up. 

"And I beseech the Almighty God of His infinite goodness and mercy, tosave the King and this realm; and that it may please Him to hold Hishand over it, and send the King's Highness good counsel. "

He ceased abruptly; and dropped his head. 

A gentle groan ran through the crowd. 

Chris felt his throat contract, and a mist blinded his eyes for amoment. 

Then he saw the bishop slip the crucifix into his other hand, and openthe book, apparently at random. His lean finger dropped upon the page;and he read aloud softly, as if to himself. 

"This is life eternal, that they might know Thee, the one true God, andJesus Christ whom Thou hast sent. I have glorified Thee on the earth; Ihave finished the work which Thou gavest me to do. "

Again there was silence, for it seemed as if he was going to make asermon, but he looked down at the book a moment or two. Then he closedit gently. 

"Here is learning enough for me, " he said, "to my life's end. "

There was a movement among the silent figures at the back of thescaffold; and the Lieutenant stepped forward once more. The bishopturned to meet him and nodded; handing him the book; and then with thecrucifix still in his hands, and with the officers help, sank on to hisknees. 

 * * * * *

It seemed to Chris as if he waited an eternity; but he could not takehis eyes off him. Round about was the breathing mass of the crowd, overhead the clear summer sky; up from the river came the sounds ofcries and the pulse of oars, and from the Tower now and again the callof a horn and the stroke of a bell; but all this was external, andseemed to have no effect upon the intense silence of the heart thatradiated from the scaffold, and in which the monk felt himselfenveloped. The space between himself and the bishop seemed annihilated;and Chris found himself in company with a thousand others close besidethe man's soul that was to leave the world so soon. He could not pray;but he had the sensation of gripping that imploring spirit, pulsatingwith it, furthering with his own strained will that stream of effortthat he knew was going forth. 

Meanwhile his eyes stared at him; and saw without seeing how the old mannow leaned back with closed eyes and moving lips; now he bent forward, and looked at the crucified figure that he held between his hands, nowlifted it and lingeringly kissed the pierced feet. Behind stood thestiff line of officers, and in front below the rail rose the glitter ofthe halberds. 

The minutes went by and there was no change. The world seemed to havegrown rigid with expectancy; it was as if time stood still. There fellupon the monk's soul, not suddenly but imperceptibly, something of thatsense of the unseen that he had experienced at Tyburn. For a certainspace all sorrow and terror left him; he knew tangibly now that to whichat other times his mere faith assented; he knew that the world of spiritwas the real one; that the Tower, the axe, the imminent shadow of death, were little more than illusions; they were part of the staging, significant and necessary, but with no substance of reality. The eternalworld in which God was all, alone was a fact. He felt no longer pity orregret. Nothing but the sheer existence of a Being of which all personsthere were sharers, poised in an eternal instant, remained with him. 

This strange sensation was scarcely disturbed by the rising of the leanblack figure from its knees; Chris watched him as he might have watchedthe inevitable movement of an actor performing his pre-arranged part. The bishop turned eastward, to where the sun was now high above theTower gate, and spoke once more. 

"_Accedite ad eum, et illuminamini; et facies vestrć non confundentur_. "

Then once more in the deathly stillness he turned round; and his eyesran over the countless faces turned up to his own. But there was acertain tranquil severity in his face--the severity of one who has takena bitter cup firmly into his hand; his lips were tightly compressed, andhis eyes were deep and steady. 

Then very slowly he lifted his right hand, touched his forehead, andenveloped himself in a great sign of the cross, still looking outunwaveringly over the faces; and immediately, without any hesitation, sank down on his knees, put his hands before him on to the scaffold, andstretched himself flat. 

He was now invisible to Chris; for the low block on which he had laidhis neck was only a few inches high. 

There was again a surge and a murmur as the headsman stepped forwardwith the huge-headed axe over his shoulder, and stood waiting. 

Then again the moments began to pass. 

 * * * * *

Chris lost all consciousness of his own being; he was aware of nothingbut the objective presence of the scaffold, of an overpoweringexpectancy. It seemed as if something were stretched taut in his brain, at breaking point; as if some vast thing were on the point ofrevelation. All else had vanished, --the scene round him, the sense ofthe invisible; there was but the point of space left, waiting for anexplosion. 

There was a sense of wrenching torture as the headsman lifted the axe, bringing it high round behind him; the motion seemed shockingly slow, and to wring the strained nerves to agony. .. . 

 * * * * *

Then in a blinding climax the axe fell. 

CHAPTER XV

THE KING'S FRIEND

Overfield Court was mildly stirred at the news that Master Christopherwould stay there a few days on his way back from London to Lewes. It wasnot so exciting as when Master Ralph was to come, as the latter mademore demands than a mere monk; for the one the horses must be in thepink of condition, the game neither too wild nor too tame, his roomsmust be speckless, neither too full nor too empty of furniture; for theother it did not matter so much, for he was now not only a youngerbrother, but a monk, and therefore accustomed to contradiction anddesirous to acquiesce in arrangements. 

Lady Torridon indeed took no steps at all when she heard that Chris wascoming, beyond expressing a desire that she might not be called upon todiscuss the ecclesiastical situation at every meal; and when Chrisfinally arrived a week after Bishop Fisher's execution, having partedwith the Prior at Cuckfield, she was walking in her private gardenbeyond the moat. 

Sir James was in a very different state. He had caused two rooms to beprepared, that his son might take his choice, one next to Mr. Carleton'sand therefore close to the chapel, and the other the old chamber thatChris had occupied before he went to Lewes; and when the monk at lastrode up on alone on his tired mule with his little bag strapped to thecrupper, an hour before sunset, his father was out at the gatehouse tomeet him, and walked up beside him to the house, with his hand laid onhis son's knee. 

They hardly spoke a word as they went; Sir James had looked up atChris's white strained face, and had put one question; and the other hadnodded; and the hearts of both were full as they went together to thehouse. 

The father and son supped together alone that night in the privateparlour, for no one had dared to ask Lady Torridon to postpone her usualsupper hour; and as soon as that was over and Chris had told what he hadseen, with many silences, they went into the oak-room where LadyTorridon and Mr. Carleton were awaiting them by the hearth with theFlemish tiles. 

The mother was sitting as usual in her tall chair, with her beautifulhands on her lap, and smiled with a genial contempt as she ran her eyesup and down her son's figure. 

"The habit suits you very well, my son--in every way, " she added, looking at him curiously. 

Chris had greeted her an hour before at his arrival, so there was noceremony of salute to be gone through now. He sat down by his father. 

"You have seen Ralph, I hear, " observed Lady Torridon. 

Chris did not know how much she knew, and simply assented. He had toldhis father everything. 

"I have some news, " she went on in an unusually talkative mood, "for youboth. Ralph is to marry Beatrice Atherton--the girl you saw in hisrooms, Christopher. "

Sir James gave an exclamation and leant forward; and Chris tightened hislips. 

"She is a friend of Mr. More's, " went on Lady Torridon, apparentlyunconscious of the sensation she was making, "but that is Ralph'sbusiness, I suppose. "

"Why did Ralph not write to me?" asked his father, with a touch ofsternness. 

Lady Torridon answered him by a short pregnant silence, and then wenton--

"I suppose he wished me to break it to you. It will not be for two orthree years. She says she cannot leave Mrs. More for the present. "

Chris's brain was confused by the news, and yet it all seemed externalto him. As he had ridden up to the house in the evening he hadrecognised for the first time how he no longer belonged to the place;his two years at Lewes had done their work, and he came to his home nownot as a son but as a guest. He had even begun to perceive thedifference after his quarrel with Ralph, for he had not been consciousof the same personal sting at his brother's sins that he would have feltfive years ago. And now this news, while it affected him, did notpenetrate to the still sanctuary that he had hewn out of his heartduring those months of discipline. 

But his father was roused. 

"He should have written to me, " he said sternly. "And, my wife, I willbeg you to remember that I have a right to my son's business. "

Lady Torridon did not move or answer. He leaned back again, and passedhis hand tenderly through Chris's arm. 

 * * * * *

It was very strange to the younger son to find himself a few minuteslater up again in the west gallery of the chapel, where he had knelt twoyears before; and for a few moments he almost felt himself at home. Butthe mechanical shifting of his scapular aside as he sat down for thepsalms, recalled facts. Then he had been in his silk suit, his hands hadbeen rough with his cross-bow, his beard had been soft on his chin, andthe blood hot in his cheeks. Now he was in his habit, smooth-faced andshaven, tired and oppressed, still weak from the pangs of soul-birth. Hewas further from human love, but nearer the Divine, he thought. 

He sat with his father a few minutes after compline; and Sir James spokemore frankly of the news that they had heard. 

"If she is really a friend of Mr. More's, " he said, "she may be hissalvation. I am sorely disappointed in him. I did not know MasterCromwell when I sent him to him, as I do now. Is it my fault, Chris?"

 * * * * *

Chris told his father presently of what the Prior had said as to Ralph'sassistance in the matter of the visit that the two monks had paid to theTower; and asked an interpretation. 

Sir James sat quiet a minute or two, stroking his pointed grey beardsoftly, and looking into the hearth. 

"God forgive me if I am wrong, my son, " he said at last, "but I wonderwhether they let the my Lord Prior go to the Tower in order to shake theconfidence of both. Do you think so, Chris?"

Chris too was silent a moment; he knew he must not speak evil ofdignities. 

"It may be so. I know that my Lord Prior--"

"Well, my son?"

"My Lord Prior has been very anxious--"

Sir James patted his son on the knee, and reassured him. 

"Prior Crowham is a very holy man, I think; but--but somewhat delicate. However their designs have come to nothing. The bishop is in glory; andthe other more courageous than he was. "

Chris also had a few words with Mr. Carleton before he went to bed, sitting where he had sat in the moonlight two years before. 

"If they have done so much, " said the priest, "they will do more. When aman has slipped over a precipice he cannot save his fall. Master Morewill be the next to go; I make no doubt of that. You are to be a priestsoon, Chris?"

"They have applied for leave, " said the monk shortly. "In two years Ishall be a priest, no doubt, if God wills. "

"You are happy?" asked the other. 

Chris made a little gesture. 

"I do not know what that means, " he said, "but I know I have done right. I feel nothing. God's ways and His world are too strange. "

The priest looked at him oddly, without speaking. 

"Well, father?" asked Chris, smiling. 

"You are right, " said the chaplain brusquely. "You have done well. Youhave crossed the border. "

Chris felt the blood surge in his temples. 

"The border?" he asked. 

"The border of dreams. They surround the Religious Life; and you havepassed through them. "

Chris still looked at him with parted lips. This praise was sweet, afterthe bitterness of his failure with Ralph. The priest seemed to know whatwas passing in his mind. 

"Oh! you will fail sometimes, " he said, "but not finally. You are amonk, my son, and a man. "

 * * * * *

Lady Torridon retired into her impregnable silence again after hersallies of speech on the previous evening; but as the few days went onthat Chris had been allowed to spend with his parents he was none theless aware that her attitude towards him was one of contempt. Sheshowed it in a hundred ways--by not appearing to see him, by refusing tomodify her habits in the smallest particular for his convenience, by arigid silence on the subject that was in the hearts of both him and hisfather. She performed her duties as punctually and efficiently as ever, dealt dispassionately and justly with an old servant who had beentroublesome, and with regard to whom her husband was both afraid andtender; but never asked for confidences or manifested the minutestdetail of her own accord. 

 * * * * *

On the fourth day after Chris's arrival news came that Sir Thomas Morehad been condemned, but it roused no more excitement than the fall of athreatening rod. It had been known to be inevitable. And then on Chris'slast evening at home came the last details. 

 * * * * *

Sir James and Chris had been out for a long ride up the estate, talkingbut little, for each knew what was in the heart of the other; and theywere just dismounting at the terrace-steps when there was a sound offurious galloping; and a couple of riders burst through the gateway ahundred yards away. 

Chris felt his heart leap and hammer in his throat, but stood passivelyawaiting what he knew was coming; and a few seconds later, NicholasMaxwell checked his horse passionately at the steps. 

"God damn them!" he cried, with a crimson quivering face. 

Sir James stepped up at once and took him by the arm. 

"Nick, " he said, and glanced at the staring grooms. 

Nicholas showed his teeth like a dog. 

"God damn them!" he said again. 

The other rider had come up by now; he was dusty and seemed spent. Hewas a stranger to the father and son who waited on the steps; but helooked like a groom, and slipped off his horse deftly and took SirNicholas's bridle. 

"Come in Nick, " said Sir James. "We can talk in the house. "

As the three went up together, with the strange rider at a respectfuldistance behind, Nicholas broke out again in one sentence. 

"They have done it, " he said, "he is dead. Mother of God!"

His whip twitched in his clenching hand. He turned and jerked his headbeckoningly to the man who followed; and the four went on together, through the hall and into Sir James's parlour. Sir James shut the door. 

"Tell us, Nick. "

Nicholas stood at the hearth, glaring and shifting. 

"This fellow knows--he saw it; tell them, Dick. "

The man gave his account. He was one of the servants of Sir Nicholas'younger brother, who lived in town, and had been sent down to GreatKeynes immediately after the execution that had taken place thatmorning. He was a man of tolerable education, and told his story well. 

Sir James sat as he listened, with his hand shading his eyes; Nicholaswas fidgetting at the hearth, interrupting the servant now and againwith questions and reminders; and Chris leaned in the dark corner by thewindow. There floated vividly before his mind as he listened the settingof the scene that he had looked upon a few days ago, though there werenew actors in it now. 

"It was this morning, sir, on Tower Hill. There was a great companythere long before the time. He came out bravely enough, walking withthe Lieutenant that was his friend, and with a red cross in his hand. "

"You were close by, " put in Nicholas

"Yes, sir; I was beside the stairs. They shook as he went up; they werecrazy steps, and he told the Lieutenant to have a care to him. "

"The words, man, the words!"

"I am not sure, sir; but they were after this fashion: 'See me safe up, Master Lieutenant; I will shift for myself at the coming down. ' So hegot up safe, and stamped once or twice merrily to see if all were firm. Then he made a speech, sir, and begged all there to pray for him. Hetold them that he was to die for the faith of the Catholic Church, as myLord of Rochester did. "

"Have you heard of my lord's head being taken to Nan Boleyn?" put inNicholas fiercely. 

Sir James looked up. 

"Presently, Nick, " he said. 

The man went on. 

"Master More kneeled down presently at his prayers; and all the folkkept very quiet. There was not one that cried against him. Then he stoodup again, put off his gown, so that his neck was bare; and passed hishand over it smiling. Then he told the headsman that it was but a shortone, and bade him be brave and strike straight, lest his good nameshould suffer. Then he laid himself down to the block, and put his neckon it; but he moved again before he gave the sign, and put his beard outin front--for he had grown one in prison"--

"Give us the words, " snarled Nicholas. 

"He said, sir, that his beard had done no treason, and need nottherefore suffer as he had to do. And then he thrust out his hand for asign--and 'twas done at a stroke. "

"God damn them!" hissed Nicholas again as a kind of Amen, turningswiftly to the fire-place so that his face could not be seen. 

There was complete silence for a few seconds. The groom had his eyescast down, and stood there--then again he spoke. 

"As to my Lord of Rochester's head, that was taken off to the--theQueen, they say, in a white bag, and she struck it on the mouth. "

Nicholas dropped his head against his hand that rested on the wood-work. 

"And the body rested naked all day on the scaffold, with the halberd-mendrinking round about; and 'twas tumbled into a hole in BarkingChurchyard that night. "

"At whose orders?"

"At Master Cromwell's, sir. "

Again there was silence; and again the groom broke it. 

"There was more said, sir--" and hesitated. 

The old man signed to him to go on. 

"They say that my lord's head shone with light each night on thebridge, " said the man reverently; "there was a great press there, Iknow, all day, so that the streets were blocked, and none could come orgo. And so they tumbled that into the river at last; at least 'tissupposed so--for 'twas gone when I looked. "

Nicholas turned round; and his eyes were bright and his face fiery anddiscoloured. 

Sir James stood up, and his voice was broken as he spoke. 

"Thank you, my man. You have told your story well. "

 * * * * *

As the groom turned to go out, Sir Nicholas wheeled round swiftly to thehearth, and buried his face on his arm; and Chris saw a great heavingbegin to shake his broad shoulders. 

THE KING'S TRIUMPH--BOOK II

PART I--THE SMALLER HOUSES

CHAPTER I

AN ACT OF FAITH

Towards the end of August Beatrice Atherton was walking up the northbank of the river from Charing to Westminster to announce to Ralph herarrival in town on the previous night. 

 * * * * *

She had gone through horrors since the June day on which she had seenthe two brothers together. With Margaret beside her she had watchedMaster More in court, in his frieze gown, leaning on his stick, bent andgrey with imprisonment, had heard his clear answers, his searchingquestions, and his merry conclusion after sentence had been pronounced;she had stayed at home with the stricken family on the morning of thesixth of July, kneeling with them at her prayers in the chapel of theNew Building, during the hours until Mr. Roper looked in grey-faced andtrembling, and they knew that all was over. She went with them to theburial in St. Peter's Chapel in the Tower; and last, which was the mostdreadful ordeal of all, she had stood in the summer darkness by thewicket-gate, had heard the cautious stroke of oars, and the footstepscoming up the path, and had let Margaret in bearing her precious burdenrobbed from the spike on London Bridge. 

Then for a while she had gone down to the country with Mrs. More andher daughters; and now she was back once more, in a kind of psychicalconvalescence, at her aunt's new house on the river-bank at Charing. 

 * * * * *

Her face was a little paler than it used to be, but there was aquickening brightness in her eyes as she swept along in her blue mantle, with her maid beside her, in the rear of the liveried servant, whocarried a silver-headed wand a few yards in front. 

She was rehearsing to herself the scene in which Ralph had asked her tobe his wife. 

Where Chris had left the room the two had remained perfectly still untilthe street-door had closed; and then Ralph had turned to her with aquestion in his steady eyes. 

She had told him then that she did not believe one word of what the monkhad insinuated; but she had been conscious even at the time that she wasmaking what theologians call an act of faith. It was not that there werenot difficulties to her in Ralph's position--there were plenty--but shehad determined by a final and swift decision to disregard them andbelieve in him. It was a last step in a process that continued eversince she had become interested by this strong brusque man; and it hadbeen precipitated by the fanatical attack to which she had just been awitness. The discord, as she thought it, of Ralph's character andactions had not been resolved; yet she had decided in that moment thatit need not be; that her data as concerned those actions wereinsufficient; and that if she could not explain, at least she couldtrust. 

Ralph had been very honest, she told herself now. He had reminded herthat he was a servant of Cromwell's whom many believed to be an enemyof Church and State. She had nodded back to him steadily and silently, knowing what would follow from the paleness of his face, and his brighteyes beneath their wide lids. She had felt her own breast rise and falland a pulse begin to hammer at the spring of her throat. Even now as shethought of it her heart quickened, and her hands clenched themselves. 

And then in one swift moment it had come. She had found her hands caughtfiercely, and her eyes imprisoned by his; and then all was over, and shehad given him an answer in a word. 

It had not been easy even after that. Cecily had questioned her morethan once. Mrs. More had said a few indiscreet things that had been hardto bear; her own aunt had received the news in silence. 

But that was over now. The necessary consent on both sides had beengiven; and here she was once more walking up the road to Westminsterwith Ralph's image before her eyes, and Ralph himself a hundred yardsaway. 

 * * * * *

She turned the last corner from the alley, passed up the little street, and turned again across the little cobbled yard that lay before thehouse. 

Mr. Morris was at the door as she came up, and he now stood aside. Heseemed doubtful. 

"Mr. Torridon has gentlemen with him, madam. "

"Then I will wait, " said Beatrice serenely, and made a motion to comein. The servant still half-hesitating opened the door wider; andBeatrice and her maid went through into the little parlour on the right. 

As she passed in she heard voices from the other door. Mr. Morris'sfootsteps went down the passage. 

She had not very long to wait. There was the sound of a carriagedriving up to the door presently, and her maid who sat in view of thewindow glanced out. Her face grew solemn. 

"It is Master Cromwell's carriage, " she said. 

Beatrice was conscious of a vague discomfort; Master Cromwell, in spiteof her efforts, was the shadowed side of Ralph's life. 

"Is he coming in?" she said. 

The maid peeped again. 

"No, madam. "

The door of the room they were in was not quite shut, and there wasstill a faint murmur of voices from across the hall; but almostimmediately there was the sound of a lifted latch, and then Ralph'svoice clear and distinct. 

"I will see to it, my lord. "

Beatrice stood up, feeling a little uneasy. She fancied that perhaps sheought not to be here; she remembered now the servant's slight air ofunwillingness to let her in. There was a footfall in the hall, and thesound of talking; and as Mr. Morris's hasty step came up the passage, the door was pushed abruptly open, and Ralph was looking into the room, with one or two others beyond him. 

"I did not know, " he began, and flushed a little, smiling and making asif to close the door. But Cromwell's face, with its long upper lip andclose-set grey eyes, appeared over his shoulder, and Ralph turned round, almost deprecatingly. 

"I beg your pardon, sir; this is Mistress Atherton, and her woman. "

Cromwell came forward into the room, with a kind of keen smile, in hisrich dress and chain. 

"Mistress Beatrice Atherton?" he said with a questioning deference; andRalph introduced them to one another. Beatrice was conscious of a gooddeal of awkwardness. It was uncomfortable to be caught here, as if shehad come to spy out something. She felt herself flushing as sheexplained that she had had no idea who was there. 

Cromwell looked at her very pleasantly. 

"There is nothing to ask pardon for, Mistress, " he said. "I knew youwere a friend of Mr. Torridon. He has told me everything. "

Ralph seemed strangely ill-at-case, Beatrice thought, as Cromwellcongratulated them both with a very kindly air, and then turned towardsthe hall again. 

"My lord, " he called, "my lord--"

Then Beatrice saw a tall ecclesiastic, clean-shaven, with a strangelyinsignificant but kindly face, with square drooping lip and narrow hazeleyes, come forward in his prelate's dress; and at the sight of him hereyes grew hard and her lips tight. 

"My lord, " said Cromwell, "this is Mistress Beatrice Torridon. "

The prelate put out his hand, smiling faintly, with the ring uppermostto be kissed. Beatrice stood perfectly still. She could see Ralph at anangle looking at her imploringly. 

"You know my Lord of Canterbury, " said Cromwell, in an explanatoryvoice. 

"I know my Lord of Canterbury, " said Beatrice. 

There was a dead silence for a moment, and then a faint whimper from themaid. 

Cranmer dropped his hand, but still smiled, turning to Ralph. 

"We must be gone, Mr. Torridon. Master Cromwell has very kindly--"

Cromwell who had stood amazed for a moment, turned round at his name. 

"Yes, " he said to Ralph, "my lord is to come with me. And you will beat my house to-morrow. "

He said good-day to the girl, looking at her with an amused interestthat made her flush; and as Dr. Cranmer passed out of the street-door tothe carriage with Ralph bare-headed beside him, he spoke very softly. 

"You are like the others, mistress, " he said; and shook his heavy headat her like an indulgent father. Then he too turned and went out. 

 * * * * *

Beatrice went across at once to the other room, leaving her maid behind, and stood by the hearth as Ralph came in. She heard the door close andhis footstep come across the floor beside her. 

"Beatrice, " said Ralph. 

She turned round and looked at him. 

"You must not scold me, " she said with great serenity. "You must leaveme my conscience. " Ralph's face cleared instantly. 

"No, no, " he said. "I feared it would be the other way. "

"A married priest, they say!" remarked the girl, but without bitterness. 

"I daresay, my darling, --but--but I have more tenderness for marriagethan I had. "

Beatrice's black eyes just flickered with amusement. 

"Yes; but priests!" she said. 

"Yes--even priests--" said Ralph, smiling back. 

Beatrice turned to a chair and sat down. 

"I suppose I must not ask any questions, " she said, glancing up for amoment at Ralph's steady eyes. She thought he looked a little uneasystill. 

"Oh! I scarcely know, " said Ralph; and he took a turn across the roomand came back. She waited, knowing that she had already put herquestion, and secretly pleased that he knew it, and was perplexed by it. 

"I scarcely know, " he said again, standing opposite her. "Well, --yes--all will know it soon. "

"Oh! I can wait till then, " said Beatrice quickly, not sure whether shewere annoyed or not by being told a secret of such a common nature. Ralph glanced at her, not sure either. 

"I am afraid--" he began. 

"No--no, " she said, ashamed of her doubt. "I do not wish to know; I canwait. "

"I will tell you, " said Ralph. He went and sat down in the chairopposite, crossing his legs. 

"It is about the Visitation of the Religious Houses. I am to go with theVisitors in September. "

Beatrice felt a sudden and rather distressed interest; but she showed nosign of it. 

"Ah, yes!" she said softly, "and what will be your work?"

Ralph was reassured by her tone. 

"We are to go to the southern province. I am with Dr. Layton's party. Weshall make enquiries of the state of Religion, how it is observed and soforth; and report to Master Cromwell. "

Beatrice looked down in a slightly side-long way. 

"I know what you are thinking, " said Ralph, his tone a mixture ofamusement and pride. She looked up silently. 

"Yes I knew it was so, " he went on, smiling straight at her. "You arewondering what in the world I know about Religious Houses. But I have abrother--"

A shadow went over her face; Ralph saw she did not like the allusion. 

"Besides, " he went on again, "they need intelligent men, notecclesiastics, for this business. "

"But Dr. Layton?" questioned Beatrice. 

"Well, you might call him an ecclesiastic; but you would scarcely guessit from himself. And no man could call him a partisan on that side. "

"He would do better in one of his rectories, I should think, " saidBeatrice. 

"Well, that is not my business, " observed Ralph. 

"And what is your business?"

"Well, to ride round the country; examine the Religious, and makeenquiries of the country folk. "

Beatrice began to tap her foot very softly. Ralph glanced down at thebright buckle and smiled in spite of himself. 

The girl went on. 

"And by whose authority?"

"By his Grace's authority. "

"And Dr. Cranmer's?"

"Well, yes; so far as he has any. "

"I see, " said Beatrice; and cast her eyes down again. 

There was silence for a moment or two. 

"You see too that I cannot withdraw, " explained Ralph, a littledistressed at her air. "It is part of my duty. "

"Oh! I understand that, " said Beatrice. 

"And so long as I act justly, there is no harm done. "

The girl was silent. 

"You understand that?" he asked. 

"I suppose I do, " said Beatrice slowly. 

Ralph made a slight impatient movement. 

"No--wait, " said the girl, "I do understand. If I cannot trust you, Ihad better never have known you. I do understand that I can trust you;though I cannot understand how you can do such work. "

She raised her eyes slowly to his; and Ralph as he looked into them sawthat she was perfectly sincere, and speaking without bitterness. 

"Sweetheart, " he said. "I could not have taken that from any but you;but I know that you are true, and mean no more nor less than your words. You do trust me?"

"Why, yes, " said the girl; and smiled at him as he took her in his arms. 

 * * * * *

When she had gone again Ralph had a difficult quarter of an hour. 

He knew that she trusted him, but was it not simply because she did notknow? He sat and pondered the talk he had had with Cromwell and theArchbishop. Neither had expressly said that what was wanted was adversetestimony against the Religious Houses; but that, Ralph knew very well, was what was asked of him. They had talked a great deal about thecorruptions that the Visitors would no doubt find, and Cranmer had tolda story or two, with an appearance of great distress, of scandalouscases that had come under his own notice. Cromwell too had pointed outthat such corruptions did incalculable evil; and that an immoral monkdid far more harm in a countryside than his holy brethren could do ofgood. Both had said a word too about the luxury and riches to be foundin the houses of those who professed poverty, and of the injury done toChrist's holy religion by such insincere pretences. 

Ralph knew too, from previous meetings with the other Visitors, the kindof work for which such men would be likely to be selected. 

There was Dr. Richard Layton first, whom Ralph was to join in Sussex atthe end of September, a priest who had two or three preferments andnotoriously neglected them; Ralph had taken a serious dislike to him. Hewas a coarse man who knew how to cringe effectively; and Ralph hadlistened to him talking to Cromwell, with some dismay. But he would beto a large extent independent of him, and only in his company at some ofthe larger houses that needed more than one Visitor. Thomas Legh, too, ayoung doctor of civil law, was scarcely more attractive. He was a man ofan extraordinary arrogance, carrying his head high, and looking abouthim with insolently drooping eyes. Ralph had been at once amused andangry to see him go out into the street after his interview withCromwell, where his horse and half-a-dozen footmen awaited him, and towatch him ride off with the airs of a vulgar prince. The Welshman ApRice too, and the red-faced bully, Dr. London, were hardly persons whomhe desired as associates, and the others were not much better; and Ralphfound himself feeling a little thankful that none of these men had beenin his house just now, when Cromwell and the Archbishop had called inthe former's carriage, and when Beatrice had met them there. 

 * * * * *

Ralph had a moment, ten minutes after Beatrice had left, when he wasinclined to snatch up his hat and go after Cromwell to tell him to dohis own dirty work; but his training had told, and he had laughed at thefolly of the thought. Why, of course, the work had to be done! Englandwas rotten with dreams and superstition. Ecclesiasticism had corruptedgenuine human life, and national sanity could not be restored except bya violent process. Innocent persons would no doubt suffer--innocentaccording to conscience, but guilty against the commonwealth. Everygreat movement towards good was bound to be attended by individualcatastrophes; but it was the part of a strong man to carry outprinciples and despise details. 

The work had to be done; it was better then that there should be atleast one respectable workman. Of course such a work needed coarse mento carry it out; it was bound to be accompanied by some brutality; andhis own presence there might do something to keep the brutality withinlimits. 

 * * * * *

And as for Beatrice--well, Beatrice did not yet understand. If sheunderstood all as he did, she would sympathise, for she was strong too. Besides--he had held her in his arms just now, and he knew that love wasking. 

But he sat for ten minutes more in silence, staring with unseeing eyesat the huddled roofs opposite and the clear sky over them; and the pointof the quill in his fingers was split and cracked when Mr. Morris lookedin to see if his master wanted anything. 

CHAPTER II

THE BEGINNING OF THE VISITATION

It was on a wet foggy morning in October that Ralph set out with Mr. Morris and a couple more servants to join Dr. Layton in the Sussexvisitation. He rode alone in front; and considered as he went. 

 * * * * *

The Visitation itself, Cromwell had told him almost explicitly, was inpursuance of the King's policy to get the Religious Houses, which wereconsidered to be the strongholds of the papal power in England, underthe authority of the Crown; and also to obtain from them reinforcementsof the royal funds which were running sorely low. The crops were mostdisappointing this year, and the King's tenants were wholly unable topay their rents; and it had been thought wiser to make up the deficitfrom ecclesiastical wealth rather than to exasperate the Commons by adirect call upon their resources. 

So far, he knew very well, the attempt to get the Religious Houses intothe King's power had only partially succeeded. Bishop Fisher's influencehad availed to stave off the fulfilment of the royal intentions up tothe present; and the oath of supremacy, in which to a large extent thekey of the situation lay, had been by no means universally accepted. Now, however, the scheme was to be pushed forward; and as a preparationfor it, it was proposed to visit every monastery and convent in thekingdom, and to render account first of the temporal wealth of each, and then of the submissiveness of its inmates; and, as Cromwell hadhinted to Ralph, anything that could damage the character of theReligious would not be unacceptable evidence. 

Ralph was aware that the scheme in which he was engaged was supported intwo ways; first, by the suspension of episcopal authority during thecourse of the visitation, and secondly by the vast powers committed tothe visitors. In one of the saddle-bags strapped on to Mr. Morris'shorse was a sheaf of papers, containing eighty-six articles of enquiry, and twenty-five injunctions, as well as certificates from the Kingendowing Ralph with what was practically papal jurisdiction. He wasauthorised to release from their vows all Religious who desired it, andordered to dismiss all who had been professed under twenty years of age, or who were at the present date under twenty-four years old. Besidesthis he was commissioned to enforce the enclosure with the utmostrigour, to set porters at the doors to see that it was observed, and toencourage all who had any grievance against their superiors to forwardcomplaints through himself to Cromwell. 

Ralph understood well enough the first object of these regulations, namely to make monastic life impossible. It was pretty evident that arigorous confinement would breed discontent; which in its turn would bebound to escape through the vent-hole which the power of appealprovided; thus bringing about a state of anarchy within the house, andthe tightening of the hold of the civil authority upon the Religious. 

Lastly the Visitors were authorised to seize any church furniture orjewels that they might judge would be better in secular custody. 

Once more, he had learned both from Cromwell, and from his ownexperience at Paul's Cross, how the laity itself was being carefullyprepared for the blow that was impending, by an army of selectedpreachers who could be trusted to say what they were told. Only a fewdays before Ralph had halted his horse at the outskirts of a huge crowdgathered round Paul's Cross, and had listened to a torrent ofvituperation poured out by a famous orator against the mendicant friars;and from the faces and exclamations of the people round him he hadlearned once more that greed was awake in England. 

 * * * * *

It was a somewhat dismal ride that he had this day. The sky was heavyand overcast, it rained constantly, and the roads were in a more drearycondition even than usual. He splashed along through the mud with hisservants behind him, wrapped in his cloak; and his own thoughts were notof a sufficient cheerfulness to compensate for the external discomforts. His political plane of thought was shot by a personal idea. He guessedthat he would have to commit himself in a manner that he had never donebefore; and was not wholly confident that he would be able to explainmatters satisfactorily to Beatrice. Besides, the particular district towhich he was appointed included first Lewes, where Chris would have aneye on his doings, and secondly the little Benedictine house of Rusper, where his sister Margaret had been lately professed; and he wonderedwhat exactly would be his relation with his own family when his work wasdone. 

But for the main object of his visitation he had little but sympathy. Itwas good, he thought, that a scouring should be made of these idlehouses, and their inmates made more profitable to the commonwealth. Andlastly, whether or no he sympathised, it would be fatal to his careerto refuse the work offered to him. 

As he did not feel very confident at first, he had arranged to meet withDr. Layton's party at the Premonstratension Abbey of Durford, situatedat the borders of Sussex and Hampshire, and there learn the exactmethods to be employed in the visitation; but it was a long ride, and hetook two days over it, sleeping on the way at Waverly in the CistercianHouse. This had not yet been visited, as Dr. Layton was riding upgradually from the west country, but the rumour of his intentions hadalready reached there, and Ralph was received with a pathetic deferenceas one of the representatives of the Royal Commission. 

The Abbot was a kindly nervous man, and welcomed Ralph with every signof respect at the gate of the abbey, giving contradictory orders aboutthe horses and the entertainment of the guests to his servants whoseemed in very little awe of him. 

After mass and breakfast on the following morning the Abbot came intothe guest-house and begged for a short interview. 

 * * * * *

He apologised first for the poorness of the entertainment, saying thathe had done his best. Ralph answered courteously; and the other went onimmediately, standing deferentially before the chair where Ralph wasseated, and fingering his cross. 

"I hope, Mr. Torridon, that it will be you who will visit us; you havefound us all unprepared, and you know that we are doing our best to keepour Rule. I hope you found nothing that was not to your liking. "

Ralph bowed and smiled. 

"I would sooner that it were you, " went on the Abbot, "and not anotherthat visited us. Dr. Layton--"

He stopped abruptly, embarrassed. 

"You have heard something of him?" questioned Ralph. 

"I know nothing against him, " said the other hastily, "except that theysay that he is sharp with us poor monks. I fear he would find a greatdeal here not to his taste. My authority has been so much weakened oflate; I have some discontented brethren--not more than one or two, Mr. Torridon--and they have learned that they will be able to appeal now tothe King's Grace, and get themselves set free; and they have ruined thediscipline of the house. I do not wish to hide anything, sir, you see;but I am terribly afraid that Dr. Layton may be displeased. "

"I am very sorry, my lord, " said Ralph, "but I fear I shall not becoming here again. "

The Abbot's face fell. 

"But you will speak for us, sir, to Dr. Layton? I heard you say youwould be seeing him to-night. "

Ralph promised to do his best, and was overwhelmed with thanks. 

He could not help realising some of the pathos of the situation as herode on through the rain to Durford. It was plain that a wave of terrorand apprehensiveness was running through the Religious Houses, and thatit brought with it inevitable disorder. Lives that would have beenserene and contented under other circumstances were thrown off theirbalance by the rumours of disturbance, and authority was weakened. Ifthe Rule was hard of observance in tranquil times, it was infinitelyharder when doors of escape presented themselves on all sides. 

And yet he was impatient too. Passive or wavering characters irritatedhis own strong temperament, and he felt a kind of anger against theAbbot and his feeble appeal. Surely men who had nothing else to do mightmanage to keep their own subjects in order, and a weak crying for pitywas in itself an argument against their competence. And meanwhile, if hehad known it, he would have been still more incensed, for as he rode ondown towards the south west, the Abbot and his monks in the house he hadleft were prostrate before the high altar in the dark church, each inhis stall, praying for mercy. 

"O God, the heathens are come into thine inheritance, " they murmured, "they have defiled thy holy temple. "

 * * * * *

It was not until the sun was going down in the stormy west that Ralphrode up to Durford abbey. The rain had ceased an hour before sunset, andthe wet roofs shone in the evening light. 

There were certain signs of stir as he came up. One or two idlers werestanding outside the gate-house; the door was wide open, and a couple ofhorses were being led away round the corner. 

Inside the court as he rode through he saw further signs of confusion. Half a dozen packhorses were waiting with hanging heads outside thestable door, and an agitated lay brother was explaining to a canon inhis white habit, rochet and cap, that there was no more room. He threwout his hands with a gesture of despair towards Ralph as he came in. 

"Mother of God!" he said, "here is another of them. "

The priest frowned at him, and hurried up to Ralph. 

"Yes, father, " said Ralph, "I am another of them. "

The canon explained that the stable was full, that they wereexceedingly sorry, but that they were but a poor house; and that he wasglad to say there was an outhouse round the corner outside where thebeasts could be lodged. 

"But as for yourself, sir, " he said, "I know not what to do. We haveevery room full. You are a friend of Dr. Layton's, sir?"

"I am one of the Visitors, " said Ralph. "You must make room. "

The priest sucked his lips in. 

"I see nothing for it, " he said, "Dr. Layton and you, sir, must share aroom. "

Ralph threw a leg over the saddle and slipped to the ground. 

"Where is he?" he asked. 

"He is with my Lord Abbot, sir, " he said. "Will you come with me?"

The canon led the way across the court, his white fur tails swinging ashe went, and took Ralph through the cloister into one of the parlours. There was a sound of a high scolding voice as he threw open the door. 

"What in God's name are ye for then, if ye have not hospitality?"

Dr. Layton turned round as Ralph came in. He was flushed with passion;his mouth worked, and his eyes were brutal. 

"See this, Mr. Torridon, " he said. "There is neither room for man orbeast in this damned abbey. The guest house has no more than half adozen rooms, and the stable--why, it is not fit for pigs, let alone thehorses of the King's Visitors. "

The Abbot, a young man with a delicate face, very pale now andtrembling, broke in deprecatingly. 

"I am very sorry, gentlemen, " he said, looking from one to the other, "but it is not my fault. It is in better repair than when I came to it. I have done my best with my Lord Abbot of Welbeck; but we are very poor, and he can give me no more. "

Layton growled at him. 

"I don't say it's you, man; we shall know better when we have lookedinto your accounts; but I'll have a word to say at Welbeck. "

"We are to share a room, Dr. Layton, " put in Ralph "At least--"

The doctor turned round again at that, and stormed once more. 

"I cannot help it, gentlemen, " retorted the Abbot desperately. "I havegiven up my own chamber already. I can but do my best. "

Ralph hastened to interpose. His mind revolted at this coarse bullying, in spite of his contempt at this patient tolerance on the part of theAbbot. 

"I shall do very well, my Lord Abbot, " he said. "I shall give notrouble. You may put me where you please. "

The young prelate looked at him gratefully. 

"We will do our best, sir, " he said. "Will you come, gentlemen, and seeyour chambers?"

Layton explained to Ralph as they went along the poor little cloisterthat he himself had only arrived an hour before. 

"I had a rare time among the monks, " he whispered, "and have some talesto make you laugh. "

 * * * * *

He grew impatient again presently at the poor furnishing of the rooms, and kicked over a broken chair. 

"I will have something better than that, " he said. "Get me one from thechurch. "

The young Abbot faced him. 

"What do you want of us, Dr. Layton? Is it riches or poverty? Whichthink you that Religious ought to have?"

The priest gave a bark of laughter. 

"You have me there, my lord, " he said; and nudged Ralph. 

They sat down to supper presently in the parlour downstairs, a couple ofdishes of meat, and a bottle of Spanish wine. Dr. Layton grew voluble. 

"I have a deal to tell you, Mr. Torridon, " he said, "and not a fewthings to show you, --silver crosses and such like; but those we willlook at to-morrow. I doubt whether we shall add much to it here, thoughthere is a relic-case that would look well on Master Cromwell's table;it is all set with agates. But the tales you shall have now. My servantwill be here directly with the papers. "

A man came in presently with a bag of documents, and Layton seized themeagerly. 

"See here, Mr. Torridon, " he said, shaking the papers on to the table, "here is a story-box for the ladies. Draw your chair to the fire. "

Ralph felt an increasing repugnance for the man; but he said nothing;and brought up his seat to the wide hearth on which the logs burnedpleasantly in the cold little room. 

The priest lifted the bundle on to his lap, crossed his legscomfortably, with a glass of wine at his elbow, and began to read. 

 * * * * *

For a while Ralph wondered how the man could have the effrontery to callhis notes by the name of evidence. They consisted of a string of obsceneguesses, founded upon circumstances that were certainly compatible withguilt, but no less compatible with innocence. There was a quantity ofgossip gathered from country-people and coloured by the most flagrantanimus, and even so the witnesses did not agree. Such sentences as "Itis reported in the country round that the prior is a lewd man" werefrequent in the course of the reading, and were often the chief evidenceoffered in a case. 

In one of the most categorical stories, Ralph leaned forward andinterrupted. 

"Forgive me, Master Layton, " he said, "but who is Master What's-his-namewho says all this?"

The priest waved the paper in the air. 

"A monk himself, " he said, "a monk himself! That is the cream of it. "

"A monk!" exclaimed Ralph. 

"He was one till last year, " explained the priest. 

"And then?" said the other. 

"He was expelled the monastery. He knew too much, you see. "

Ralph leaned back. 

 * * * * *

Half an hour later there was a change in his attitude: his doubts werealmost gone; the flood of detail was too vast to be dismissed as whollyirrelevant; his imagination was affected by the evidence from withoutand his will from within, and he listened without hostility, tellinghimself that he desired only truth and justice. 

There were at least half a dozen stories in the mass of filthy suspicionthat the priest exultingly poured out which appeared convincing;particularly one about which Ralph put a number of questions. 

In this there was first a quantity of vague evidence gathered from thecountry-folk, who were, unless Layton lied quite unrestrainedly, convinced of the immoral life of a certain monk. The report of his sinhad penetrated ten miles from the house where he lived. There wasbesides definite testimony from one of his fellows, precise anddetailed; and there was lastly a half admission from the culprithimself. All this was worked up with great skill--suggestive epithetswere plastered over the weak spots in the evidence; clever theories putforward to account for certain incompatibilities; and to Ralph at leastit was convincing. 

He found himself growing hot with anger at the thought of the hypocrisyof this monk's life. Here the fellow had been living in gross sin monthafter month, and all the while standing at the altar morning by morning, and going about in the habit of a professed servant of Jesus Christ!

"But I have kept the cream till the last, " put in Dr. Layton. And heread out a few more hideous sentences, that set Ralph's heart heavingwith disgust. 

He began now to feel the beginnings of that fury against white-washedvice with which worldly souls are so quick to burn. He would have saidthat he himself professed no holiness beyond the average, and would haveacknowledged privately at least that he was at any rate uncertain of thewhole dogmatic scheme of religion; but that he could not tolerate a manwhose whole life was on the outside confessedly devoted to both sides ofreligion, faith and morals, and who claimed the world's reverence forhimself on the score of it. He knit his forehead in a righteous fury, and his fingers began to drum softly on his chair-arms. 

Dr. Layton now began to recur to some of the first stories he had told, and to build up their weak places; and now that Ralph was roused hiscritical faculty subsided. They appeared more convincing than before inthe light of this later evidence. _Ex pede Herculem_--from the fellowwho had confessed he interpreted the guilt of those who had not. Theseed of suspicion sprang quickly in the soil that hungered for it. 

This then was the fair religious system that was dispersed over England;and this the interior life of those holy looking roofs and buildingssurmounted by the sign of the Crucified, visible in every town to pointmen to God. When he saw a serene monk's face again he would know whatkind of soul it covered; he would understand as never before how vicecould wear a mask of virtue. 

The whole of that flimsy evidence that he had heard before took a newcolour; those hints and suspicions and guesses grew from shadow tosubstance. Those dark spots were not casual filth dropped from above, they were the symptoms of a deep internal infection. 

As Dr. Layton went on with his tales, gathered and garnered withdevilish adroitness, and presented as convincingly as a clever braincould do it, the black certainty fell deeper and deeper on Ralph's soul, and by the time that the priest chuckled for the last time that evening, and gathered up his papers from the boards where they had fallen one byone, he had done his work in another soul. 

CHAPTER III

A HOUSE OF LADIES

They parted the next day, Dr. Layton to Waverly, where he proposed tosleep on Saturday night, and Ralph to the convent at Rusper. 

He had learnt now how the work was to be done; and he had been equippedfor it in a way that not even Dr. Layton himself suspected; for he hadbeen set aflame with that filth-fed fire with which so many hearts wereburning at this time. He had all the saint's passion for purity, withoutthe charity of his holiness. 

He had learnt too the technical details of his work--those rough methodsby which men might be coerced, and the high-sounding phrases with whichto gild the coercion. All that morning he had sat side by side with Dr. Layton in the chapter-house, inspecting the books, comparing thepossessions of the monastery with the inventories of them, examiningwitnesses as to the credibility of the lists offered, and makingsearching enquiries as to whether any land or plate had been sold. Afterthat, when a silver relic-case had been added to Dr. Layton'scollection, the Religious and servants and all else who cared to offerevidence on other matters, were questioned one by one and their answersentered in a book. Lastly, when the fees for the Visitation had beencollected, arrangements had been made, which in the Visitors' opinion, would be most serviceable to the carrying out of the injunctions; freshofficials were appointed to various posts, and the Abbot himselfordered to go up to London and present himself to Master Cromwell; buthe was furnished with a letter commending his zeal and discretion, forthe Visitors had found that he had done his duty to the buildings andlands; and stated that they had nothing to complain of except thepoverty of the house. 

"And so much for Durford, " said Layton genially, as he closed the lastbook just before dinner-time, "though it had been better calledDirtyford. " And he chuckled at his humour. 

After dinner he had gone out with Ralph to see him mount; had thankedhim for his assistance, and had reminded him that they would meet againat Lewes in the course of a month or so. 

"God speed you!" he cried as the party rode off. 

 * * * * *

Ralph's fury had died to a glow, but it was red within him; the readinglast night had done its work well, driven home by the shrewd convictionof a man of the world, experienced in the ways of vice. It had not diedwith the dark. He could not say that he was attracted to Dr. Layton; thepriest's shocking familiarity with the more revolting forms of sin, aswell as his under-breeding and brutality, made him a disagreeablecharacter; but Ralph had very little doubt now that his judgment on thereligious houses was a right one. Even the nunneries, it seemed, werenot free from taint; there had been one or two terrible tales on theprevious evening; and Ralph was determined to spare them nothing, and atany rate to remove his sister from their power. He remembered withsatisfaction that she was below the age specified, and that he wouldhave authority to dismiss her from the home. 

He knew very little of Margaret; and had scarcely seen her once in twoyears. He had been already out in the world before she had ceased to bea child, and from what little he had seen of her he had thought of herbut as little more than a milk-and-water creature, very delicate andshy, always at her prayers, or trailing about after nuns with a paleradiant face. She had been sent to Rusper for her education, and henever saw her except now and then when they chanced to be at hometogether for a few days. She used to look at him, he remembered, withawe-stricken eyes and parted lips, hardly daring to speak when he was inthe room, continually to be met with going from or to the tall quietchapel. 

He had always supposed that she would be a nun, and had acquiesced in itin a cynical sort of way; but he was going to acquiesce no longer now. Of course she would sob, but equally of course she would not dare toresist. 

He called Morris up to him presently as they emerged from one of thebridle paths on to a kind of lane where two could ride abreast. Theservant had seemed oddly silent that morning. 

"We are going to Rusper, " said Ralph. 

"Yes, sir. "

"Mistress Margaret is there. "

"Yes, sir. "

"She will come away with us. I may have to send you on to Overfield withher. You must find a horse for her somehow. "

"Yes, sir. "

There was silence between the two for a minute or two. Mr. Morris hadanswered with as much composure as if he had been told to brush a coat. Ralph began to wonder what he really felt. 

"What do you think of all this, Morris?" he asked in a moment or two. 

The servant was silent, till Ralph glanced at him impatiently. 

"It is not for me to have an opinion, sir, " said Mr Morris. 

Ralph gave a very short laugh. 

"You haven't heard what I have, " he said, "or you would soon have anopinion. "

"Yes, sir, " said Morris as impassively as before. 

"I tell you--" and then Ralph broke off, and rode on silent and moody. Mr. Morris gradually let his horse fall back behind his master. 

 * * * * *

They began to come towards Rusper as the evening drew in, by a bridlepath that led from the west, and on arriving at the village found thatthey had overshot their mark, and ought to have turned sooner. Thenunnery, a man told them, was a mile away to the south-west. Ralph madea few enquiries, and learnt that it was a smallish house, and that itwas scarcely likely that room could be found for his party of four; sohe left Morris to make enquiries for lodgings in the village, andhimself rode on alone to the nunnery, past the church and thetimberhouses. 

It was a bad road, and his tired horse had to pick his way very slowly, so that it was nearly dark before he came to his destination, and thepointed roofs rose before him against the faintly luminous western sky. There were lights in one or two windows as he came up that looked warmand homely in the chill darkness; and as he sat on his horse listeningto the jangle of the bell within, just a breath of doubtfulness touchedhis heart for a moment as he thought of the peaceful home-life that laypacked within those walls, and of the errand on which he had come. 

But the memory of the tales he had heard, haunted him still; and hespoke in a harsh voice as the shutter slid back, and a littlecriss-crossed square of light appeared in the black doorway. 

"I am one of the King's Visitors, " he said. "Let my Lady Abbess know Iam here. I must speak with her. "

There was a stifled sound behind the grating; and Ralph caught a glimpseof a pair of eyes looking at him. Then the square grew dark again. Itwas a minute or two before anything further happened, and Ralph as hesat cold and hungry on his horse, began to grow impatient. His hand wason the twisted iron handle to ring again fiercely, when there was a stepwithin, and a light once more shone out. 

"Who is it?" said an old woman's voice, with a note of anxiety in it. 

"I have sent word in, " said Ralph peevishly, "that I am one of theKing's Visitors. I should be obliged if I might not be kept here allnight. "

There was a moment's silence; the horse sighed sonorously. 

"How am I to know, sir?" said the voice again. 

"Because I tell you so, " snapped Ralph. "And if more is wanted, my nameis Torridon. You have a sister of mine in there. "

There was an exclamation from within; and the sound of whispering; andthen hasty footsteps went softly across the paved court inside. 

The voice spoke again. 

"I ask your pardon, sir; but have you any paper--or--"

Ralph snatched out a document of identification, and leaned forwardfrom his horse to pass it through the opening. He felt trembling fingerstake it from him; and a moment later heard returning footsteps. 

There was a rustle of paper, and then a whisper within. 

"Well, my dear?"

Something shifted in the bright square, and it grew gloomy as a facepressed up against the bars. Then again it shifted and the light shoneout, and a flutter of whispers followed. 

"Really, madam--" began Ralph; but there was the jingle of keys, and thesound of panting, and almost immediately a bolt shot back, followed bythe noise of a key turning. A chorus of whispers broke out and a scurryof footsteps, and then the door opened inwards and a little old womanstood there in a black habit, her face swathed in white above and below. The others had vanished. 

"I am very sorry, Mr. Torridon, to have kept you at the door; but wehave to be very careful. Will you bring your horse in, sir?"

Ralph was a little abashed by the sudden development of the situation, and explained that he had only come to announce his arrival; he hadsupposed that there would not be room at the nunnery. 

"But we have a little guest-house here, " announced the old lady with adignified air, "and room for your horse. "

Ralph hesitated; but he was tired and hungry. 

"Come in, Mr. Torridon. You had better dismount and lead your horse in. Sister Anne will see to it. "

"Well, if you are sure--" began Ralph again, slipping a foot out of thestirrup. 

"I am sure, " said the Abbess; and stood aside for him and his beast topass. 

There was a little court, lighted by a single lamp burning within awindow, with the nunnery itself on one side, and a small cottage on theother. Beyond the latter rose the roofs of an outhouse. 

As Ralph came in, the door from the nunnery opened again, and a laysister came out hastily; she moved straight across and took the horse bythe bridle. 

"Give him a good meal, sister, " said the Abbess; and went past Ralph tothe door of the guest-house. 

"Come in, Mr. Torridon; there will be lights immediately. "

 * * * * *

In half an hour Ralph found himself at supper in the guest-parlour; abright fire crackled on the hearth, a couple of candles burned on thetable, and a pair of old darned green curtains hung across the lowwindow. 

The Abbess came in when he had finished, dismissed the lay-sister whohad waited on him, and sat down herself. 

"You shall see your sister to-morrow, Mr. Torridon, " she said, "it is alittle late now. I have sent the boy up to the village for your servant;he can sleep in this room if you wish. I fear we have no room for more. "

Ralph watched her as she talked. She was very old, with hanging cheeks, and solemn little short-sighted eyes, for she peered at him now andagain across the candles. Her upper lip was covered with a slight growthof dark hair. She seemed strangely harmless; and Ralph had another prickof compunction as he thought of the news he had to give her on themorrow. He wondered how much she knew. 

"We are so glad it is you, Mr. Torridon, that have come to visit us. Wefeared it might be Dr. Layton; we have heard sad stories of him. "

Ralph hardened his heart. 

"He has only done his duty, Reverend Mother, " he said. 

"Oh! but you cannot have heard, " exclaimed the old lady. "He has robbedseveral of our houses we hear--even the altar itself. And he has turnedaway some of our nuns. "

Ralph was silent; he thought he would at least leave the old lady inpeace for this last night. She seemed to want no answer; but went onexpatiating on the horrors that were happening round them, the wickedaccusations brought against the Religious, and the Divine vengeance thatwould surely fall on those who were responsible. 

Finally she turned and questioned him, with a mingling of deference anddignity. 

"What do you wish from us. Mr. Torridon? You must tell me, that I maysee that everything is in order. "

Ralph was secretly amused by her air of innocent assurance. 

"That is my business, Reverend Mother. I must ask for all the books ofthe house, with the account of any sales you may have effected, properlyrecorded. I must have a list of the inmates of the house, with astatement of any corrodies attached; and the names and ages and dates ofprofession of all the Religious. "

The Abbess blinked for a moment. 

"Yes, Mr. Torridon. You will allow me of course to see all your papersto-morrow; it is necessary for me to be certified that all your part isin order. "

Ralph smiled a little grimly. 

"You shall see all that, " he said. "And then there is more that I mustask; but that will do for a beginning. When I have shown you my papersyou will see what it is that I want. "

There was a peal at the bell outside; the Abbess turned her head andwaited till there was a noise of bolts and unlocking. 

"That will be your man, sir. Will you have him in now, Mr. Torridon?"

Ralph assented. 

"And then he must look at the horses to see that all is as you wish. "

Mr. Morris came in a moment later, and bowed with great deference to thelittle old lady, who enquired his name. 

"When you have finished with your man, Mr. Torridon, perhaps you willallow him to ring for me at the door opposite. I will go with him to seethe horses. "

Mr. Morris had brought with him the mass of his master's papers, andwhen he had set these out and prepared the bedroom that opened out ofthe guest-parlour, he asked leave to go across and fetch the Abbess. 

Ralph busied himself for half-an-hour or so in running over the Articlesand Injunctions once more, and satisfying himself that he was perfect inhis business; and he was just beginning to wonder why his servant hadnot reappeared when the door opened once more, and Mr. Morris slippedin. 

"My horse is a little lame, sir, " he said. "I have been putting on apoultice. "

Ralph glanced up. 

"He will be fit to travel, I suppose?"

"In a day or two, Mr. Ralph. "

"Well; that will do. We shall be here till Monday at least. "

 * * * * *

Ralph could not sleep very well that night. The thought of his businesstroubled him a little. It would have been easier if the Abbess had beeneither more submissive or more defiant; but her air of mingled courtesyand dignity affected him. Her innocence too had something touching init, and her apparent ignorance of what his visit meant. He had suppedexcellently at her expense, waited on by a cheerful sister, and wellserved from the kitchen and cellar; and the Reverend Mother herself hadcome in and talked sensibly and bravely. He pictured to himself whatlife must be like through the nunnery wall opposite--how brisk andpunctual it must be, and at the same time homely and caressing. 

And it was his hand that was to pull down the first prop. There would nodoubt be three or four nuns below age who must be dismissed, andprobably there would be a few treasures to be carried off, aprocessional crucifix perhaps, such as he had seen in Dr. Layton'scollection, and a rich chalice or two, used on great days. His ownsister too must be one of those who must go. How would the little oldAbbess behave herself then? What would she say? Yet he comfortedhimself, as he lay there in the clean, low-ceilinged room, staring atthe tiny crockery stoup gleaming against the door-post, by recollectingthe principle on which he had come. Possibly a few innocents would haveto suffer, a few old hearts be broken; but it was for a man to take suchthings in his day's work. 

And then as he remembered Dr. Layton's tales, his heart grew hot andhard again. 

CHAPTER IV

AN UNEXPECTED MEETING

The enquiry was to be made in the guest-parlour on the next morning. 

 * * * * *

Ralph went to mass first at nine o'clock, which was said by a priestfrom the parish church who acted as chaplain to the convent; and had achair set for him outside the nuns' choir from which he could see thealtar and the tall pointed window; and then, after some refreshment inthe guest-parlour, spread out his papers, and sat enthroned behind acouple of tables, as at a tribunal. Mr. Morris stood deferentially byhis chair as the examination was conducted. 

Ralph was a little taken aback by the bearing of the Abbess. In thecourse of the enquiry, when he was perplexed by one or two of therecords, she rose from her chair before the table, and came round to hisside, drawing up a seat as she did so; Ralph could hardly tell her to goback, but his magisterial air was a little affected by having one whomhe almost considered as a culprit sitting judicially beside him. 

"It is better for me to be here, " she said. "I can explain more easilyso. "

 * * * * *

There was a little orchard that the nuns had sold in the previous year;and Ralph asked for an explanation. 

"It came from the Kingsford family, " she said serenely; "it was uselessto us. "

"But--" began the inquisitor. 

"We needed some new vestments, " she went on. "You will understand, Mr. Torridon, that it was necessary for for us to sell it. We are not richat all. "

There was nothing else that called for comment; except the manner inwhich the books were kept. Ralph suggested some other method. 

"Dame Agnes has her own ways, " said the old lady. "We must not disturbher. "

And Dame Agnes assumed a profound and financial air on the other side ofthe table. 

Presently Ralph put a mark in the inventory against a "cope of goldbawdekin, " and requested that it might be brought. 

The sister-sacristan rose at a word from the Abbess and went out, returning presently with the vestment. She unfolded the coverings andspread it out on the table before Ralph. 

It was a magnificent piece of work, of shimmering gold, with orphreysembroidered with arms; and she stroked out its folds with obvious pride. 

"These are Warham's arms, " observed the Abbess. "You know them, Mr. Torridon? We worked these the month before his death. "

Ralph nodded briskly. 

"Will you kindly leave it here, Reverend Mother, " he said. "I wish tosee it again presently. "

The Abbess gave no hint of discomposure, but signed to the sacristan toplace it over a chair at one side. 

There were a couple of other things that Ralph presently caused to befetched and laid aside--a precious mitre with a couple of cameos infront, and bordered with emeralds, and a censer with silver filigreework. 

Then came a more difficult business. 

"I wish to see the nuns one by one, Reverend Mother, " he said. "I mustask you to withdraw. "

The Abbess gave him a quick look, and then rose. 

"Very well, sir, I will send them in. " And she went out with Mr. Morrisbehind her. 

They came in one by one, and sat down before the table, with downcasteyes, and hands hidden beneath their scapulars; and all told the sametale, except one. They had nothing to complain of; they were happy; theRule was carefully observed; there were no scandals to be revealed; theyasked nothing but to be left in peace. But there was one who came innervously and anxiously towards the end, a woman with quick black eyes, who glanced up and down and at the door as she sat down. Ralph put theusual questions. 

"I wish to be released, sir, " she said. "I am weary of the life, andthe--" she stopped and glanced swiftly up again at the commissioner. 

"Well?" said Ralph. 

"The papistical ways, " she said. 

Ralph felt a sudden distrust of the woman; but he hardened his heart. Heset a mark opposite her name; she had been professed ten years, he sawby the list. 

"Very well, " he said; "I will tell my Lady Abbess. " She still hesitateda moment. 

"There will be a provision for me?" she asked

"There will be a provision, " said Ralph a little grimly. He wasauthorised to offer in such cases a secular dress and a sum of fiveshillings. 

Lastly came in Margaret herself. 

Ralph hardly knew her. He had been unable to distinguish her at mass, and even now as she faced him in her black habit and white head-dress itwas hard to be certain of her identity. But memory and sight weregradually reconciled; he remembered her delicate eyebrows and thinstraight lips; and when she spoke he knew her voice. 

They talked a minute or two about their home; but Ralph did not dare tosay too much, considering what he had yet to say. 

"I must ask you the questions, " he said at last, smiling at her. 

She looked up at him nervously, and dropped her eyes once more. 

She nodded or shook her head in silence at each enquiry, until at lastone bearing upon the morals of the house came up; then she lookedswiftly up once more, and Ralph saw that her grey eyes were terrified. 

"You must tell me, " he said; and put the question again. 

"I do not know what you mean, " she answered, staring at him bewildered. 

Ralph went on immediately to the next. 

At last he reached the crisis. 

"Margaret, " he said, "I have something to tell you. " He stopped andbegan to play with his pen. He had seldom felt so embarrassed as now inthe presence of this shy sister of his of whom he knew so little. Hecould not look at her. 

"Margaret, you know, you--you are under age. The King's Grace hasordered that all under twenty years of age are to leave their convents. "

There was a dead silence. 

Ralph was enraged with his own weakness. He had begun the morning's workwith such determination; but the strange sweet atmosphere of the house, the file of women coming in one by one with their air of innocence anddefencelessness had affected him. In spite of himself his religious sidehad asserted itself, and he found himself almost tremulous now. 

He made a great effort at self-repression, and looked up with hardbright eyes at his sister. 

"There must be no crying or rebellion, " he said. "You must come with meto-morrow. I shall send you to Overfield. "

Still Margaret said nothing. She was staring at him now, white-facedwith parted lips. 

"You are the last?" he said with a touch of harshness, standing up withhis hands on the table. "Tell the Reverend Mother I have done. "

Then she rose too. 

"Ralph, " she cried, "my brother! For Jesu's sake--"

"Tell the Reverend Mother, " he said again, his eyes hard with decision. 

She turned and went out without a word. 

 * * * * *

Ralph found the interview with the Abbess even more difficult than hehad expected. 

Once her face twitched with tears; but she drove them back bravely andfaced him again. 

"Do you mean to tell me, Mr. Torridon, that you intend to take yoursister away?"

Ralph bowed. 

"And that Dame Martha has asked to be released?"

Again he bowed. 

"Are you not afraid, sir, to do such work?"

Ralph smiled bitterly. 

"I am not, Reverend Mother, " he said. "I know too much. "

"From whom?"

"Oh! not from your nuns, " he said sharply, "they of course know nothing, or at least will tell me nothing. It was from Dr. Layton. "

"And what did Dr. Layton tell you?"

"I can hardly tell you that, Reverend Mother; it is not fit for yourears. "

She looked at him steadily. 

"And you believe it?"

Ralph smiled. 

"That makes no difference, " he said. "I am acting by his Grace'sorders. "

There was silence for a moment. 

"Then may our Lord have mercy on you!" she said. 

She turned to where the gold cope gleamed over the chair, with the mitreand censer lying on its folds. 

"And those too?" she asked. 

"Those too, " said Ralph. 

She turned towards the door without a word. 

"There are the fees as well, " remarked Ralph. "We can arrange those thisevening, Reverend Mother. "

The little stiff figure turned and waited at the door. "And at what timewill you dine, sir?"

"Immediately, " said Ralph. 

 * * * * *

He was served at dinner with the same courtesy as before; but the laysister's eyes were red, and her hands shook as she shifted the plates. Neither spoke a word till towards the end of the meal. 

"Where is my man?" asked Ralph, who had not seen him since he had goneout with the Abbess a couple of hours before. 

The sister shook her head. 

"Where is the Reverend Mother?"

Again she shook her head. 

Ralph enquired the hour of Vespers, and when he had learnt it, took hiscap and went out to look for Mr. Morris. He went first to the littledark outhouse, and peered in over the bottom half of the door, but therewas no sign of him there. He could see a horse standing in a stallopposite, and tried to make out the second horse that he knew was there;but it was too dark, and he turned away. 

It was a warm October afternoon as he went out through the gatehouse, still and bright, with the mellow smell of dying leaves in the air; thefields stretched away beyond the road into the blue distance as he wentalong, and were backed by the thinning woods, still ruddy with the lastflames of autumn. Overhead the blue sky, washed with recent rains, arched itself in a great transparent vault, and a stream of birdscrossed it from east to west. 

He went round the corner of the convent buildings and turned up into ameadow beside a thick privet hedge that divided it from the garden, andas he moved along he heard a low humming noise sounding from the otherside. 

There was a door in the hedge at the point, and at either side thegrowth was a little thin, and he could look through without beinghimself seen. 

The grass was trim and smooth inside; there was a mass of autumnflowers, grown no doubt for the altar, running in a broad bed across thenearer side of the garden, and beyond it rose a grey dial, round whichsat a circle of nuns. 

Ralph pressed his face to the hedge and watched. 

There they were, each with her wheel before her, spinning in silence. The Abbess sat in the centre, immediately below the dial, with a book inher hand, and was turning the pages. 

He could see a nun's face steadily bent on her wheel--that was DameAgnes who had fetched the cope for him in the morning. She seemedperfectly quiet and unaffected, watching her thread, and putting out adeft hand now and again to the machinery. Beside her sat another, whoseface he remembered well; she had stammered a little as she gave heranswers in the morning, and even as he looked the face twitchedsuddenly, and broke into tears. He saw the Abbess turn from her book andlay her hand, with a kind of tender decision on the nun's arm, and sawher lips move, but the hum and rattle of the spinning-wheels was tooloud to let him hear what she said; he saw now the other nun lift herface again from her hands, and wink away her tears as she laid hold ofthe thread once more. 

 * * * * *

Ralph had a strange struggle with himself that afternoon as he walked onin the pleasant autumn weather through meadow and copse. The sight ofthe patient women had touched him profoundly. Surely it was almost toomuch to ask him to turn away his own sister from the place she loved! Ifhe relented, it was certain that no other Visitor would come that wayfor the present; she might at least have another year or two of peace. Was it too late?

He reminded himself again how such things were bound to happen; howevery change, however beneficial, must bring sorrow with it, and that toturn back on such work because a few women suffered was not worthy of aman. It was long before he could come to any decision, and the eveningwas drawing on, and the time for Vespers come and gone before he turnedat last into the village to enquire for his servant. 

The other men had seen nothing of Mr. Morris that day; he had not beenback to the village. 

A group or two stared awefully at the fine gentleman with the strongface and steady intolerant eyes, as he strode down the tiny street inhis rich dress, swinging his long silver-headed cane. They had learntwho he was now, but were so overcome by seeing the King's Commissionerthat they forgot to salute him. As he turned the corner again he lookedround once more, and there they were still watching him. A few women hadcome to the doors as well, and dropped their arched hands hastily anddisappeared as he turned. 

The convent seemed all as he had left it earlier in the afternoon, as hecame in sight of it again. The high chapel roof rose clear against thereddening sky, with the bell framed in its turret distinct as if carvedout of cardboard against the splendour. 

He was admitted instantly when he rang on the bell, but the portressseemed to look at him with a strange air of expectancy, and stoodlooking after him as he went across the paved court to the door of theguest-house. 

There was a murmur of voices in the parlour as he paused in the entry, and he wondered who was within, but as his foot rang out the soundceased. 

He opened the door and went in; and then stopped bewildered. 

In the dim light that passed through the window stood his father andMary Maxwell, his sister. 

CHAPTER V

FATHER AND SON

None of the three spoke for a moment. 

Then Mary drew her breath sharply as she saw Ralph's face, for it hadhardened during that moment into a kind of blind obstinacy which she hadonly seen once or twice in her life before. 

As he stood there he seemed to stiffen into resistance. His eyelidsdrooped, and little lines showed themselves suddenly at either side ofhis thin mouth. His father saw it too, for the hand that he had liftedentreatingly sank again, and his voice was tremulous as he spoke. 

"Ralph--Ralph, my son!" he said. 

Still the man said nothing; but stood frozen, his face half-turned tothe windows. 

"Ralph, my son, " said the other again, "you know why we have come. "

"You have come to hinder my business. "

His voice was thin and metallic, as rigid as steel. 

"We have come to hinder a great sin against God, " said Sir James. 

Ralph opened his eyes wide with a sort of fury, and thrust his chin out. 

"She should pack a thousand times more now than before, " he said. 

The father's face too deepened into strength now, and he drew himselfup. 

"Do you know what you are doing?" he said. 

"I do, sir. "

There was an extraordinary insolence in his voice, and Mary took a stepforward. 

"Oh! Ralph, " she said, "at least do it like a gentleman!"

Ralph turned on her sharply, and the obstinacy vanished in anger. 

"I will not be pushed like this, " he snarled. "What right is it of yoursto come between me and my work?"

Sir James made a quick imperious gesture, and his air of entreaty fellfrom him like a cloak. 

"Sit down, sir, " he said, and his voice rang strongly. "We have a rightin Margaret's affairs. We will say what we wish. "

Mary glanced at him: she had never seen her father like this before ashe stood in three quarter profile, rigid with decision. When she lookedat Ralph again, his face had tightened once more into obstinacy. Heanswered Sir James with a kind of silky deference. 

"Of course, I will sit down, sir, and you shall say what you will. "

He went across the room and drew out a couple of chairs before the coldhearth where the white ashes and logs of last night's fire still rested. Sir James sat down with his back to the window so that Mary could notsee his face, and Ralph stood by the other chair a moment, facing her. 

"Sit down, Mary, " he said. "Wait, I will have candles. "

He stepped back to the door and called to the portress, and thenreturned, and seated himself deliberately, setting his cane in thecorner beside him. 

None of the three spoke again until the nun had come in with a couple ofcandles that she set in the stands and lighted; then she went outwithout glancing at anyone. Mary was sitting in the window seat, so thecurtains remained undrawn, and there was a mystical compound of twilightand candle-light in the room. 

She had a flash of metaphor, and saw in it the meeting of the old andnew religions; the type of these two men, of whom the light of one wasfading, and the other waxing. The candlelight fell full on Ralph's facethat stood out against the whitewashed wall behind. 

Then she listened and watched with an intent interest. 

 * * * * *

"It is this, " said Sir James, "we heard you were here--"

Ralph smiled with one side of his mouth, so that his father could seeit. 

"I do not wish to do anything I should not, " went on the old man, "or tomeddle in his Grace's matters--"

"And you wish me not to meddle either, sir, " put in Ralph. 

"Yes, " said his father. "I am very willing to receive you and your wifeat home; to make any suitable provision; to give you half the house ifyou wish for it; if you will only give up this accursed work. "

He was speaking with a tranquil deliberation; all the emotion andpassion seemed to have left his voice; but Mary, from behind, could seehis right hand clenched like a vice upon the knob of his chair-arm. Itseemed to her as if the two men had suddenly frozen intoself-repression. Their air was one of two acquaintances talking, not offather and son. 

"And if not, sir?" asked Ralph with the same courtesy. 

"Wait, " said his father, and he lifted his hand a moment and dropped itagain. He was speaking in short, sharp sentences. "I know that you havegreat things before you, and that I am asking much from you. I do notwish you to think that I am ignorant of that. If nothing else will do Iam willing to give up the house altogether to you and your wife. I donot know about your mother. "

Mary drew her breath hard. The words were like an explosion in her soul, and opened up unsuspected gulfs. Things must be desperate if her fathercould speak like that. He had not hinted a word of this during thatsilent strenuous ride they had had together when he had called for hersuddenly at Great Keynes earlier in the afternoon. She saw Ralph give aquick stare at his father, and drop his eyes again. 

"You are very generous, sir, " he said almost immediately, "but I do notask for a bribe. "

"You--you are unlike your master in that, then, " said Sir James by anirresistible impulse. 

Ralph's face stiffened yet more. 

"Then that is all, sir?" he asked. 

"I beg your pardon for saying that, " added his father courteously. "Itshould not have been said. It is not a bribe, however; it is an offer tocompensate for any loss you may incur. "

"Have you finished, sir?"

"That is all I have to say on that point, " said Sir James, "except--"

"Well, sir?"

"Except that I do not know how Mistress Atherton will take this story. "

Ralph's face grew a shade paler yet. But his lips snapped together, though his eyes flinched. 

"That is a threat, sir. "

"That is as you please. "

A little pulse beat sharply in Ralph's cheek. He was looking with akind of steady fury at his father. But Mary thought she saw indecisiontoo in his eye-lids, which were quivering almost imperceptibly. 

"You have offered me a bribe and a threat, sir. Two insults. Have you athird ready?"

Mary heard a swift-drawn breath from her father, but he spoke quietly. 

"I have no more to say on that point, " he said. 

"Then I must refuse, " said Ralph instantly. "I see no reason to give upmy work. I have very hearty sympathy with it. "

The old man's hand twitched uncontrollably on his chair-arm for amoment; he half lifted his hand, but he dropped it again. 

"Then as to Margaret, " he went on in a moment. "I understand you hadintended to dismiss her from the convent?"

Ralph bowed. 

"And where do you suggest that she should go?"

"She must go home, " said Ralph. 

"To Overfield?"

Ralph assented. 

"Then I will not receive her, " said Sir James. 

Mary started up. 

"Nor will Mary receive her, " he added, half turning towards her. 

Mary Maxwell sat back at once. She thought she understood what he meantnow. 

Ralph stared at his father a moment before he too understood. Then hesaw the point, and riposted deftly. He shrugged his shouldersostentatiously as if to shake off responsibility. 

"Well, then, that is not my business; I shall give her a gown and fiveshillings to-morrow, with the other one. "

The extraordinary brutality of the words struck Mary like a whip, butSir James met it. 

"That is for you to settle then, " he said. "Only you need not send herto Overfield or Great Keynes, for she will be sent back here at once. "

Ralph smiled with an air of tolerant incredulity. Sir James rosebriskly. 

"Come, Mary, " he said, and turned his back abruptly on Ralph, "we mustfind lodgings for to-night. The good nuns will not have room. "

As Mary looked at his face in the candlelight she was astonished by itsdecision; there was not the smallest hint of yielding. It was very palebut absolutely determined, and for the fast time in her life she noticedhow like it was to Ralph's. The line of the lips was identical, and hiseyelids drooped now like his son's. 

Ralph too rose and then on a sudden she saw the resolute obstinacy fadefrom his eyes and mouth. It was as if the spirit of one man had passedinto the other. 

"Father--" he said. 

She expected a rush of emotion into the old man's face, but there wasnot a ripple. He paused a moment, but Ralph was silent. 

"I have no more to say to you, sir. And I beg that you will not comehome again. "

As they passed out into the entrance passage she turned again and sawRalph dazed and trembling at the table. Then they were out in the roadthrough the open gate and a long moan broke from her father. 

"Oh! God forgive me, " he said, "have I failed?"

CHAPTER VI

A NUN'S DEFIANCE

It was a very strange evening that Mary and her father passed in thelittle upstairs room looking on to the street at Rusper. 

Sir James had hardly spoken, and after supper had sat near the window, with a curious alertness in his face. Mary knew that Chris was expected, and that Mr. Morris had ridden on to fetch him after he had called atOverfield, but from her short interview with Margaret she had seen thathis presence would not be required. The young nun, though bewildered andstunned by the news that she must go, had not wavered for a moment asregards her intention to follow out her Religious vocation in somemanner; and it was to confirm her in it, in case she hesitated, that SirJames had sent on the servant to fetch Chris. 

It was all like a dreadful dream to Mary. 

She had gone out from dinner at her own house into the pleasant Octobersunshine with her cheerful husband beside her, when her father had comeout through the house with his riding-whip in his hand; and in a fewseconds she had found herself plunged into new and passionate relations, first with him, for she had never seen him so stirred, and then with herbrothers and sister. Ralph, that dignified man of affairs, suddenlystepped into her mind as a formidable enemy of God and man; Chrisappeared as a spiritual power, and the quiet Margaret as the very centreof the sudden storm. 

She sat here now by the fire, shading her face with her hand andwatching that familiar face set in hard and undreamed lines of passionand resolution and expectancy. 

Once as footsteps came up the street he had started up and sat downtrembling. 

She waited till the steps went past, and then spoke. 

"Chris will be riding, father. "

He nodded abruptly, and she saw by his manner that it was not Chris hewas expecting. She understood then that he still had hopes of his otherson, but they sat on into the night in the deep stillness, till the fireburned low and red, and the stars she had seen at the horizon wheeled upand out of sight above the window-frame. 

Then he suddenly turned to her. 

"You must go to bed, Mary, " he said. "I will wait for Chris. "

She lay long awake in the tiny cupboard-room that the labourer and hiswife had given up to her, hearing the horses stamp in the cold shed atthe back of the house, and the faces moved and turned like the coloursof a kaleidoscope. Now her father's eyes and mouth hung like a maskbefore her, with that terrible look that had been on them as he facedRalph at the end; now Ralph's own face, defiant, icy, melting in turns;now Margaret's with wide terrified eyes, as she had seen it in theparlour that afternoon; now her own husband's. And the sweet autumnwoods and meadows lay before her as she had seen them during that silentride; the convent, the village, her own home with its square windows andyew hedge--a hundred images. 

 * * * * *

There was a talking when she awoke for the last time and through thecrazy door glimmered a crack of grey dawn, and as she listened she knewthat Chris was come. 

It was a strange meeting when she came out a few minutes later. Therewas the monk, unshaven and pale under the eyes, with his thinned facethat gave no smile as she came in; her father desperately white andresolved; Mr. Morris, spruce and grave as usual sitting with his hatbetween his knees behind the others;--he rose deferentially as she camein and remained standing. 

Her father began abruptly as she appeared. 

"He can do nothing, " he said, "he can but turn her on to the road. And Ido not think he will dare. "

"Ah! Beatrice Atherton?" questioned Mary, who had a clearer view of thesituation now. 

"Yes--Beatrice Atherton. He fears that we shall tell her. He cannot sendMargaret to Overfield or Great Keynes now. "

"And if he turns her out after all?"

Sir James looked at her keenly. 

"We must leave the rest to God, " he said. 

The village was well awake by the time that they had finished their talkand had had something to eat. The drama at the convent had leaked outthrough the boy who served the altar there, and a little group wasassembled opposite the windows of the cottage to which the monk had beenseen to ride up an hour or two before. It seemed strange that no priesthad been near them, but it was fairly evident that the terror was toogreat. 

As the four came out on to the road, a clerical cap peeped for a momentfrom the churchyard wall and disappeared again. 

They went down towards the convent along the grey road, in the paleautumn morning air. Mary still seemed to herself to walk in a dream, with her father and brother on either side masquerading in strangecharacter; the familiar atmosphere had been swept from them, thebackground of association was gone, and they moved now in a new scenewith new parts to play that were bringing out powers which she had neversuspected in them. It seemed as if their essential souls had been laidbare by a catastrophe, and that she had never known them before. 

For herself, she felt helpless and dazed; her own independence seemedgone, and she was aware that her soul was leaning on those of the twowho walked beside her, and who were masculine and capable beyond all herprevious knowledge of them. 

Behind she heard a murmur of voices and footsteps of three or fourvillagers who followed to see what would happen. 

She had no idea of what her father meant to do; it was incredible thathe should leave Margaret in the road with her gown and five shillings;but it was yet more incredible that all his threats should be idle. Onlyone thing emerged clearly, that he had thrown a heavier responsibilityupon Ralph than the latter had foreseen. Perhaps the rest must indeed beleft to God. She did not even know what he meant to do now, whether tomake one last effort with Ralph, or to leave him to himself; and she hadnot dared to ask. 

They passed straight down together in silence to the convent-gate; andwere admitted immediately by the portress whose face was convulsed andswollen. 

"They are to go, " she sobbed. 

Sir James made a gesture, and passed in to the tiny lodge on the leftwhere the portress usually sat; Chris and Mary followed him in, and Mr. Morris went across to the guest-house. 

The bell sounded out overhead for mass as they sat there in the dimmorning light, twenty or thirty strokes, and ceased; but there was nomovement from the little door of the guest-house across the court. Theportress had disappeared through the second door that led from the tinyroom in which they sat, into the precincts of the convent itself. 

Mary looked distractedly round her; at the little hatch that gave on tothe entrance gate, and the chain hanging by it that communicated withone of the bolts, at the little crucifix that hung beside it, thedevotional book that lay on the shelf, the door into the convent withthe title "_Clausura_" inscribed above it. She glanced at her father andbrother. 

Sir James was sitting with his grey head in his hands, motionless andsoundless; Chris was standing upright and rigid, staring steadily outthrough the window into the court. 

Then through the window she too saw Mr. Morris come out from theguest-house and pass along to the stable. 

Again there was silence. 

The minutes went by, and the Saunce bell sounded three strokes from theturret. Chris sank on to his knees, and a moment later Mary and herfather followed his example, and so the three remained in the darksilent lodge, with no sound but their breathing, and once a sharpwhispered word of prayer from the old man. 

As the sacring bell sounded there was a sudden noise in the court, andMary lifted her head. 

From where she knelt she could see the two doors across the court, thoseof the guest-house and the stable beyond, and simultaneously, out of theone came Ralph, gloved and booted, with his cap on his head, and Mr. Morris leading his horse out of the other. 

The servant lifted his cap at the sound of the bell, and dropped on tohis knees, still holding the bridle; his master stood as he was, andlooked at him. Mary could only see the latter's profile, but even thatwas scornful and hard. 

Again the bell sounded; the mystery was done; and the servant stood up. 

As her father and Chris rose, Mary rose with them; and the threeremained in complete silence, watching the little scene in the court. 

Ralph made a sign; and the servant attached the bridle of the horse to aring beside the stable-door, and went past his master into theguest-house with a deferential stoop of the shoulders. Ralph stood amoment longer, and then followed him in. 

Then again the minutes went by. 

There was a sound of horse-hoofs on the road presently, and of talkingthat grew louder. The hoofs ceased; there was a sharp peal on the bell;and the talking began again. 

Chris glanced across at his father; but the old man shook his head; andthe three remained as they were, watching and listening. As the bellrang out again impatiently, the door behind opened, and the portresscame swiftly through, followed by the Abbess. 

"Come quickly, " the old lady whispered. "Sister Susan is going to letthem in. "

She stood aside, and made a motion to them to come through, and a momentlate the four were in the convent, and the door was shut behind them. 

"They are Mr. Torridon's men, " whispered the Abbess, her eyes round withexcitement; "they are come to pack the things. "

She led them on through the narrow passage, up a stone flight of stairsto the corridor that ran over the little cloister, and pushed open thedoor of a cell. 

"Wait here, " she said. "You can do no more. I will go down to them. Youare in the enclosure, but I cannot help it. "

And she had whisked out again, with an air of extraordinary composure, shutting the door behind her. 

The three went across to the window, still speaking no word, and lookeddown. 

The tiny court seemed half full of people now. There were three horsesthere, besides Ralph's own marked by its rich saddle, and still attachedto the ring by the stable door, and a couple of men were busy loadingone of them with bundles. From one of these, which was badly packed, ashimmering corner of gold cloth projected. 

Ralph was standing by the door of the guest-house watching, and making asign now and again with his whip. They could not see his face as hestood so directly below them, only his rich cap and feather, and hisstrong figure beneath. Mr. Morris was waiting now by his master's horse;the portress was by her door. 

As they looked the little black and white figure of the Abbess came outbeneath them, and stood by the portress. 

The packing went on in silence. It was terrible to Mary to stand thereand watch the dumb-show tragedy, the wrecking and robbing of thispeaceful house; and yet there was nothing to be done. She knew that theissues were in stronger hands than hers; she glanced piteously at herfather and brother on either side, but their faces were set and white, and they did not turn at her movement. 

There was the sound of an opening door, and two women came out from theconvent at one side and stood waiting. One was in secular dress; theother was still in her habit, but carried a long dark mantle across herarm, and Mary caught her breath and bit her lip fiercely as sherecognised the second to be her sister. 

She felt she must cry out, and denounce the sacrilege, and made aninstinctive movement nearer the window, but in a moment her father'shand was on her arm. 

"Be still, Mary: it is all well. "

One of the horses was being led away by now through the open door; andthe two others followed almost immediately; but the principal actorswere still in their places; the Abbess and the portress together on thisside; Ralph on that; and the two other women, a little apart from oneanother, at the further end of the court. 

Then Ralph beckoned abruptly with his whip, and Mary saw her sister moveout towards the gate; she caught a glance of her face, and saw that herlips were white and trembling, and her eyes full of agony. The otherwoman followed briskly, and the two disappeared through to the roadoutside. 

Again Ralph beckoned, and Mr. Morris brought up the horse that he hadnow detached from the ring, and stood by its head, holding theoff-stirrup for his master to mount. Ralph gathered the reins into hisleft hand, and for a moment they saw his face across the back of thehorse fierce and white; then he was up, and settling his right foot intothe stirrup. 

Mr. Morris let go, and stood back; and simultaneously Ralph struck himwith his riding-whip across the face, a furious back-handed slash. 

Mary cried out uncontrollably and shrank back; and a moment later herfather was leaning from the window, and she beside him. 

"You damned coward!" he shouted. "Morris, you are my servant now. "

Ralph did not turn his head an inch, and a moment later disappeared onhorse-back through the gate, and the portress had closed it behind him. 

The little court was silent now, and empty except for the Abbess'motionless figure behind, with Mr. Morris beside her, and the lay sisterby the gate, her hand still on the key that she had turned, and her eyesintent and expectant fixed on her superior. Mr. Morris lifted ahandkerchief now and again gently to his face, and Mary as she leanedhalf sobbing from above saw that there were spots of crimson on thewhite. 

"Oh! Morris!" she whispered. 

The servant looked up, with a great weal across one cheek, and bowed alittle, but he could not speak yet. Outside they could hear the jingleof bridle-chains; and then a voice begin; but they could not distinguishthe words. 

It was Ralph speaking; but they could only guess what it was that he wassaying. Overhead the autumn sky was a vault of pale blue; and a bird ortwo chirped briskly from the roof opposite. 

The voice outside grew louder, and ceased, and the noise of horse hoofsbroke out. 

Still there was no movement from any within. The Abbess was standing nowwith one hand uplifted as if for silence, and Mary heard the hoofs soundfainter up the road; they grew louder again as they reached higherground; and then ceased altogether. 

The old man touched Mary on the arm, and the three went out along thelittle corridor, and down the stone stairs. 

As they passed through the lodge and came into the court Mary saw thatthe Abbess had moved from her place, and was standing with the portressclose by the gate; her face was towards them, a little on one side, andshe seemed to be listening intently, her ear against the door, her lowerlip sucked in, and her eyes bright and vacant; she still held one handup for silence. 

Then there came a tiny tapping on the wood-work, and she instantlyturned and snatched at the key, and a moment later the door was wide. 

"Come in, my poor child, " she said. 

CHAPTER VII

ST PANCRAS PRIORY

It was a little more than a month later that Ralph met hisfellow-Visitor at Lewes Priory. 

He had left Rusper in a storm of angry obstinacy, compelled by sheerpride to do what he had not intended. The arrival of his father and Marythere had had exactly the opposite effect to that which they hoped, andRalph had turned Margaret out of the convent simply because he could notbear that they should think that he could be frightened from hispurpose. 

As he had ridden off on that October morning, leaving Margaret standingoutside with her cloak over her arm he had had a very sharp suspicionthat she would be received back again; but he had not felt himselfstrong enough to take any further steps; so he contented himself withsending in his report to Dr. Layton, knowing well that heavy punishmentwould fall on the convent if it was discovered that the Abbess haddisobeyed the Visitors' injunctions. 

Then for a month or so he had ridden about the county, carrying offspoils, appointing new officials, and doing the other duties assigned tohim; he was offered bribes again and again by superiors of ReligiousHouses, but unlike his fellow-Visitors always refused them, and fell themore hardly on those that offered them; he turned out numbers of youngReligious and released elder ones who desired it, and by the time thathe reached Lewes was fairly practised in the duties of his position. 

But the thought of the consequences of his action with regard to hisfuture seldom left him. He had alienated his family, and perhapsBeatrice. As he rode once through Cuckfield, and caught a glimpse of thewoods above Overfield, glorious in their autumn livery, he wonderedwhether he would ever find himself at home there again. It was a gooddeal to give up; but he comforted himself with the thought of his owncareer, and with the pleasant prospect of possessing some such house inhis own right when the work that he now understood had beenaccomplished, and the monastic buildings were empty of occupants. 

He had received one letter, to his surprise, from his mother; that wasbrought to him by a messenger in one of the houses where he stayed. Itinformed him that he had the writer's approval, and that she wasthankful to have one son at least who was a man, and described furtherhow his father and Mary had come back, and without Margaret, and thatshe supposed that the Abbess of Rusper had taken her back. 

"Go on, my son, " she ended, "it will be all well. You cannot come home, I know, while your father is in his present mind; but it is a dull placeand you lose nothing. When you are married it will be different. Mr. Carleton is very tiresome, but it does not matter. "

Ralph smiled to himself as he thought of the life that must now beproceeding at his home. 

He had written once to Beatrice, in a rather tentative tone, assuringher that he was doing his best to be just and merciful, and professingto take it for granted that she knew how to discount any exaggeratedstories of the Visitors' doings that might come to her ears. But he hadreceived no answer, and indeed had told her that he did not expect one, for he was continually on the move and could give no fixed address. 

As he came up over the downs above Lewes he was conscious of a keenexcitement; this would be the biggest work he had undertaken, and it hadthe additional zest of being a means of annoying his brother who hadprovoked him so often. Since his quarrel with Chris in his own rooms inthe summer he had retained an angry contempt towards him. Chris had beeninsolent and theatrical, he told himself, and had thrown off all claimsto tenderness, and Ralph's feelings towards him were not improved by theinformation given him by one of his men that his brother had beenpresent at the scene at Rusper, no doubt summoned there by Morris, whohad proved such a desperate traitor to his master by slipping off toOverfield on the morning of the Sunday. 

Ralph was very much puzzled at first by Morris's behaviour; the man hadalways been respectful and obedient, but it was now evident to him thathe had been half-hearted all along, and still retained a superstitiousreverence for ecclesiastical things and persons; and although it wasvery inconvenient and tiresome to lose him, yet it was better to beinadequately than treacherously served. 

 * * * * *

Lewes Priory was a magnificent sight as Ralph came up on to the top ofthe last shoulder below Mount Harry. The town lay below him in the deep, cup-like hollow, piled house above house along the sides. Beyond it inthe evening light, against the rich autumn fields and the gleam ofwater, towered up the tall church with the monastic buildings nestlingbehind. 

The thought crossed his mind that it would do very well for himself;the town was conveniently placed between London and the sea, within aday's ride from either; there would be shops and company there, and thepriory itself would be a dignified and suitable house, when it had beenproperly re-arranged. The only drawback would be Beatrice'sscrupulousness; but he had little doubt that ultimately that could beovercome. It would be ridiculous for a single girl to set herself upagainst the conviction of a country, and refuse to avail herself of theadvantages of a reform that was so sorely needed. She trusted himalready; and it would not need much persuasion he thought to convinceher mind as well as her heart. 

Of course Lewes Priory would be a great prize, and there would be manyapplicants for it, and he realized that more than ever as he came up toits splendid gateway and saw the high tower overhead, and the long tiledroofs to the right; but his own relations with Cromwell were of thebest, and he decided that at least no harm could result from asking. 

It was with considerable excitement that he dismounted in the court, andsaw the throng of Dr. Layton's men going to and fro. As at Durford, sohere, his superior had arrived before him, and the place was alreadyastir. The riding-horses had been bestowed in the stables, and thebaggage-beasts were being now unloaded before the door of theguest-house; there were servants going to and fro in Dr. Layton'slivery, with an anxious-faced monk or two here and there among them, anda buzz and clatter rose on all sides. One of Dr. Layton's secretarieswho had been at Durford, recognised Ralph and came up immediately, saluting him deferentially. 

"The doctor is with the Sub-Prior, sir, " he said. "He gave orders thatyou were to be brought to him as soon as you arrived, Mr. Torridon. "

Ralph followed him into the guest-house, and up the stairs up whichChris had come at his first arrival, and was shown into the parlour. There was a sound of voices as they approached the door, and as Ralphentered he saw at once that Dr. Layton was busy at his work. 

"Come in, sir, " he cried cheerfully from behind the table at which hesat. "Here is desperate work for you and me. No less than rank treason, Mr. Torridon. "

A monk was standing before the table, who turned nervously as Ralph camein; he was a middle-aged man, grey-haired and brown-faced like aforeigner, but his eyes were full of terror now, and his lips tremblingpiteously. 

Ralph greeted Dr. Layton shortly, and sat down beside him. 

"Now, sir, " went on the other, "your only hope is to submit yourself tothe King's clemency. You have confessed yourself to treason in yourpreaching, and even if you did not, it would not signify, for I have theaccusation from the young man at Farley in my bag. You tell me you didnot know it was treason; but are you ready, sir, to tell the King'sGrace that?"

The monk's eyes glanced from one to the other anxiously. Ralph could seethat he was desperately afraid. 

"Tell me that, sir, " cried the doctor again, rapping the table with hisopen hand. 

"I--I--what shall I do, sir?" stammered the monk. 

"You must throw yourself on the King's mercy, reverend father. And as abeginning you must throw yourself on mine and Mr. Torridon's here. Now, listen to this. "

Dr. Layton lifted one of the papers that lay before him and rend italoud, looking severely at the monk over the top of it between thesentences. It was in the form of a confession, and declared that on sucha date in the Priory Church of St Pancras at Lewes the undersigned hadpreached treason, although ignorant that it was so, in the presence ofthe Prior and community; and that the Prior, although he knew what wasto be said, and had heard the sermon in question, had neither forbiddenit beforehand nor denounced it afterwards, and that the undersignedentreated the King's clemency for the fault and submitted himselfentirely to his Grace's judgment. 

"I--I dare not accuse my superior, " stammered the monk. 

Dr. Layton glared at him, laying the paper down. 

"The question is, " he cried, "which would you sooner offend--your Prior, who will be prior no longer presently, or the King's Grace, who willremain the King's Grace for many years yet, by the favour of God, andwho has moreover supreme rights of life and death. That is your choice, reverend father. "--He lifted the paper by the corners. --"You have onlyto say the word, sir, and I tear up this paper, and write my own reportof the matter. "

The monk again glanced helplessly at the two men. Ralph had a touch ofcontentment at the thought that this was Christopher's superior, rangedlike a naughty boy at the table, and looked at him coldly. Dr. Laytonmade a swift gesture as if to tear the paper, and the Sub-Prior threwout his hands. 

"I will sign it, sir, " he said, "I will sign it. "

When the monk had left the room, leaving his signed confession behindhim, Dr. Layton turned beaming to Ralph. 

"Thank God!" he said piously. "I do not know what we should have done ifhe had refused; but now we hold him and his prior too. How have youfared, Mr. Torridon?"

Ralph told him a little of his experiences since his last report, of anunnery where all but three had been either dismissed or released; of amonastery where he had actually caught a drunken cellarer unconscious bya barrel, and of another where he had reason to fear even worse crimes. 

"Write it all down, Mr. Torridon, " cried the priest, "and do not sparethe adjectives. I have some fine tales for you myself. But we mustdespatch this place first. We shall have grand sport in thechapter-house to-morrow. This prior is a poor timid fellow, and we cando what we will with him. Concealed treason is a sharp sword to threatenhim with. "

Ralph remarked presently that he had a brother a monk here. 

"But you can do what you like to him, " he said. "I have no love for him. He is an insolent fellow. "

Dr. Layton smiled pleasantly. 

"We will see what can be done, " he said. 

 * * * * *

Ralph slept that night in the guest-house, in the same room that Chrishad occupied on his first coming. He awoke once at the sound of thegreat bell from the tower calling the monks to the night-office, andsmiled at the fantastic folly of it all. His work during the last monthhad erased the last remnants of superstitious fear, and to him now morethan ever the Religious Houses were but noisy rookeries, clamant withbells and chanting, and foul with the refuse of idleness. The soonerthey were silenced and purged the better. 

He did not trouble to go to mass in the morning, but lay awake in thewhite-washed room, hearing footsteps and voices below, and watching themorning light brighten on the wall. He found himself wondering once ortwice what Chris was doing, and how he felt; he did not rise till one ofhis men looked in to tell him that Dr. Layton would be ready for him inhalf-an-hour, if he pleased. 

The chapter-house was a strange sight as he entered it from thecloister. It was a high oblong chamber some fifty feet long, with archedroof like a chapel, and a paved floor. On a dozen stones or so were cutinscriptions recording the presence of bodies entombed below, among themthose of Earl William de Warenne and Gundrada, his wife, founders of thepriory five centuries ago. Ralph caught sight of the names as he strodethrough the silent monks at the door and entered the chamber, talkingloudly with his fellow-Visitor. The tall vaulted room looked bare andsevere; the seats ran round it, raised on a step, and before the Prior'schair beneath the crucifix stood a large table covered with papers. Beneath it, and emerging on to the floor lay a great heap of vestmentsand precious things which Dr. Layton had ordered to be piled there forhis inspection, and on the table itself for greater dignity burned twotapers in massive silver candlesticks. 

"Sit here, Mr. Torridon, " said the priest, himself taking the Prior'schair, "we represent the supreme head of the Church of England now, youmust remember. "

And he smiled at the other with a solemn joy. 

He glanced over his papers, settled himself judicially, and then signedto one of his men to call the monks in. His two secretaries seatedthemselves at either end of the table that stood before their master. 

Then the two lines began to file in, in reverse order, as the doctor hadcommanded; black silent figures with bowed heads buried in their hoods, and their hands invisible in the great sleeves of their cowls. 

Ralph ran his eyes over them; there were men of all ages there, oldwrinkled faces, and smooth ones; but it was not until they were allstanding in their places that he recognised Chris. 

There stood the young man, at a stall near the door, his eyes bent down, and his face deadly pale, his figure thin and rigid against the pale oakpanelling that rose up some eight feet from the floor. Ralph's heartquickened with triumph. Ah! it was good to be here as judge, with thatbrother of his as culprit!

The Prior and Sub-prior, whose places were occupied, stood together inthe centre of the room, as the doctor had ordered. It was their casethat was to come first. 

There was an impressive silence; the two Visitors sat motionless, looking severely round them; the secretaries had their clean paperbefore them, and their pens, ready dipped, poised in their fingers. 

Then Dr. Layton began. 

 * * * * *

It was an inexpressibly painful task, he said, that he had before him;the monks were not to think that he gloried in it, or loved to findfault and impose punishments; and, in fact, nothing but the knowledgethat he was there as the representative of the supreme authority inChurch and State could have supplied to him the fortitude necessary forthe performance of so sad a task. 

Ralph marvelled at him as he listened. There was a solemn sound in theman's face and voice, and dignity in his few and impressive gestures. Itcould hardly be believed that he was not in earnest; and yet Ralphremembered too the relish with which the man had dispersed his foultales the evening before, and the cackling laughter with which theirrecital was accompanied. But it was all very wholesome for Chris, hethought. 

"And now, " said Dr. Layton, "I must lay before you this grievous matter. It is one of whose end I dare not think, if it should come before theKing's Grace; and yet so it must come. It is no less a matter thantreason. "

His voice rang out with a melancholy triumph, and Ralph, looking at thetwo monks who stood in the centre of the room, saw that they were bothas white as paper. The lips of the Prior were moving in a kind ofagonised entreaty, and his eyes rolled round. 

"You, sir, " cried the doctor, glaring at the Sub-Prior, who dropped hisbeseeching eyes at the fierce look, "you, sir, have committed thecrime--in ignorance, you tell me--but at least the crime of preaching inthis priory-church in the presence of his Grace's faithful subjects asermon attacking the King's most certain prerogatives. I can makeperhaps allowances for this--though I do not know whether his Grace willdo so--but I can make allowances for one so foolish as yourself carriedaway by the drunkenness of words; but I can make none--none--" heshouted, crashing his hand upon the table, "none for your superior whostands beside you, and who forebore either to protest at the treason atthe time or to rebuke it afterwards. "

The Prior's hands rose and clasped themselves convulsively, but he madeno answer. 

Dr. Layton proceeded to read out the confession that he had wrung fromthe monk the night before, down to the signature; then he called uponhim to come up. 

"Is this your name, sir?" he asked slowly. 

The Sub-Prior took the paper in his trembling hands. 

"It is sir, " he said. 

"You hear it, " cried the doctor, staring fiercely round the faces, "hetells you he has subscribed it himself. Go back to your place, reverendfather, and thank our Lord that you had courage to do so. 

"And now, you, sir, Master Prior, what have you to say?"

Dr. Layton dropped his voice as he spoke, and laid his fat handstogether on the table. The Prior looked up with the same dreadfulentreaty as before; his lips moved, but no sound came from them. Themonks round were deadly still; Ralph saw a swift glance or two exchangedbeneath the shrouding hoods, but no one moved. 

"I am waiting, my Lord Prior, " cried Layton in a loud terrible voice. 

Again the Prior writhed his lips to speak. 

Dr. Layton rose abruptly and made a violent gesture. 

"Down on your knees, Master Prior, if you need mercy. "

There was a quick murmur and ripple along the two lines as the Priordropped suddenly on to his knees and covered his face with his hands. 

Dr. Layton threw out his hand with a passionate gesture and began tospeak--. 

"There, reverend fathers and brethren, " he cried, "you see how low sinbrings a man. This fellow who calls himself prior was bold enough, Idaresay, in the church when treason was preached; and, I doubt not, hasbeen bold enough in private too when he thought none heard him but hisfriends. But you see how treachery, --heinous treachery, --plucks thespirit from him, and how lowly he carries himself when he knows thattrue men are sitting in judgment over him. Take example from that, youwho have served him in the past; you need never fear him more now. "

Dr. Layton dropped his hand and sat down. For one moment Ralph saw thekneeling man lift that white face again, but the doctor was at himinstantly. 

"Do not dare to rise, sir, till I give you leave, " he roared. "You hadbest be a penitent. Now tell me, sir, what you have to say. It shall notbe said that we condemned a man unheard. Eh! Mr. Torridon?"

Ralph nodded sharply, and glanced at Chris; but his brother was staringat the Prior. 

"Now then, sir, " cried the doctor again. 

"I entreat you, Master Layton--"

The Prior's voice was convulsed with terror as he cried this withoutstretched hands. 

"Yes, sir, I will hear you. "

"I entreat you, sir, not to tell his Grace. Indeed I am innocent"--hisvoice rose thin and high in his panic--indeed, I did not know it wastreason that was preached. "

"Did not know?" sneered the doctor, leaning forward over the table. "Why, you know your Faith, man--"

"Master Layton, Master Layton; there be so many changes in these days--"

"Changes!" shouted the priest; "there be no changes, except of suchknaves as you, Master-Prior; it is the old Faith now as ever. Do youdare to call his Grace a heretic? Must that too go down in the charges?"

"No, no, Master Layton, " screamed the Prior, with his hands strainedforward and twitching fingers. "I did not mean that--Christ is mywitness!"

"Is it not the same Faith, sir?"

"Yes, Master Layton--yes--indeed, it is. But I did not know--how could Iknow?"

"Then why are you Prior, " cried the doctor with a dramatic gesture, "ifit is not to keep your subjects true and obedient? Do you mean to tellme--?"

"I entreat you, sir, for the love of Mary, not to tell his Grace--"

"Bah!" shouted Dr. Layton, "you may keep your breath till you tell hisGrace that himself. There is enough of this. " Again he rose, and swepthis eyes round the white-faced monks. "I am weary of this work. Thefellow has not a word to say--"

"Master Layton, Master Layton, " cried the kneeling man once more, lifting his hands on one of which gleamed the prelatical ring. 

"Silence, sir, " roared the doctor. "It is I who am speaking now. We havehad enough of this work. It seems that there be no true men left, exceptin the world; these houses are rotten with crime. Is it not so, MasterTorridon?--rotten with crime! But of all the knaves that I did evermeet, and they are many and strong ones, I do believe Master Prior, thatyou are the worst. Here is my sentence, and see that it be carried out. You, Master Prior, and you Master Sub-Prior, are to appear before MasterCromwell in his court on All-Hallows' Eve, and tell your tales to him. You shall see if he be so soft as I; it may be that he will send youbefore the King's Grace--that I know not--but at least he will know howto get the truth out of you, if I cannot--"

Once more the Prior broke in, in an agony of terror; but the doctorsilenced him in a moment. 

"Have I not given my sentence, sir? How dare you speak?"

A murmur again ran round the room, and he lifted his hand furiously. 

"Silence, " he shouted, "not one word from a mother's son of you. I havehad enough of sedition already. Clear the room, officer, and let not oneshaveling monk put his nose within again, until I send for him. I amweary of them all--weary and broken-hearted. "

The doctor dropped back into his seat, with a face of profound disgust, and passed his hand over his forehead. 

The monks turned at the signal from the door, and Ralph watched theblack lines once more file out. 

"There, Mr. Torridon, " whispered the doctor behind his hand. "Did I nottell you so? Master Cromwell will be able to do what he will with him. "

CHAPTER VIII

RALPH'S RETURN

The Visitation of Lewes Priory occupied a couple of days, as the estateswere so vast, and the account-books so numerous. 

In the afternoon following the scene in the chapter-house, Dr. Laytonand Ralph rode out to inspect some of the farms that were at hand, leaving orders that the stock was to be driven up into the court thenext day, and did not return till dusk. The excitement in the town wastremendous as they rode back through the ill-lighted streets, and as therumour ran along who the great gentlemen were that went along so gailywith their servants behind them; and by the time that they reached thepriory-gate there was a considerable mob following in their train, singing and shouting, in the highest spirits at the thought of theplunder that would probably fall into their hands. 

Layton turned in his saddle at the door, and made them a little speech, telling them how he was there with the authority of the King's Grace, and would soon make a sweep of the place. 

"And there will be pickings, " he cried, "pickings for us all! The widowand the orphan have been robbed long enough; it is time to spoil thefathers. "

There was a roar of amusement from the mob; and a shout or two wasraised for the King's Grace. 

"You must be patient, " cried Dr. Layton, "and then no more taxes. Youcan trust us, gentlemen, to do the King's work as it should be done. "

As he passed in through the lamp-lit entrance he turned to Ralph again. 

"You see, Mr. Torridon, we have the country behind us. "

 * * * * *

It was that evening that Ralph for the first time since the quarrel methis brother face to face. 

He was passing through the cloister on his way to Dr. Layton's room, andcame past the refectory door just as the monks were gathering forsupper. He glanced in as he went, and had a glimpse of the clean solemnhall, lighted with candles along the panelling, the long bare tableslaid ready, the Prior's chair and table at the further end and the greatfresco over it. A lay brother or two in aprons were going about theirbusiness silently, and three or four black figures, who had alreadyentered, stood motionless along the raised dais on which the tablesstood. 

The monks had all stopped instantly as Ralph came among them, and hadlowered their hoods with their accustomed courtly deference to a guest;and as he turned from his momentary pause at the refectory door in thefull blaze of light that shone from it, he met Chris face to face. 

The young monk had come up that instant, not noticing who was there, andhis hood was still over his head. There was a second's pause, and thenhe lifted his hand and threw the hood back in salutation; and as Ralphbowed and passed on he had a moment's sight of that thin face and thelarge grey eyes in which there was not the faintest sign of recognition. 

Ralph's heart was hot with mingled emotion as he went up the cloister. He was more disturbed by the sudden meeting, the act of courtesy, andthe cold steady eyes of this young fool of a brother than he cared torecognise. 

He saw no more of him, except in the distance among his fellows; and heleft the house the next day when the business was done. 

 * * * * *

Matters in the rest of England were going forward with the samepromptitude as in Sussex. Dr. Layton himself had visited the Westearlier in the autumn, and the other Visitors were busy in other partsof the country. The report was current now that the resources of all theReligious Houses were to be certainly confiscated, and that those of theinmates who still persisted in their vocation would have to do so underthe most rigorous conditions imaginable. The results were to be seen inthe enormous increase of beggars, deprived now of the hospitality theywere accustomed to receive; and the roads everywhere were thronged withthose who had been holders of corrodies, or daily sustenance in thehouses; as well as with the evicted Religious, some of whom, dismissedagainst their will, were on their way to the universities, where, inspite of the Visitation, it was thought that support was still to behad; and others, less reputable, who preferred freedom to monasticdiscipline. Yet others were to be met with, though not many in number, who were on their way to London to lay complaints of various kindsagainst their superiors. 

From these and like events the whole country was astir. Men gathered ingroups outside the village inns and discussed the situation, and feelingran high on the movements of the day. What chiefly encouraged themalcontents was the fact that the benefits to be gained by thedissolution of the monasteries were evident and present, while theill-results lay in the future. The great Religious Houses, their farmsand stock, the jewels of the treasury, were visible objects; menactually laid eyes on them as they went to and from their work or kneltat mass on Sundays; it was all so much wealth that did not belong tothem, and that might do so, while the corrodies, the daily hospitality, the employment of labour, and such things, lay either out of sight, oraffected only certain individuals. Characters too that were chieflystirred by such arguments, were those of the noisy and self-assertivefaction; while those who saw a little deeper into things, and understoodthe enormous charities of the Religious Houses and the manner in whichextreme poverty was kept in check by them, --even more, those who valuedthe spiritual benefits that flowed from the fact of their existence, andsaw how life was kindled and inspired by these vast homes ofprayer--such, then as always, were those who would not voluntarily putthemselves forward in debate, or be able, when they did so, to usearguments that would appeal to the village gatherings. Their naturalleaders too, the country clergy, who alone might have pointed outeffectively the considerations that lay beneath the surface had beenskilfully and peremptorily silenced by the episcopal withdrawing of allpreaching licenses. 

 * * * * *

In the course of Ralph's travels he came across, more than once, a hotscene in the village inn, and was able to use his own personality andprestige as a King's Visitor in the direction that he wished. 

He came for example one Saturday night to the little village ofMaresfield, near Fletching, and after seeing his horses and servantsbestowed, came into the parlour, where the magnates were assembled. There were half a dozen there, sitting round the fire, who roserespectfully as the great gentleman strode in, and eyed him with asudden awe as they realised from the landlord's winks and whispers thathe was of a very considerable importance. 

From the nature of his training Ralph had learnt how to deal with allconditions of men; and by the time that he had finished supper, anddrawn his chair to the fire, they were talking freely again, as indeedhe had encouraged them to do, for they did not of course, any more thanthe landlord, guess at his identity or his business there. 

Ralph soon brought the talk round again to the old subject, and askedthe opinions of the company as to the King's policy in the visitation ofthe Religious Houses There was a general silence when he first openedthe debate, for they were dangerous times; but the gentleman's ownimperturbable air, his evident importance, and his friendliness, conspired with the strong beer to open their mouths, and in five minutesthey were at it. 

One, a little old man in the corner who sat with crossed legs, nursinghis mug, declared that to his mind the whole thing was sacrilege; thehouses, he said, had been endowed to God's glory and service, and thatto turn them to other uses must bring a curse on the country. He went onto remark--for Ralph deftly silenced the chorus of protest--that his ownpeople had been buried in the church of the Dominican friars at Arundelfor three generations, and that he was sorry for the man who laid handson the tomb of his grandfather--known as Uncle John--for the old man hadbeen a desperate churchman in his day, and would undoubtedly revengehimself for any indignity offered to his bones. 

Ralph pointed out, with a considerate self-repression, that theillustration was scarcely to the point, for the King's Grace had nointention, he believed, of disturbing any one's bones; the question atissue rather regarded flesh and blood. Then a chorus broke out, and thehunt was up. 

One, the butcher, with many blessings invoked on King Harry's head, declared that the country was being sucked dry by these rapaciousecclesiastics; that the monks encroached every year on the common land, absorbed the little farms, paid inadequate wages, and--which appearedhis principal grievance--killed their own meat. 

Ralph, with praiseworthy tolerance, pushed this last argument aside, butappeared to reflect on the others as if they were new to him, though hehad heard them a hundred times, and used them fifty; and while heweighed them, another took up the tale; told a scandalous story or two, and asked how men who lived such lives as these which he related, couldbe examples of chastity. 

Once more the little old man burst into the fray, and waving his pot inan access of religious enthusiasm, rebuked the last speaker for hisreadiness to pick up dirt, and himself instanced five or six Religiousknown to him, whose lives were no less spotless than his own. 

Again Ralph interposed in his slow voice, and told them that that toowas not the point at issue. The question was not as to whether here andthere monks lived good lives or bad, for no one was compelled to imitateeither, but as to whether on the whole the existence of the ReligiousHouses was profitable in such practical matters as agriculture, trade, and the relief of the destitute. 

And so it went on, and Ralph began to grow weary of the inconsequence ofthe debaters, and their entire inability to hold to the salient points;but he still kept his hand on the rudder of the discussion, avoided thefogs of the supernatural and religious on the one side towards which thelittle old man persisted in pushing, and, on the other, the blunt viewsof the butcher and the man who had told the foul stories; and contentedhimself with watching and learning the opinion of the company ratherthan contributing his own. 

Towards the end of the evening he observed two of his men, who hadslipped in and were sitting at the back of the little stifling room, hugely enjoying the irony of the situation, and determined on ending thediscussion with an announcement of his own identity. 

Presently an opportunity occurred. The little old man had shown adangerous tendency to discourse on the suffering souls in purgatory, andon the miseries inflicted on them by the cessation of masses andsuffrages for their welfare; and an uncomfortable awe-stricken silencehad fallen on the others. 

Ralph stood up abruptly, and began to speak, his bright tired eyesshining down on the solemn faces, and his mouth set and precise. 

"Well, gentlemen, " he said, "your talk has pleased me very much. I havelearned a great deal, and I hope shall profit by it. Some of you havetalked a quantity of nonsense; and you, Mr. Miggers, have talked themost, about your uncle John's soul and bones. "

A deadly silence fell as these startling words were pronounced; for hismanner up to now had been conciliatory and almost apologetic. But hewent on imperturbably. 

"I am quite sure that Almighty God knows His business better than you orI, Mr. Miggers; and if He cannot take care of Uncle John without the aidof masses or dirges sung by fat-bellied monks--"

He stopped abruptly, and a squirt of laughter burst from the butcher. 

"Well, this is my opinion, " went on Ralph, "if you wish to know it. Ido not think, or suspect, as some of you do--but I _know_--as you willallow presently that I do, when I tell you who I am--I _know_ that thesehouses of which we have been speaking, are nothing better thanwasps'-nests. The fellows look holy enough in their liveries, they makea deal of buzz, they go to and fro as if on business; but they make nohoney that is worth your while or mine to take. There is but one thingthat they have in their holes that is worth anything: and that is theirjewels and their gold, and the lead on their churches and the bells intheir towers. And all that, by the Grace of God we will soon have out ofthem. "

There was a faint murmur of mingled applause and dissent. Mr. Miggersstared vacant-faced at this preposterous stranger, and set his mugresolutely down as a preparation for addressing him, but he had noopportunity. Ralph was warmed now by his own eloquence, and swept on. 

"You think I do not know of what I am speaking? Well, I have a brother amonk at Lewes, and a sister a nun at Rusper; and I have been brought upin this religion until I am weary of it. My sister--well, she is likeother maidens of her kind--not a word to speak of any matter but ourLady and the Saints and how many candles Saint Christopher likes. And mybrother!--Well, we can leave that. 

"I know these houses as none of you know them; I know how much wine theydrink, how much they charge for their masses, how much treasonablechatter they carry on in private--I know their lives as I know my own;and I know that they are rotten and useless altogether. They may give aplateful or two in charity and a mug of beer; they gorge ten dishesthemselves, and swill a hogshead. They give a penny to the poor man, andkeep twenty nobles for themselves. They take field after field, houseafter house; turn the farmer into the beggar, and the beggar into theirbedesman. And, by God! I say that the sooner King Henry gets rid of thecrew, the better for you and me!"

Ralph snapped out the last words, and stared insolently down on thegaping faces. Then he finished, standing by the door as he did so, withhis hand on the latch. 

"If you would know how I know all this, I will tell you. My name isTorridon, of Overfield; and I am one of the King's Visitors. Good-night, gentlemen. "

There was the silence of the grave within, as Ralph went upstairssmiling to himself. 

 * * * * *

Ralph had intended returning home a week or two after the Lewesvisitation, but there was a good deal to be done, and Layton had pointedout to him that even if some houses were visited twice over it would dono harm to the rich monks to pay double fees; so it was not tillChristmas was a week away that he rode at last up to his house-door atWestminster. 

His train had swelled to near a dozen men and horses by now, for he hadaccumulated a good deal of treasure beside that which he had left inLayton's hands, and it would not have been safe to travel with a smallerescort; so it was a gay and imposing cavalcade that clattered throughthe narrow streets. Ralph himself rode in front, in solitary dignity, his weapon jingling at his stirrup, his feather spruce and bright abovehis spare keen face; a couple of servants rode behind, fully armed andformidable looking, and then the train came behind--beasts piled withbundles that rustled and clinked suggestively, and the men who guardedthem gay with scraps of embroidery and a cheap jewel or two here andthere in their dress. 

But Ralph did not feel so gallant as he looked. During these longcountry rides he had had too much time to think, and the thought ofBeatrice and of what she would say seldom left him. The very harshnessof his experiences, the rough faces round him, the dialect of the stableand the inn, the coarse conversation--all served to make her image themore gracious and alluring. It was a kind of worship, shot with passion, that he felt for her. Her grave silences coincided with his own, hertenderness yielded deliciously to his strength. 

As he sat over his fire with his men whispering behind him, planning asthey thought new assaults on the rich nests that they all hated andcoveted together, again and again it was Beatrice's face, and not thatof a shrewd or anxious monk, that burned in the red heart of the hearth. He had seen it with downcast eyes, with the long lashes lying on thecheek, and the curved red lips discreetly shut beneath; the masses ofblack hair shadowed the forehead and darkened the secret that he wishedto read. Or he had watched her, like a jewel in a pig-sty, lookingacross the foul-littered farm where he had had to sleep more than oncewith his men about him; her black eyes looking into his own with tendergravity, and her mouth trembling with speech. Or best of all, as he rodealong the bitter cold lanes at the fall of the day, the crowding yewsabove him had parted and let her stand there, with her long skirtsrustling in the dry leaves, her slender figure blending with thedarkness, and her sweet face trusting and loving him out of the gloom. 

And then again, like the prick of a wound, the question had touched him, how would she receive him when he came back with the monastic spoils onhis beasts' shoulders, and the wail of the nuns shrilling like the windbehind?

But by the time that he came back to London he had thought out hismethod of meeting her. Probably she had had news of the doings of theVisitors, perhaps of his own in particular; it was hardly possible thathis father had not written; she would ask for an explanation, and sheshould have instead an appeal to her confidence. He would tell her thatsad things had indeed happened, that he had been forced to be present atand even to carry out incidents which he deplored; but that he had donehis utmost to be merciful. It was rough work, he would say; but it waswork that had to be done; and since that was so--and this was Cromwell'steaching--it was better that honourable gentlemen should do it. He hadnot been able always to restrain the violence of his men--and for thathe needed forgiveness from her dear lips; and it would be easy enough totell stories against him that it would be hard to disprove; but if sheloved and trusted him, and he knew that she did, let her take his wordfor it that no injustice had been deliberately done, that on the otherhand he had been the means under God of restraining many such acts, andthat his conscience was clear. 

It was a moving appeal, Ralph thought, and it almost convinced himself. He was not conscious of any gross insincerity in the defence; of courseit was shaded artistically, and the more brutal details kept out ofsight, but in the main it was surely true. And, as he rehearsed itspoints to himself once more in the streets of Westminster, he felt thatthough there might be a painful moment or two, yet it would do his work. 

 * * * * *

He had sent a message home that he was coming, and the door of his homewas wide as he dismounted, and the pleasant light of candles shone out, for the evening was smouldering to dark in the west. 

A crowd had collected as he went along; from every window faces wereleaning; and as he stood on the steps directing the removal of thetreasure into the house, he saw that the mob filled the tiny street, andthe cobbled space, from side to side. They were chiefly of the idlingclass, folks who had little to do but to follow up excitements andshout; and there were a good many cries raised for the King's Grace andhis Visitors, for such people as these were greedy for any movement thatmight bring them gain, and the Religious Houses were beginning to bemore unpopular in town than ever. 

One of the bundles slipped as it was shifted, the cord came off, and ina moment the little space beyond the mule before the door was coveredwith gleaming stuff and jewels. 

There was a fierce scuffle and a cry, and Ralph was in a moment beyondthe mule with his sword out. He said nothing but stood there fierce andalert as the crowd sucked back, and the servant gathered up the things. There was no more trouble, for it had only been a spasmodic snatch atthe wealth, and a cheer or two was raised again among the grimy facesthat stared at the fine gentleman and the shining treasure. 

Ralph thought it better, however, to say a conciliatory word when thethings had been bestowed in the house, and the mules led away; and hestood on the steps a moment alone before entering himself. 

The crowd listened complacently enough to the statements which they hadbegun to believe from the fact of the incessant dinning of them intotheir ears by the selected preachers at Paul's Cross and elsewhere; andthere was loud groan at the Pope's name. 

Ralph was ending with an incise peroration that he had delivered morethan once before. 

"You know all this, good people; and you shall know it better when thework is done. Instead of the rich friars and monks we will have godlycitizens, each with his house and land. The King's Grace has promisedit, and you know that he keeps his word. We have had enough of thejackdaws and their stolen goods; we will have honest birds instead. Onlybe patient a little longer--"

The listening silence was broken by a loud cry--

"You damned plundering hound--"

A stone suddenly out of the gloom whizzed past Ralph and crashed throughthe window behind. A great roaring rose in a moment, and the crowdswayed and turned. 

Ralph felt his heart suddenly quicken, and his hand flew to his hiltagain, but there was no need for him to act. There were terrible screamsalready rising from the seething twilight in front, as the stone-throwerwas seized and trampled. He stayed a moment longer, dropped his hilt andwent into the house. 

CHAPTER IX

RALPH'S WELCOME

"You will show Mistress Atherton into the room below, " said Ralph to hisman, "as soon as she comes. "

He was sitting on the morning following his arrival in his own chamberupstairs. His table was a mass of papers, account-books, reckonings, reports bearing on his Visitation journey, and he had been working atthem ever since he was dressed; for he had to present himself beforeCromwell in the course of a day or two, and the labour would beenormous. 

The room below, opposite that in which he intended to see Beatrice andwhere she had waited herself a few months before while he talked withCromwell and the Archbishop, was now occupied by his collection of plateand vestments, and the key was in his own pocket. 

He had heard from his housekeeper on the previous evening that Beatricehad called at the house during the afternoon, and had seemed surprisedto hear that he was to return that night; but she had said very little, it appeared, and had only begged the woman to inform her master that shewould present herself at his house the next morning. 

And now Ralph was waiting for her. 

He was more ill-at-ease than he had expected to be. The events of theevening before had given him a curious shock; and he cursed the wholebusiness--the snapping of the cord round the bundle, his own action andwords, the outrage that followed, and the death of the fellow that hadthrown the stone--for the body had been rescued by the watch a fewminutes later, a tattered crushed thing, beaten out of all likeness to aman. One of the watch had stepped in to see Ralph as he sat at supper, and had gone again saying the dog deserved it for daring to lift hisvoice against the King and his will. 

But above all Ralph repented of his own words. There was no harm insaying such things in the country; but it was foolish and rash to do soin town. Cromwell's men should be silent and discreet, he knew, notstreet-orators; and if he had had time to think he would not havespoken. However the crowd was with him; there was plainly no one of anyimportance there; it was unlikely that Cromwell himself would hear ofthe incident; and perhaps after all no harm was done. 

Meanwhile there was Beatrice to reckon with, and Ralph laid down his pena dozen times that morning and rehearsed once more what he would have tosay to her. 

He was shrewd enough to know that it was his personality and not hisvirtues or his views that had laid hold of this girl's soul. As it waswith him, so it was with her; each was far enough apart from the otherin all external matters; such things had been left behind a year ago; itwas not an affair of consonant tastes, but of passion. From each therehad looked deep inner eyes; there had been on either side a steady andfearless scrutiny, and then the two souls had leapt together in a brightflame of desire, knowing that each was made for the other. There hadbeen so little love-making, so few speeches after the first meeting ortwo, so few letters exchanged, and fewer embraces. The last veils hadfallen at the fury of Chris's intervention, and they had known then whathad been inevitable all along. 

Ralph smiled to himself as he remembered how little he had said or shehad answered; there had been no need to say anything. And then his eyesgrew wide and passionate, and his hands gripped one another fiercely, asthe memory died, and the burning flame of desire flared within him againfrom the deep well he bore in his heart. The world of affairs andexplanations and evasions faded into twilight, and there was but onething left, his love and hers. It was to that that he would appeal. 

He sat so a moment longer, and then took up his pen again, though itshook in his hand, and went on with his reckonings. 

 * * * * *

He was perfectly composed half an hour later as he went downstairs tomeet her. He had finished his line of figures sedately when the manlooked in to say that she was below; and had sat yet a moment longer, trying to remember mechanically what it was he had determined to tellher. Bah! it was trifling and unimportant; words did not affect thequestion; all the wrecked convents in the world could not touch the onefact that lay in fire at his heart. He would say nothing; she wouldunderstand. 

In the tiny entrance hall there was a whiff of fragrance where she hadpassed through; and his heart stirred in answer. Then he opened thedoor, stepped through and closed it behind him. 

She was standing upright by the hearth, and faced him as he entered. Hewas aware of her blue mantle, her white, jewelled head-dress, one handgripping the mantel-shelf, her pale steady face and bright eyes. Behindthere was the warm rich panelling, and the leaping glow of the woodfire. 

She made no movement. 

Outside the lane was filled with street noises, the cries of children, the voices of men who went by talking, the rumble of a waggon comingwith the crack of whips and jingle of bells from the river. The wheelscame up and went past into silence again before either spoke or moved. 

Then Ralph lifted his hands a little and let them drop, as he stared ather face. From her eyes looked out her will, tense as steel; and his ownshook to meet it. 

"Well?" she said at last; and her voice was perfectly steady. 

"Beatrice, " cried Ralph; and the agony of it tore his heart. 

She dropped her hand to her side and still looked at him withoutflinching. 

"Beatrice, " cried Ralph once more. 

"Then you have no more to say--after last night?"

A torrent of thoughts broke loose in his brain, and he tried to snatchone as they fled past--to say one word. His excuses went by him likephantoms; they bewildered and dazed him. Why, there were a thousandthings to say, and each was convincing if he could but say it. The cloudpassed and there were her eyes watching him still. 

"Then that is all?" she said. 

Again the cloud fell on him; little scenes piteously clear rose beforehim, of the road by Rusper convent, Layton's leering face, a strippedaltar; and for each there was a tale if he could but tell it. And stillthe bright eyes never flinched. 

It seemed to him as if she was watching him curiously; her lips wereparted, and her head was a little on one side; her face interested andimpersonal. 

"Why, Beatrice--" he cried again. 

Then her love shook her like a storm; he had never dreamed she couldlook like that; her mouth shook; he could see her white teeth clenched;and a shiver went over her. He took one step forward, but stopped again, for the black eyes shone through the passion that swayed her, as keenand remorseless as ever. 

He dropped on to his knees at the table and buried his face in hishands. He knew nothing now but that he had lost her. 

That was her voice speaking now, as steady as her eyes; but he did nothear a word she said. Words were nothing; they were not so much as thosecries from the street, that shrill boy's voice over the way; not so muchas the sighing crackle from the hearth where he had caused a fire to belighted lest she should feel cold. 

She was still speaking, but her voice had moved; she was no longer bythe fire. He could feel the warmth of the fire now on his hands. But hedared not move nor look up; there was but one thing left for him--thathe had lost her!

That was her hand on the latch; a breath of cold air stirred his hair;and still she was speaking. He understood a little more now; she knew itall--his doings--what he had said last night--and there was not one wordto say in answer. Her short lashing sentences fell on his defencelesssoul, but all sense was dead, and he watched with a dazed impersonalnesshow each stroke went home, and yet he felt no pain or shame. 

She was going now; a picture stirred on the wall by the fire as the windrushed in through the open street door. 

 * * * * *

Then the door closed. 

PART II

THE FALL OF LEWES

CHAPTER I

INTERNAL DISSENSION

The peace was gone from Lewes Priory. A wave had broken in through thehigh wall from the world outside with the coming of the Visitors, andhad left wreckage behind, and swept out security as it went. The monksknew now that their old privileges were gone with the treasures thatLayton had taken with him, and that although the wave had recoiled, itwould return again and sweep them all away. 

Upon none of them had the blow fallen more fiercely than on Chris; hehad tried to find peace, and instead was in the midst of storm. The highbarriers had gone, and with them the security of his own soul, and theworld that he thought he had left was grinning at the breach. 

It was piteous to him to see the Prior--that delicate, quiet prelate whohad held himself aloof in his dignities--now humbled by the shame of hisexposure in the chapter-house. The courage that Bishop Fisher hadrestored to him in some measure was gone again; and it was miserable tolook at that white downcast face in the church and refectory, and torecognise that all self-respect was gone. After his return from hisappearance before Cromwell he was more wretched than ever; it was knownthat he had been sent back in contemptuous disgrace; but it was notknown how much he had promised in his terror for life. 

The house had lost too some half-dozen of its inmates. Two hadpetitioned for release; three professed monks had been dismissed, and arecent novice had been sent back to his home. Their places in thestately choir were empty, and eloquent with warning; and in their steadwas a fantastic secular priest, appointed by the Visitors' authority, who seldom said mass, and never attended choir; but was regular in therefectory, and the chapter-house where he thundered St. Paul's epistlesat the monks, and commentaries of his own, in the hopes of turning themfrom papistry to a purer faith. 

The news from outside echoed their own misery. Week after week the talespoured in, of young and old dismissed back to the world whose ways theyhad forgotten, of the rape of treasures priceless not only for theirintrinsic worth but for the love that had given and consecrated themthrough years of devout service. There was not a house that had not lostsomething; the King himself had sanctioned the work by taking precioushorns and a jewelled cross from Winchester. And worse than all that hadgone was the terror of what was yet to come. The world, which had beencreeping nearer, pausing and creeping on again, had at last passed theboundaries and leapt to sacrilege. 

It was this terror that poisoned life. The sacristan who polished thejewels that were left, handled them doubtfully now; the monk whosuperintended the farm sickened as he made his plans for another year;the scribe who sat in the carrel lost enthusiasm for his work; for thejewels in a few months might be on royal fingers, the beasts instrangers' sheds, and the illuminated leaves blowing over the cobbledcourt, or wrapped round grocers' stores. 

Dom Anthony preached a sermon on patience one day in Christmastide, telling his fellows that a man's life, and still less a monk's, consisted not in the abundance of things that he possessed; and thatcorporate, as well as individual, poverty, had been the ideal of themonastic houses in earlier days. He was no great preacher, but thepeople loved to hear his homely remarks, and there was a murmur ofsympathy as he pointed with a clumsy gesture to the lighted Crib thathad been erected at the foot of one of the great pillars in the nave. 

"Our Lady wore no cloth of gold, " he said, "nor Saint Joseph a preciousmitre; and the blessed Redeemer Himself who made all things had butstraw to His bed. And if our new cope is gone, we can make ourprocessions in the old one, and please God no less. Nay, we may pleaseHim more perhaps, for He knows that it is by no will of ours that we doso. "

But there had been a dismal scene at the chapter next morning. The Priorhad made them a speech, with a passionate white face and hands thatshook, and declared that the sermon would be their ruin yet if theKing's Grace heard of it. 

"There was a fellow that went out half-way through, " he cried in panic, "how do we know whether he is not talking with his Grace even now? Iwill not have such sermons; and you shall be my witnesses that I saidso. "

The monks eyed one another miserably. How could they prosper under sucha prior as this?

But worse was to follow, though it did not directly affect this house. The bill, so long threatened, dissolving the smaller houses, was passedin February by a Parliament carefully packed to carry out the King'swishes, and from which the spiritual peers were excluded by his"permission to them to absent themselves. " Lewes Priory, of course, exceeded the limit of revenue under which other houses were suppressed, and even received one monk who had obtained permission to go there whenhis community fell; but in spite of the apparent encouragement from thepreamble of the bill which stated that "in the great solemn monasteries. .. Religion was right well kept, " it was felt that this act was but theherald of another which should make an end of Religious Housesaltogether. 

But there was a breath of better news later on, when tidings came in theearly summer that Anne was in disgrace. It was well known that it washer influence that egged the King on, and that there was none so fierceagainst the old ways. Was it not possible that Henry might even yetrepent himself, if she were out of the way?

Then the tidings were confirmed, and for a while there was hope. 

 * * * * *

Sir Nicholas Maxwell rode over to see Chris, and was admitted into oneof the parlours to talk with him. 

He seemed furiously excited, and hardly saluted his brother-in-law. 

"Chris, " he said, "I have come straight from London with great news. TheKing's harlot is fallen. "

Chris stared. 

"Dead?" he said. 

"Dead in a day or two, thank God!"

He spat furiously. 

"God strike her!" he cried. "She has wrought all the mischief, Ibelieve. They told me so a year back, but I did not believe it. "

"And where is she?"

Then Nicholas told his story, his ruddy comely face bright withexultation, for he had no room for pity left. The rumours that had cometo Lewes were true. Anne had been arrested suddenly at Greenwich duringthe sports, and had been sent straight to the Tower. The King was wearyof her, though she had borne him a child; and did not scruple to bringthe most odious charges against her. She had denied, and denied; but itwas useless. She had wept and laughed in prison, and called on God tovindicate her; but the process went on none the less. The marriage hadbeen declared null and void by Dr. Cranmer who had blessed it; and nowshe was condemned for sinning against it. 

"But she is either his wife, " said Chris amazed, "or else she is notguilty of adultery. "

Nicholas chuckled. 

"God save us, Chris; do you think Henry can't manage it?"

Then he grew white with passion, and beat the table and damned the Kingand Anne and Cranmer to hell together. 

Chris glanced up, drumming his fingers softly on the table. 

"Nick, " he said, "there is no use in that. When is she to die?"

The knight's face flushed again with pleasure, and he showed his teethset together. 

"Two days, " he said, "please God, or three at the most. And she will notmeet those she has sent before her, or John Fisher whose head she hadbrought to her--the bloody Herodias!"

"Pray God that she will!" said Chris softly. "They will pray for her atleast. "

"Pah!" shouted Nicholas, "an eye for an eye for me!"

Chris said nothing. He was thinking of all that this might mean. Whocould know what might not happen? Nicholas broke in again presently. 

"I heard a fine tale, " he said, "do you know that the woman is in thevery room where she slept the night before the crowning? Last time itwas for the crown to be put on; now it is for the head to be taken off. And it is true that she weeps and laughs. They can hear her laugh twostoreys away, I hear. "

"Nick, " said Chris suddenly, "I am weary of that. Let her alone. PrayGod she may turn!"

Nicholas stared astonished, and a little awed too. Chris used not to belike this; he seemed quieter and stronger; he had never dared to speakso before. 

"Yes; I am weary of this, " said Chris again. "I stormed once at Ralph, and gained nothing. We do not win by those weapons. Where is Ralph?"

Nicholas knit his lips to keep in the fury that urged him. 

"He is with Cromwell still, " he said venomously, "and very busy, I hear. They will be making him a lord soon--but there will be no lady. "

Chris had heard of Beatrice's rejection of Ralph. 

"He is still busy?"

"Why, yes; he worked long at this bill, I hear. "

Chris asked a few more questions, and learned that Ralph seemed fiercerthan ever since the Visitation. He was well-known at Court; had beenseen riding with the King; and it was supposed that he was risingrapidly in favour every day. 

"God help him!" sighed Chris. 

The change that had come over Chris was very much marked. Neither a lifein the world would have done it, nor one in the peace of the cloister;but an alternation of the two. He had been melted by the fire of theinner life, and braced by the external bitterness of adversity. Ralph'svisit to the priory, culminating in the passionless salutation of him inthe cloister as being a guest and therefore a representative of Christ, had ended that stage in the development of the monk's character. Chriswas disappointed in his brother, fearful for him and stern in hisattitude towards him; but he was not resentful. He was sincere when heprayed God to help him. 

When Nicholas had eaten and gone, carrying messages to Mary, Chris toldthe others, and there was a revival of hope in the house. 

Then a few days later came the news of Anne's death and of the marriageof the King with Jane Seymour on the following day. At least Jane was alawful wife and queen in the Catholics' eyes, for Katharine too wasdead. 

 * * * * *

Chris had now passed through the minor orders, the sub-diaconate and thediaconate, and was looking forward to priesthood. It had been thoughtadvisable by his superiors, in view of the troubled state of the times, to apply for the necessary dispensations, and they had been grantedwithout difficulty. So many monks who were not priests had been turnedinto the world resourceless, since they could not be appointed tobenefices, that it was thought only fair to one who was already bound byvows of religion and sacred orders not to hold him back from anopportunity to make his living, should affairs be pushed further in thedirection of dissolution. 

He was looking forward with an extraordinary zeal to the crown ofpriesthood. It seemed to him a possession that would compensate for allother losses. If he could but make the Body of the Lord, lift It beforethe Throne, and hold It in his hands, all else was trifling. 

There were waves of ecstatic peace again breaking over his soul as hethought of it; as he moved behind the celebrant at high mass, lifted thepall of the chalice, and sang the exultant _Ite missa est_ when all wasdone. What a power would be his on that day! He would have his fingerthen on the huge engine of grace, and could turn it whither he would, spraying infinite force on this and that soul, on Ralph stubbornlyfighting against God in London, on his mother silent and bitter at home, on his father anxious and courageous, waiting for disaster, on Margarettrembling in Rusper nunnery as she contemplated the defiance she hadflung in the King's face. 

The Prior had given him but little encouragement; he had sent for himone day, and told him that he might prepare himself for priesthood byMichaelmas, for a foreign bishop was coming to them, and leave would beobtained for him to administer the rite. But he had not said a word ofcounsel or congratulation; but had nodded to the young monk, and turnedhis sickly face to the papers again on his table. 

Dom Anthony, the pleasant stout guest-master, who had preached thesermon in Christmastide, said a word of comfort, as they walked in thecloister together. 

"You must not take it amiss, brother, " he said, "my Lord Prior is besidehimself with terror. He does not know how to act. "

Chris asked whether there were any new reason for alarm. 

"Oh, no!" said the monk, "but the people are getting cold towards ushere. You have seen how few come to mass here now, or to confession. They are going to the secular priests instead. "

Chris remembered one or two other instances of this growing coldness. The poor folks who came for food complained of its quality two or threetimes; and one fellow, an old pensioner of the house, who had lost aleg, threw his portion down on the doorstep. 

"I will have better than that some day, " he had said, as he limped off. Chris had gathered up the cold lentils patiently and carried them backto the kitchen. 

On another day a farmer had flatly refused a favour to the monk whosuperintended the priory-farm. 

"I will not have your beasts in my orchard, " he had said roughly. "Youare not my masters. "

The congregations too were visibly declining, as the guest-master hadsaid. The great nave beyond the screen looked desolate in thesummer-mornings, as the sunlight lay in coloured patches on the wideempty pavement between the few faithful gathered in front, and the halfdozen loungers who leaned in the shadow of the west wall--men whofulfilled their obligation of hearing mass, with a determination to doso with the least inconvenience to themselves, and who scuffled outbefore the blessing. 

It was evident that the tide of faith and reverence was beginning to ebbeven in the quiet country towns. 

As the summer drew on the wider world too had its storms. A fiercesermon was preached at the opening of Convocation, by Dr. Latimer, nowBishop of Worcester, at the express desire of the Archbishop, thatscourged not only the regular but the secular clergy as well. The sermontoo was more furiously Protestant than any previously preached on suchan occasion; pilgrimages, the stipends for masses, image-worship, andthe use of an unknown tongue in divine service, were alike denounced ascontrary to the "pure gospel. " The phrases of Luther were abundantlyused in the discourse; and it was evident, from the fact that no publiccensure fell upon the preacher, that Henry's own religious views haddeveloped since the day that he had published his attack on the foreignreformers. 

The proceedings of Convocation confirmed the suspicion that the sermonaroused. With an astonishing compliance the clergy first ratified thedecree of nullity in the matter of Anne's marriage with the King, disclaimed obedience to Rome, and presented a list of matters for whichthey requested reform. In answer to this last point the King, assistedby a couple of bishops, sent down to the houses, a month later, a paperof articles to which the clergy instantly agreed. These articlesproceeded in the direction of Protestantism through omission rather thanaffirmation. Baptism, Penance and the Sacrament of the Altar were spokenof in Catholic terms; the other four sacraments were omitted altogether;on the other hand, again, devotion to saints, image-worship, and prayersfor the departed were enjoined with important qualifications. 

Finally it was agreed to support the King in his refusal to berepresented at the proposed General Council at Mantua. 

 * * * * *

The tidings of all this, filtering in to the house at Lewes by priestsand Religious who stayed there from time to time, did not tend toreassure those who looked for peace. The assault was not going to stopat matters of discipline; it was dogma that was aimed at, and, worseeven than that, the foundation on which dogma rested. It was not anaffair of Religious Houses, or even of morality; there was concerned thevery Rock itself on which Christendom based all faith and morals. If itwas once admitted that a National Church, apart from the See of Rome, could in the smallest degree adjudicate on a point of doctrine, theunity of the Catholic Church as understood by every monk in the house, was immediately ruptured. 

Again and again in chapter there were terrible scenes. The Prior ravedweakly, crying that it was not the part of a good Catholic to resist hisprince, that the Apostle himself enjoined obedience to those inauthority; that the new light of learning had illuminated perplexingproblems; and that in the uncertainty it was safer to follow the certainduty of civil obedience. Dom Anthony answered that a greater than St. Paul had bidden His followers to render to God the things that wereGod's; that St. Peter was crucified sooner than obey Nero--and the Priorcried out for silence; and that he could not hear his Christian Kinglikened to the heathen emperor. Monk after monk would rise; onefollowing his Prior, and disclaiming personal learning andresponsibility; another with ironic deference saying that a man's soulwas his own, and that not even a Religious Superior could release fromthe biddings of conscience; another would balance himself between theparties, declaring that the distinction of duties was insoluble; that insuch a case as this it was impossible to know what was due to God andwhat to man. Yet another voice would rise from time to time declaringthat the tales that they heard were incredible; that it was impossiblethat the King should intend such evil against the Church; he still heardhis three masses a day as he had always done; there was no more ardentdefender of the Sacrament of the Altar. 

Chris used to steady himself in this storm of words as well as he could, by reflecting that he probably would not have to make a decision, for itwould be done for him, at least as regarded his life in the convent orout, by his superiors. Or again he would fix his mind resolutely on hisapproaching priesthood; while the Prior sat gnawing his lips, playingwith his cross and rapping his foot, before bursting out again andbidding them all be silent, for they knew not what they were meddlingwith. 

The misery rose to its climax when the Injunctions arrived; and thechapter sat far into the morning, meeting again after dinner to considerthem. 

These were directions, issued to the clergy throughout the country, bythe authority of the King alone; and this very fact was significant ofwhat the Royal Supremacy meant. Some of them did not touch theReligious, and were intended only for parish-priests; but others werebitterly hard to receive. 

The community was informed that in future, once in every quarter, asermon was to be preached against the Bishop of Rome's usurped power;the Ten Articles, previously issued, were to be brought before thenotice of the congregation; and careful instructions were to be given asregards superstition in the matter of praying to the saints. It was thefirst of these that caused the most strife. 

Dom Anthony, who was becoming more and more the leader of theconservative party, pointed out that the See of Peter was to everyCatholic the root of authority and unity, and that Christianity itselfwas imperilled if this rock were touched. 

The Prior angrily retorted that it was not the Holy See that was to beassaulted, but the erection falsely raised upon it; it was the abuse ofpower, not the use of it that had to be denounced. 

Dom Anthony requested the Prior to inform him where the line ofdistinction lay; and the Prior in answer burst into angry explanations, instancing the pecuniary demands of the Pope, the appointment offoreigners to English benefices, and all the rest of the accusationsthat were playing such a part now in the religious controversy of thecountry. 

Dom Anthony replied that those were not the matters principally aimed atby the Injunction; it concerned rather the whole constitution ofChrist's Church, and was a question of the Pope's or the King'ssupremacy over that part of it that lay in England. 

Finally the debate was ended by the Prior's declaration that he couldtrust no one to preach the enjoined sermon but himself, and that hewould see to it on his own responsibility. 

It was scarcely an inspiring atmosphere for one who was preparing totake on him the burden of priesthood in the Catholic Church. 

CHAPTER II

SACERDOS IN AETERNUM

It was a day of wonderful autumn peace when Chris first sang mass in thepresence of the Community. 

The previous day he had received priesthood from the hands of the littleold French bishop in the priory church; one by one strange mysticalceremonies had been performed; the stole had been shifted and crossed onthe breast, the token of Christ's yoke; the chasuble had been placedover his head, looped behind; then the rolling cry to the Spirit of Godwho alone seals to salvation and office had pealed round the high roofand down the long nave that stretched away westwards in sunlit gloom;while across the outstretched hands of the monk had been streaked thesacred oil, giving him the power to bless the things of God. The handswere bound up, as if to heal the indelible wound of love that had beeninflicted on them; and, before they were unbound, into the hamperedfingers were slid the sacred vessels of the altar, occupied now by theelements of bread and wine; while the awful power to offer sacrifice forthe quick and the dead was committed to him in one tremendous phrase. 

Then the mass went on; and the new priest, kneeling with Dom Anthony ata little bench set at the foot of the altar steps, repeated aloud withthe bishop the words of the liturgy from the great painted missal lyingbefore him. 

How strange it had been too when all was over! He stood by a pillar inthe nave, beneath St. Pancras's image, while all came to receive hisblessing. First, the Prior, pale and sullen, as always now; then theCommunity, some smiling and looking into his eyes before they knelt, some perfunctory, some solemn and sedate with downcast faces; eachkissed the fragrant hands, and stood aside, while the laity came up; andfirst among them his father and Mary. 

His place too in the refectory had a flower or two laid beside it; andthe day had gone by in a bewildering dream. He had walked with hisfather and sister a little, and had found himself smiling and silent intheir company. 

In the evening he had once more gone through the ceremonies of mass, DomAnthony stood by, and watched and reminded and criticised. And now themorning was come, and he stood at the altar. 

 * * * * *

The little wind had dropped last night, and the hills round Lewes stoodin mellow sunlight; the atmosphere was full of light and warmth, thattender glow that falls on autumn days; the trees in the court outsidestood, poised on the brink of sleep, with a yellow pallor tinging theirleaves; the thousand pigeons exulted and wheeled in the intoxicatingair. 

The shadowy church was alight with sunshine that streamed through theclerestory windows on to the heavy pillars, the unevenly paved floor, and crept down the recumbent figures of noble and bishop from head tofoot. There were a few people present beyond the screen, Sir James andhis daughter in front, watching with a tender reverence the harvestingof the new priest, as he prepared to gather under his hands the mysticalwheat and grapes of God. 

Chris was perfectly practised in his ceremonies; and there was noanxiety to dissipate the overpowering awe that lay on his soul. He feltat once natural and unreal; it was supremely natural that he should behere; he could not conceive being other than a priest; there was in hima sense of a relaxed rather than an intensified strain; and yet thewhole matter was strange and intangible, as he felt the supernaturalforces gathering round, and surging through his soul. 

He was aware of a dusky sunlit space about him, of the glimmer of thehigh candles; and nearer of the white cloth, the shining vessels, thegorgeous missal, and the rustle of the ministers' vestments. But thewhole was shot with an inner life, each detail was significant andsacramental; and he wondered sometimes at the inaudible vibration thatstirred the silent air round him, as he spoke the familiar words towhich he had listened so often. 

He kept his eyes resolutely down as he turned from time to time, spreading his hands to the people, and was only partly conscious of thefaces watching him from the dark stalls in front and the sunlit navebeyond. Even the sacred ministers, Dom Anthony and another, seemed to belittle more than crimson impersonal figures that moved and went abouttheir stately business with deft and gracious hands. 

As he began to penetrate more nearly to the heart of the mystery, andthe angels' song before the throne rolled up from the choir, there wasan experience of a yet further retirement from the things of sense. Eventhe glittering halpas, and the gleams of light above it where the fivechapels branched behind--even these things became shrouded; there wasjust a sheet of white beneath him, the glow of a chalice, and the paledisc of the sacrificial bread. 

Then, as he paused, with hands together--"_famulorum famularumquetuarum"_--there opened out the world where his spirit was bending itsintention. Figure after figure came up and passed before his closedeyes, and on each he turned the beam of God's grace. First Ralph, sneering and aloof in his rich dress, intent on some Satanicbusiness;--Chris seized as it were the power of God, and enveloped andpenetrated him with it. Then Margaret, waiting terrified on the divinewill; his mother in her complacent bitterness; Mary; his father--and ashe thought of him it seemed as if all God's blessings were not toogreat; Nicholas; his own brethren in religion, his Prior, contracted andparalysed with terror; Dom Anthony, with his pathetic geniality. .. . 

Ah! how short was the time; and yet so long that the Prior looked upsharply, and the deacon shifted in his rustling silk. 

Then again the hands opened, and the stately flood of petition pouredon, as through open gates to the boundless sea that awaited it, wherethe very heart of God was to absorb it into Itself. 

The great names began to flit past, like palaces on a river-brink, theirbases washed by the pouring liturgy--Peter and Paul, Simon and Thaddeus, Cosmas and Damian--vast pleasure houses alight with God, while near athand now gleamed the line of the infinite ocean. 

The hands came together, arched in blessing; and it marked the firststing of the healing water, as the Divine Essence pushed forward to meetman's need. 

_"Hanc igitur oblatianem . .. _"

Then followed the swift silent signs, as if the pilot were orderingsails out to meet the breeze. 

The muttering voice sank to a deliberate whisper, the ripples ceased toleap as the river widened, and Chris was delicately fingering the whitelinen before taking the Host into his hands. 

There was a swift glance up, as to the great Sun that burned overhead, one more noiseless sign, and he sank forward in unutterable awe, withhis arms on the altar, and the white disc, hovering on the brink ofnon-existence, beneath his eyes. 

 * * * * *

The faintest whisper rose from behind as the people shifted theirconstrained attitudes. Sir James glanced up, his eyes full of tears, atthe distant crimson figure beneath the steady row of lights, motionlesswith outspread hands, poised over the bosom of God's Love. 

The first murmured words broke the silence; as if next to the InfinitePity rose up the infinite need of man--_Nobis quoque peccatoribus_--andsank to silence again. 

Then loud and clear rang out _Per omnia saecula saeculorum;_ and thechoir of monks sang _Amen_. 

So the great mystery moved on, but upborne now by the very Presenceitself that sustained all things. From the limitless sea of mercy, thechildren cried through the priest's lips to their Father who was inheaven, and entreated the Lamb of God who takes away sin to have mercyon them and give them peace. 

Then from far beyond the screen Mary could see how the priest leaning alittle forward towards That which he bore in his hands, looked on whathe bore in them; and she whispered softly with him the words that he wasspeaking. _Ave in aeternum sanctissima caro Christi_ . .. 

Again she hid her face; and when she raised it once, all was over, andthe Lord had entered and sanctified the body and soul of the man atwhose words He had entered the creature of bread. 

The father and daughter stood together silently in the sunshine outsidethe west end of the church, waiting for Chris. He had promised to cometo them there for a moment when his thanksgiving was done. 

Beyond the wall, and the guest-house where the Visitors had lived thosetwo disastrous days, rose up the far sunlit downs, shadowed here andthere with cup-like hollows, standing like the walls about Jerusalem. 

As they turned, on the right above the red roofs of the town, rose thedowns again, vast slopes and shoulders, over which Chris had ridden soshort a while ago bearded and brown with hunting. It was over there thatRalph had come, through that dip, which seemed against the skyline abreach in a high wall. 

Ah! surely God would spare this place; so stately and quiet, sograciously sheltered by the defences that He Himself had raised! If allEngland tottered and fell, this at least might stand, this vast home ofprayer that stirred day and night with the praises of the Eternal andthe petitions of the mortal--this glorious house where a priest so dearto them had brought forth from his mystical paternity the very Son ofGod!

The door opened behind them, and Chris came out pale and smiling with alittle anxious-eyed monk beside him. His eyes lightened as he saw themstanding there; but he turned again for a moment. 

"Yes--father, " he said. "What was it?"

"You stayed too long, " said the other, "at the _famularumque tuarum_;the rubric says _nullus nimis immoretur_, you know;--_nimis immoretur_. "

"Yes, " said Chris. 

CHAPTER III

THE NORTHERN RISING

A few of the smaller Religious houses had surrendered themselves to theKing before the passing of the bill in the early spring; and the rest ofthem were gradually yielded up after its enactment during the summer ofthe same year; and among them was Rusper. Chris heard that his sisterMargaret had returned to Overfield, and would stay there for thepresent. 

Throughout the whole of England there were the same scenes to bewitnessed. A troop of men, headed by a Commissioner, would ride up oneevening to some village where a little convent stood, demand entrance atthe gate, pass through, and disappear from the eyes of the watchingcrowd. Then the next day the work would begin; the lead would bestripped from the church and buildings; the treasures corded in bundles;the woodwork of the interior put up to auction on the village green; anda few days later the troop would disappear again, heavily laden, leavingbehind roofless walls, and bewildered Religious in their new seculardress with a few shillings in their pockets, staring after the richcavalcade and wondering what was best to do. 

It had been hoped that the King would stay his hand at the death ofAnne, and even yet return to the obedience of the Holy See. The Pope wasencouraged to think so by the authorities on the continent, and inEngland itself there prevailed even confidence that a return to the oldways would be effected. But Henry had gone too far; he had drunk toodeeply of the wealth that lay waiting for him in the treasuries of theReligious houses, and after a pause of expectation he set his hand tothe cup again. It was but natural too, and for more noble motives, tosuch a character as his. As he had aimed in his youth at nothing lessthan supremacy in tennis, hunting and tourney, and later inarchitecture, music and theological reputation; as, for the same reasonWolsey had fallen, when the King looked away from girls and sports tothe fiercer game of politics; so now it was intolerable to Henry thatthere should be even the shadow of a spiritual independence within hisdomain. 

A glow of resentful disappointment swept through the North of England atthe news. It burst out into flame in Lincolnshire, and was not finallyquenched until the early summer of the following year. 

 * * * * *

The news that reached Lewes from time to time during the winter andspring sent the hearts of all that heard it through the whole gamut ofemotions. At one time fierce hope, then despair, then rising confidence, then again blank hopelessness--each in turn tore the souls of the monks;and misery reached its climax in the summer at the news of the executionat Tyburn of the Abbots of Jervaulx and Fountains, with other monks andgentlemen. 

The final recital of the whole tragedy was delivered to them at themouth of a Religious from the Benedictine cell at Middlesborough who hadbeen released by the Visitors at his own request, but who had afterwardsrepented and joined the rising soon after the outset; he had beenthrough most of the incidents, and then when failure was assured hadfled south in terror for his life, and was now on his way to theContinent to take up his monastic vocation once more. 

The Prior was away on one of the journeys that he so frequentlyundertook at this time, no man knew whither, or the ex-monk and rebelwould have been refused admittance; but the sub-Prior was persuaded totake him in for a night, and he sat long in one of the parlours thatevening telling his story. 

Chris leaned against the wall and watched him as he talked with thecandle-light on his face. He was a stout middle-aged man in layman'sdress, for he was not yet out of peril; he sat forward in his chair, making preacher's gestures as he spoke, and using well-chosen vividwords. 

"They were gathered already when I joined them on their way to York;there were nearly ten thousand of them on the road, with Aske at theirhead. I have never set eyes on such a company! There was a troop ofgentlemen and their sons riding with Aske in front, all in armour; andthen the rabble behind with gentlemen again to their officers. Thecommon folk had pikes and hooks only; and some were in leather harness, and some without; but they marched well and kept good order. They wereof all sorts: hairy men and boys; and miners from the North. There weremonks, too, and friars, I know not how many, that went with the army toencourage them; and everywhere we went the women ran out of their homeswith food and drink, and prayed God to bless us; and the bells were rungin the village churches. We slept as we could, some in houses, some inchurchyards and by the wayside, and as many of us as could get into thechurches heard mass each day. As many too as could make them, wore theFive Wounds on a piece of stuff sewn on the arm. You would have saidthat none could stand against us, so eager we were and full of faith. "

"There was a song, was there not?" began one of the monks. 

"Yes, father. We sang it as we went. 

 "Christ crucified! For thy wounds wide Us commons guide Which pilgrims be! Through God his grace For to purchase Old wealth and peace Of the spiritualty!

"You could hear it up and down the lines, sung with weeping andshouting. "

He described how they came to York, and how the Mayor was forced toadmit them. They stayed there a couple of days; and Aske published hisdirections for all the ejected Religious to return to their houses. 

"I went to a little cell near by--I forget its name--to help some canonsto settle in again, whose friendship I had made. I had told them thenthat my mind was to enter Religion once more, and they took me verywillingly. We got there at night. The roof was gone from the dormitory, but we slept there for all that--such of us as could sleep--for I heardone of them sobbing for joy as he lay there in his old corner under thestars; and we sang mass in the morning, as well as we could. The priesthad an old tattered vestment that hardly hung on his shoulders; andthere was no cross but one that came from a pair of beads, and that wehung over the altar. When I left them again, they were at their officeas before, and busy roofing the house with old timbers; for my lordCromwell had all the lead. And all their garden was trampled; but theysaid they would do very well. The village-folk were their good friends, and would bring them what they needed. "

He described his journey to Doncaster; the furious excitement of thevillages he passed through, and the news that reached him hour afterhour as to the growing vastness of Aske's forces. 

"There were thirty thousand, I heard, on the banks of the Don on oneside; for my lords Nevill and Lumley and others had ridden in with St. Cuthbert his banner and arms, and five thousand men, besides those thatcame in from all the country. And on the further side was my LordShrewsbury for the King, with the Duke and his men. Master Aske had allhe could do to keep his men back from being at them. Some of the youngsparks were as terriers at a rat-hole. There was a parley held on thebridge, for Norfolk knew well that he must gain time; and Aske sent hisdemands to his Grace, and that was the mistake--"

The man beat one hand into the other and looked round with a kindlingforce--

"That was the mistake! He was too loyal for such work, and did not guessat their craft. Well, while we waited there, our men began to make off;their farms were wanting them, and their wives and the rest, and wemelted. Master Aske had to be everywhere at once, it was no fault ofhis. My Lord Derby was marching up upon the houses again, and seeking todrive the monks out once more. But there was not an act of violence doneby our men; not a penny-piece taken or a house burned. They werepeaceable folk, and asked no more than that their old religion should begiven back to them, and that they might worship God as they had alwaysdone. "

He went on to explain how the time had been wasted in those fruitlessnegotiations, and how the force dwindled day by day. Various answerswere attempted by the King, containing both threats and promises, and inthese, as in all else the hand of Cromwell was evident. Finally, towardsthe end of November, the insurgents gathered again for another meetingwith the King's representatives at Doncaster, summoned by beacons on thetop of the high Yorkshire moors, and by the reversed pealing of thechurch bells. 

"We had a parley among ourselves at Pomfret first, and had a greatto-do, though I saw little of it; and drew up our demands; and then setout for Doncaster again. The duke was there, with the King's pardon inhis hand, in the Whitefriars; and a promise that all should be as weasked. So we went back to Pomfret, well-pleased, and the next day on St. Thomas' hill the herald read the pardon to us all; and we, poor fools, thought that his Grace meant to keep his word--"

The monk looked bitterly round, sneering with his white strong teeth settogether like a savage dog's; and there was silence for a moment. TheSub-Prior looked nervously round the faces of his subjects, for this wastreasonable talk to hear. 

Then the man went on. He himself it seemed had retired again to thelittle cell where he had seen the canons settled in a few weekspreviously; and heard nothing of what was going forward; except that theheralds were going about the country, publishing the King's pardon toall who had taken part in the Rebellion, and affixing it to themarket-cross in each town and village, with touching messages from theKing relating to the grief which he had felt on hearing that his dearchildren believed such tales about him. 

Little by little, however, the discontent began to smoulder once more, for the King's pledges of restoration were not fulfilled; and Cromwell, who was now recognised to be the inspirer of all the evil done againstReligion, remained as high as ever in the royal favour. Aske, who hadbeen to the King in person, and given him an account of all that hadtaken place, now wrote to him that there was a danger of a furtherrising if the delay continued, for there were no signs yet of thepromised free parliament being called at York. 

Then again disturbances had broken out. 

"I was at Hull, " said the monk, "with Sir Francis Bygod in January; butwe did nothing, and only lost our leader, and all the while Norfolk wascreeping up with his army. It was piteous to think what might not havebeen done if we had not trusted his Grace; but 'twas no good, and I wasback again in the dales here and there, hiding for my life by April. Everywhere 'twas the same; the monks were haled out again from theirhouses, and men were hanged by the score. I cut down four myself nearMeux, and gave them Christian burial at night. One was a monk, andhanged in his habit. But the worst of all was at York. "

The man's face twitched with emotion, and he passed his hand over hismouth once or twice before continuing. 

"I did not dare to go into the court for fear I should be known; but Istood outside in the crowd and watched them go in. There was a fellowriding with Norfolk--a false knave of a man whom we had all learnt tohate at Doncaster--for he was always jeering at us secretly and makingmischief when he could. I saw him with the duke before, when we wentinto the Whitefriars for the pardon; and he stood there behind with thelook of a devil on his face; and now here he was again--"

"His name, sir?" put in Dom Adrian. 

"Torridon, father, Torridon! He was a--"

There was a sharp movement in the room, so that the monk stopped andlooked round him amazed. Chris felt the blood ebb from his heart and dinin his ears, and he swayed a little as he leaned against the wall. Hesaw Dom Anthony lean forward and whisper to the stranger; and throughthe haze that was before his eyes saw the other look at him sharply, with a fallen jaw. 

Then the monk rose and made a little stiff inclination to Chris, deferential and courteous, but with a kind of determined dignity in ittoo. 

When Chris had recovered himself, the monk was deep in his story, butRalph had fallen out of it. 

"You would not believe it, " he was saying, "but on the very jury thatwas to try Master Aske and Constable, there were empanelled their ownblood-relations; and that by the express intention of Norfolk. John Askewas one of them, and some others who had to wives the sons of my LordDarcy and Sir Robert Constable. You see how it would be. If theprisoners were found guilty, men would say that it must be so, for thattheir own kin had condemned them; and if they were to be acquitted, thenthese men themselves would be cast. "

There again broke out a murmur from the listening faces, as the manpaused. 

"Well, they were cast, as you know, for not taking the King to be thesupreme head of the Church, and for endeavouring to force the King tohold a parliament that he willed not. And I was at York again whenMaster Aske was brought back from London to be hanged, and I saw it!"

Again an uncontrollable emotion shook him; and he propped his face onhis hand as he ended his tale. 

"There were many of his friends there in the crowd, and scarcely onedared to cry out, God save you, sir. .. . I dared not. .. . "

He gave one rending sob, and Chris felt his eyes prick with tears at thesight of so much sorrow. It was piteous to see a brave man thinkinghimself a coward. 

Dom Anthony leaned forward. 

"Thank you, father, " he said, though his voice was a little husky, "andthank God that he died well. You have touched all our hearts. "

"I was a hound, " sobbed the man, "a hound, that I did not cry out to himand tell him that I loved him. "

"No, no, father, " said the other tenderly, "you must not think so. Youmust serve God well now, and pray for his soul. "

The bell sounded out for Compline as he spoke, and the monks rose. 

"You will come into choir, father, " said the Sub-Prior. 

The man nodded, stood up, and followed him out. 

Chris was in a strange ferment as he stood in his stall that night. Ithad been sad enough to hear of that gallant attempt to win back the oldliberties and the old Faith--that attempt that had been a success exceptfor the insurgents' trust in their King--and of the death of theleaders. 

But across the misery had pierced a more poignant grief, as he hadlearnt how Ralph's hand was in this too and had taken once more thewrong side in God's quarrel. But still he had no resentment; theconflict had passed out of the personal plane into an higher, and hethought of his brother as God's enemy rather than his own. Would hisprayers then never prevail--the prayers that he speeded up in the smokeof the great Sacrifice morning by morning for that zealous mistakensoul? Or was it perhaps that that brother of his must go deeper yet, before coming out to knowledge and pardon?

CHAPTER IV

THE DESTRUCTION OF THE SEAL

The autumn drew in swiftly. The wet south-west wind blew over the downsthat lay between Lewes and the sea, and beat down the loose browningleaves of the trees about the Priory. The grass in the cloister-garthgrew rank and dark with the constant rain that drove and dropped overthe high roofs. 

And meanwhile the tidings grew heavier still. 

After Michaelmas the King set to work in earnest. He had been checked bythe northern risings, and still paused to see whether the embers hadbeen wholly quenched; and then when it was evident that the North was assubmissive as the South, began again his business of gathering in thewealth that was waiting. 

He started first in the North, under show of inflicting punishment forthe encouragement that the Religious had given to the late rebellions;and one by one the great abbeys were tottering. Furness and Sawley hadalready fallen, with Jervaulx and the other houses, and Holme Cultramwas placed under the care of a superior who could be trusted to handover his charge when called upon. 

But up to the present not many great houses had actually fallen, exceptthose which were supposed to have taken a share in the revolt; and owingto the pains taken by the Visitors to contradict the report that theKing intended to lay his hands on the whole monastic property ofEngland, it was even hoped by a few sanguine souls that the largehouses might yet survive. 

There were hot discussions in the chapter at Lewes from time to timeduring the year. The "Bishops' Book, " issued by a committee of divinesand approved by the King, and containing a digest of the new Faith thatwas being promulgated, arrived during the summer and was fiercelydebated; but so high ran the feeling that the Prior dropped the matter, and the book was put away with other papers of the kind on an honourablebut little-used shelf. 

The acrimony in domestic affairs began to reach its climax in October, when the prospects of the Priory's own policy came up for discussion. 

Some maintained that they were safe, and that quietness and confidencewere their best security, and these had the support of the Prior; othersdeclared that the best hope lay in selling the possessions of the houseat a low price to some trustworthy man who would undertake to sell thenback again at only a small profit to himself when the storm was passed. 

The Prior rose in wrath when this suggestion was made. 

"Would you have me betray my King?" he cried. "I tell you I will havenone of it. It is not worthy of a monk to have such thoughts. "

And he sat down and would hear no more, nor speak. 

There were whispered conferences after that among the others, as to whathis words meant. Surely there was nothing dishonourable in the device;they only sought to save what was their own! And how would the King be"betrayed" by such an action?

They had an answer a fortnight later; and it took them wholly bysurprise. 

During the second week in November the Prior had held himself morealoof than ever; only three or four of the monks, with the Sub-Prioramong them, were admitted to his cell, and they were there at all hours. Two or three strangers too arrived on horseback, and were entertained bythe Prior in a private parlour. And then on the morning of thefourteenth the explanation came. 

When the usual business of the chapter was done, the faults confessedand penances given, and one or two small matters settled, the Prior, instead of rising to give the signal to go, remained in his chair, hishead bent on to his hand. 

It was a dark morning, heavy and lowering; and from where Chris sat atthe lower end of the great chamber he could scarcely make out thefeatures of those who sat under the high window at the east; but as soonas the Prior lifted his face and spoke, he knew by that tense strain ofthe voice that something impended. 

"There is another matter, " said the Prior; and paused again. 

For a moment there was complete silence. The Sub-Prior leant a littleforward and was on the point of speaking, when his superior lifted hishead again and straightened himself in his chair. 

"It is this, " he said, and his voice rang hard and defiant, "it is this. It is useless to think we can save ourselves. We are under suspicion, and worse than suspicion. I have hoped, and prayed, and striven to knowGod's will; and I have talked with my Lord Cromwell not once or twice, but often. And it is useless to resist any further. "

His voice cracked with misery; but Chris saw him grip the bosses of hischair-arms in an effort for self-control. His own heart began to sicken;this was not frightened raving such as he had listened to before; it wasthe speech of one who had been driven into decision, as a rat into acorner. 

"I have talked with the Sub-Prior, and others; and they think with me inthis. I have kept it back from the rest, that they might serve God inpeace so long as was possible. But now I must tell you all, my sons, that we must leave this place. "

There was a hush of terrible tension. The monks had known that they werethreatened; they could not think otherwise with the news that came fromall parts, but they had not known that catastrophe was so imminent. Anold monk opposite Chris began to moan and mutter; but the Prior went onimmediately. 

"At least I think that we must leave. It may be otherwise, if God haspity on us; I do not know; but we must be ready to leave, if it be Hiswill, and, --and to say so. "

He was speaking in abrupt sentences, with pauses between, in which heappeared to summon his resolution to speak again, and force out histale. There was plainly more behind too; and his ill-ease seemed todeepen on him. 

"I wish no one to speak now, " he said, "Instead of the Lady-massto-morrow we shall sing mass of the Holy Ghost; and afterwards I shallhave more to say to you again. I do not desire any to hold speech withany other, but to look into their own hearts and seek counsel of Godthere. "

He still sat a moment silent, then rose and gave the signal. 

 * * * * *

It was a strange day for Chris. He did not know what to think, but hewas certain that they had not yet been told all. The Prior's silenceshad been as pregnant as his words. There was something very close nowthat would be revealed immediately, and meanwhile he must think out howto meet it. 

The atmosphere seemed charged all day; the very buildings wore a strangeair, unfamiliar and menacing. The intimate bond between his soul andthem, knit by associations of prayer and effort, appeared unreal andflimsy. He was tormented by doubtfulness; he could not understand on theone side how it was possible to yield to the King, on the other how itwas possible to resist. No final decision could be made by him until hehad heard the minds of his fellows; and fortunately they would all speakbefore him. He busied himself then with disentangling the strands ofmotive, desire, fear and hope, and waited for the shaking loose of theknot until he knew more. 

Mass of the Holy Ghost was sung next morning by the Prior himself in redvestments; and Chris waited with expectant awe, remembering how theCarthusians under like circumstances had been visited by God; but theHost was uplifted and the bell rang; and there was nothing but thecandle-lit gloom of the choir about the altar, and the sigh of the windin the chapels behind. 

Then in the chapter-meeting the Prior told them all. 

 * * * * *

He reminded them how they had prayed that morning for guidance, and thatthey must be fearless now in following it out. It was easy to bereckless and call it faith, but prudence and reasonable common-sensewere attributes of the Christian no less than trust in God. They had notto consider now what they would wish for themselves, but what Godintended for them so far as they could read it in the signs of thetimes. 

"For myself, " he cried, --and Chris almost thought him sincere as hespoke, so kindled was his face--"for myself I should ask no more thanto live and die in this place, as I had hoped. Every stone here is asdear to me as to you, and I think more dear, for I have been in aspecial sense the lord of it all; but I dare not think of that. We mustbe ready to leave all willingly if God wills. We thought that we hadyielded all to follow Christ when we first set our necks here under Hissweet yoke; but I think He asks of us even more now; and that we shouldgo out from here even as we went out from our homes ten or twenty yearsago. We shall be no further from our God outside this place; and we maybe even nearer if we go out according to His will. "

He seemed on fire with zeal and truth. His timid peevish air was gone, and his delicate scholarly face was flushed as he spoke. Chris wasastonished, and more perplexed than ever. Was it then possible thatGod's will might lie in the direction he feared?

"Now this is the matter which we have to consider, " went on the Priormore quietly. "His Grace has sent to ask, through a private messengerfrom my Lord Cromwell, whether we will yield up the priory. There is nocompulsion in the matter--" he paused significantly--"and his Gracedesires each to act according to his judgment and conscience, of--of hisown free will. "

There was a dead silence. 

The news was almost expected by now. Through the months of anxiety eachmonk had faced the probability of such tidings coming to him sooner orlater; and the last few days had brought expectation to its climax. Yetit was hard to see the enemy face to face, and to know that there was nopossibility of resisting him finally. 

The Sub-Prior rose to his feet and began to speak, glancing as if forcorroboration to his superior from time to time. His mouth worked alittle at the close of each sentence. 

"My Lord Prior has shown us his own mind, and I am with him in thematter. His Grace treats us like his own children; he wishes us to beloving and obedient. But, as a father too, he has authority behind tocompel us to his will if we will not submit. And, as my Lord Prior saidyesterday, we do not know whether or no his Grace will not permit us toremain here after all, if we are docile; or perhaps refound the prioryout of his own bounty. There is talk of the Chertsey monks going to theLondon Charterhouse from Bisham where the King set them last year. Butwe may be sure he will not do so with us if we resist his will now. I onmy part then am in favour of yielding up the house willingly, andtrusting ourselves to his Grace's clemency. "

There was again silence as he sat down; and a pause of a minute or twobefore Dom Anthony rose. His ruddy face was troubled and perplexed; buthe spoke resolutely enough. 

He said that he could not understand why the matter had not been laidbefore them earlier, that they might have had time to consider it. Thequestion was an extremely difficult one to the consciences of some ofthem. On the one hand there was the peril of acquiescing insacrilege--the Prior twisted in his seat as he heard this--and on theother of wilfully and petulantly throwing away their only opportunity ofsaving their priory. He asked for time. 

Several more made speeches, some in favour of the proposal, and someasking, as Dom Anthony had done, for further tine for consideration. They had no precedents, they said, on which to decide such a question, for they understood that it was not on account of treason that theywere required to surrender the house and property. 

The Prior rose with a white face. 

"No, no, " he cried. "God forbid! That is over and done with. I--we havemade our peace with my Lord Cromwell in that affair. "

"Then why, " asked Dom Anthony, "are we required to yield it?"

The Prior glanced helplessly at him. 

"I--it is as a sign that the King is temporal lord of the land. "

"We do not deny that, " said the other. 

"Some do, " said the Prior feebly. 

There was a little more discussion. Dom Anthony remarked that it was nota matter of temporal but spiritual headship that was in question. Tomeddle with the Religious Orders was to meddle with the Vicar of Christunder whose special protection they were; and it seemed to him at leasta probable opinion, so far as he had had time to consider it, that toyield, even in the hopes of saving their property ultimately, was toacquiesce in the repudiation of the authority of Rome. 

And so it went on for an hour; and then as it grew late, the Prior roseonce more, and asked if any one had a word to say who had not yetspoken. 

Chris had intended to speak, but all that he wished to ask had alreadybeen stated by others; and he sat now silent, staring up at the Prior, and down at the smooth boarded floor at his feet. He had not an ideawhat to do. He was no theologian. 

Then the Prior unmasked his last gun. 

"As regards the matter of time for consideration, that is now passed. Inspite of what some have said we have had sufficient warning. All heremust have known that the choice would be laid before them, for monthspast; it is now an answer that is required of us. "

He paused a moment longer. His lips began to tremble, but he made astrong effort and finished. 

"Master Petre will be here to-night, as my lord Cromwell'srepresentative, and will sit in the chapter-house to-morrow to receivethe surrender. "

Dom Anthony started to his feet. The Prior made a violent gesture forsilence, and then gave the signal to break up. 

 * * * * *

Again the bewildering day went past. The very discipline of the housewas a weakness in the defence of the surprised party. It was impossiblefor them to meet and discuss the situation as they wished; and even thesmall times of leisure seemed unusually occupied. Dom Anthony was busyat the guest-house; one of the others who had spoken against theproposal was sent off on a message by the Prior, and another was orderedto assist the sacristan to clean the treasures in view of the Visitor'scoming. 

Chris was not able to ask a word of advice from any of those whom hethought to be in sympathy with him. 

He sat all day over his antiphonary, in the little carrel off thecloister, and as he worked his mind toiled like a mill. 

He had progressed a long way with the work now, and was engaged on thepages that contained the antiphons for Lent. The design was sobererhere; the angels that had rested among the green branches and earlyroses of Septuagesima, thrusting here a trumpet and there a harp amongthe leaves, had taken flight, and grave menacing creatures were in theirplace. A jackal looked from behind the leafless trunk, a lion liftedhis toothed mouth to roar from a thicket of thorns, as they had lurkedand bellowed in the bleak wilderness above the Jordan fifteen hundredyears ago. They were gravely significant now, he thought; and scarcelyknowing what he did he set narrow human eyes in the lion's face (for heknew no better) and broadened the hanging jaws with a delicate line ortwo. 

Then with a fierce impulse he crowned him, and surmounted the crown witha cross. 

And all the while his mind toiled at the problem. There were threethings open to him on the morrow. Either he might refuse to sign thesurrender, and take whatever consequences might follow; or he might signit; and there were two processes of thought by which he might take thataction. By the first he would simply make an act of faith in hissuperiors, and do what they did because they did it; by the second hewould sign it of his own responsibility because he decided to think thatby doing so he would be taking the best action for securing his ownmonastic life. 

He considered these three. To refuse to sign almost inevitably involvedhis ruin, and that not only, and not necessarily, in the worldly sense;about that he sincerely believed he did not care; but it would mean hisexclusion from any concession that the King might afterwards make. Hecertainly would not be allowed under any circumstances, to remain in thehome of his profession; and if the community was shifted he would not beallowed to go with them. As regards the second alternative he wonderedwhether it was possible to shift responsibility in that manner; asregards the third, he knew that he had very little capability in anycase of foreseeing the course that events would take. 

Then he turned it all over again, and considered the arguments for eachcourse. His superiors were set over him by God; it was rash to sethimself against them except in matters of the plainest conscience. Againit was cowardly to shelter himself behind this plea and so avoidresponsibility. Lastly, he was bound to judge for himself. 

The arguments twisted and turned as bewilderingly as the twiningbranches of his design; and behind each by which he might climb todecision lurked a beast. He felt helpless and dazed by the storm ofconflicting motives. 

As he bent over his work he prayed for light, but the question seemedmore tangled than before; the hours were creeping in; by to-morrow hemust decide. 

Then the memory of the Prior's advice to him once before came back tohis mind; this was the kind of thing, he told himself, that he mustleave to God, his own judgment was too coarse an instrument; he mustwait for a clear supernatural impulse; and as he thought of it he laidhis pencil down, dropped on to his knees, and commended it all to God, to the Mother of God, St. Pancras, St. Peter and St. Paul. Even as hedid it, the burden lifted and he knew that he would know, when the timecame. 

 * * * * *

Dr. Petre came that night, but Chris saw no more of him than his back ashe went up the cloister with Dom Anthony to the Prior's chamber. ThePrior was not at supper, and his seat was empty in the dim refectory. 

Neither was he at Compline; and it was with the knowledge thatCromwell's man and their own Superior were together in conference, thatthe monks went up the dormitory stairs that night. 

But he was in his place at the chapter-mass next morning, though hespoke to no one, and disappeared immediately afterwards. 

Then at the appointed time the monks assembled in the chapter-house. 

 * * * * *

As Chris came in he lifted his eyes, and saw that the room was arrayedmuch as it had been at the visit of Dr. Layton and Ralph. A great table, heaped with books and papers, stood at the upper end immediately belowthe dais, and a couple of secretaries were there, sharp-looking men, seated at either end and busy with documents. 

The Prior was in his place in the shadow and was leaning over andtalking to a man who sat beside him. Chris could make out little of thelatter except that he seemed to be a sort of lawyer or clerk, and wasdressed in a dark gown and cap. He was turning over the leaves of a bookas the Prior talked, and nodded his head assentingly from time to time. 

When all the monks were seated, there was still a pause. It wasstrangely unlike the scene of a tragedy, there in that dark grave roomwith the quiet faces downcast round the walls, and the hands hidden inthe cowl-sleeves. And even on the deeper plane it all seemed verycorrect and legal. There was the representative of the King, a capablelearned man, with all the indications of law and order round him, andhis two secretaries to endorse or check his actions. There too was theCommunity, gathered to do business in the manner prescribed by the Rule, with the deeds of foundation before their eyes, and the great brassconvent seal on the table. There was not a hint of bullying orcompulsion; these monks were asked merely to sign a paper if they sodesired it. Each was to act for himself; there was to be no over-ridingof individual privileges, or signing away another's conscience. 

Nothing could have been arranged more peaceably. 

And yet to every man's mind that was present the sedate room was blackwith horror. The majesty and terror of the King's will brooded in theair; nameless dangers looked in at the high windows and into every man'sface; the quiet lawyer-like men were ministers of fearful vengeance; thevery pens, ink and paper that lay there so innocently were sacraments ofdeath or life. 

The Prior ceased his whispering presently, glanced round to see if allwere in their places, and then stood up. 

His voice was perfectly natural as he told them that this was Dr. Petre, come down from Lord Cromwell to offer them an opportunity of showingtheir trust and love towards their King by surrendering to hisdiscretion the buildings and property that they held. No man was to becompelled to sign; it must be perfectly voluntary on their part; hisGrace wished to force no conscience to do that which it repudiated. Forhis own part, he said, he was going to sign with a glad heart. The Kinghad shown his clemency in a hundred ways, and to that clemency hetrusted. 

Then he sat down; and Chris marvelled at his self-control. 

Dr. Petre stood up, and looked round for a moment before opening hismouth; then he put his two hands on the table before him, dropped hiseyes and began his speech. 

He endorsed first what the Prior had said, and congratulated all thereon possessing such a superior. It was a great happiness, he said, todeal with men who showed themselves so reasonable and so loyal. Some hehad had to do with had not been so--and--and of course theirstubbornness had brought its own penalty. But of that he did not wishto speak. On the other hand those who had shown themselves truesubjects of his Grace had already found their reward. He had greatpleasure in announcing to them that what the Prior had said to them aday or two before was true; and that their brethren in religion ofChertsey Abbey, who had been moved to Bisham last year, were to go tothe London Charterhouse in less than a month. The papers were made out;he had assisted in their drawing up. 

He spoke in a quiet restrained voice, and with an appearance of greatdeference; there was not the shadow of a bluster even when he referredto the penalties of stubbornness; it was very unlike the hot bullyingarrogance of Dr. Layton. Then he ended--

"And so, reverend fathers, the choice is in your hands. His Grace willuse no compulsion. You will hear presently that the terms of surrenderare explicit in that point. He will not force one man to sign who is notconvinced that he can best serve his King and himself by doing so. Itwould go sorely against his heart if he thought that he had been themeans of making the lowest of his subjects to act contrary to theconscience that God has given him. My Lord Prior, I will beg of you toread the terms of surrender. "

The paper was read, and it was as it had been described. Again and againit was repeated in various phrases that the property was yielded offree-will. It was impossible to find in it even the hint of a threat. The properties in question were enumerated in the minutest manner, andthe list included all the rights of the priory over the Cluniac cell ofCastleacre. 

The Prior laid the paper down, and looked at Dr. Petre. 

The Commissioner rose from his seat, taking the paper as he did so, andso stood a moment. 

"You see, reverend fathers, that it is as I told you. I understand thatyou have already considered the matter, so that there is no more to besaid. "

He stepped down from the dais and passed round to the further side ofthe table. One of the secretaries pushed an ink-horn and a couple ofquills across to him. 

"My Lord Prior, " said Dr. Petre, with a slight bow. "If you are willingto sign this, I will beg of you to do so; and after that to call up yoursubjects. "

He laid the paper down. The Prior stepped briskly out of his seat, andpassed round the table. 

Chris watched his back, the thin lawyer beside him indicating the placefor the name; and listened as in a dream to the scratching of the pen. He himself still did not know what he would do. If all signed--?

The Prior stepped back, and Chris caught a glimpse of a white face thatsmiled terribly. 

The Sub-Prior stepped down at a sign from his Superior; and then one byone the monks came out. 

Chris's heart sickened as he watched; and then stood still on a suddenin desperate hope, for opposite to him Dom Anthony sat steady, his headon his hand, and made no movement when it was his turn to come out. Chris saw the Prior look at the monk, and a spasm of emotion went overhis face. 

"Dom Anthony, " he said. 

The monk lifted his face, and it was smiling too. 

"I cannot sign, My Lord Prior. "

Then the veils fell, and decision flashed on Chris' soul. 

He heard the pulse drumming in his ears, and his wet hands slipped onein the other as he gripped them together, but he made no sign till allthe others had gone up. Then he looked up at the Prior. 

It seemed an eternity before the Prior looked at him and nodded; and hecould make no answering sign. 

Then he heard his name called, and with a great effort he answered; hisvoice seemed not his own in his ears. He repeated Dom Anthony's words. 

"I cannot sign, My Lord Prior. "

Then he sat back with closed eyes and waited. 

He heard movements about him, steps, the crackle of parchment, and atlast Dr. Petre's voice; but he scarcely understood what was said. Therewas but one thought dinning in his brain, and that was that he hadrefused, and thrown his defiance down before the King--that terrible manwhom he had seen in his barge on the river, with the narrow eyes, thepursed mouth and the great jowl, as he sat by the woman he called hiswife--that woman who now--

Chris shivered, opened his eyes, and sense came back. 

Dr. Petre was just ending his speech. He was congratulating theCommunity on their reasonableness and loyalty. By an overwhelmingmajority they had decided to trust the King, and they would not find hisgrace unmindful of that. As for those who had not signed he could saynothing but that they had used the liberty that his Grace had giventhem. Whether they had used it rightly was no business of his. 

Then he turned to the Prior. 

"The seal then, My Lord Prior. I think that is the next matter. "

The Prior rose and lifted it from the table. Chris caught the gleam ofthe brass and silver of the ponderous precious thing in his hand--thesymbol of their corporate existence--engraved, as he knew, with the fourpatrons of the house, the cliff, the running water of the Ouse, and therhyming prayer to St. Pancras. 

The Prior handed it to the Commissioner, who took it, and stood there amoment weighing it in his hand. 

"A hammer, " he said. 

One of the secretaries rose, and drew from beneath the table a sheet ofmetal and a sharp hammer; he handed both to Dr. Petre. 

Chris watched, fascinated with something very like terror, his throatcontracted in a sudden spasm, as he saw the Commissioner place the metalin the solid table before him, and then, holding the seal sideways, liftthe hammer in his right hand. 

Then blow after blow began to echo in the rafters overhead. 

CHAPTER V

THE SINKING SHIP

Dr. Petre had come and gone, and to all appearance the priory was asbefore. He had not taken a jewel or a fragment of stuff; he hadcongratulated the sacristan on the beauty and order of his treasures, and had bidden him guard them carefully, for that there were knavesabroad who professed themselves as authorised by the King to seizemonastic possessions, which they sold for their own profit. The officescontinued to be sung day and night, and the masses every morning; andthe poor were fed regularly at the gate. 

But across the corporate life had passed a subtle change, analogous tothat which comes to the body of a man. Legal death had taken placealready; the unity of life and consciousness existed no more; the sealwas defaced; they could no longer sign a document except as individuals. Now the _rigor mortis_ would set in little by little until somatic deathtoo had been consummated, and the units which had made up the organismhad ceased to bear any relation one to the other. 

But until after Christmas there was no further development; and theFeast was observed as usual, and with the full complement of monks. Atthe midnight mass there was a larger congregation than for many months, and the confessions and communions also slightly increased. It was asymptom, as Chris very plainly perceived, of the manner in which theshadow of the King reached even to the remotest details of the life ofthe country. The priory was now, as it were, enveloped in the royalprotection, and the people responded accordingly. 

There had come no hint from headquarters as to the ultimate fate of thehouse; and some even began to hope that the half-promise of are-foundation would be fulfilled. Neither had any mark of disapprovalarrived as to the refusal to sign on the part of the two monks; butalthough nothing further was said in conversation or at chapter, therewas a consciousness in the minds of both Dom Anthony and Chris that awall had arisen between them and the rest. Talk in the cloister was aptto flag when either approached; and the Prior never spoke a word to thembeyond what was absolutely necessary. 

Then, about the middle of January the last process began to be enacted. 

 * * * * *

One morning the Prior's place in church was empty. 

He was accustomed to disappear silently, and no astonishment was causedon this occasion; but at Compline the same night the Sub-Prior too wasgone. 

This was an unheard-of state of things, but all except the guest-masterand Chris seemed to take it as a matter of course; and no word wasspoken. 

After the chapter on the next morning Dom Anthony made a sign to Chrisas he passed him in the cloister, and the two went out together into theclear morning-sunshine of the outer court. 

Dom Anthony glanced behind him to see that no one was following, andthen turned to the other. 

"They are both gone, " he said, "and others are going. Dom Bernard isgetting his things together. I saw them under his bed last night. "

Chris stared at him, mute and terrified. 

"What are we to do, Dom Anthony?"

"We can do nothing. We must stay. Remember that we are the only two whohave any rights here now, before God. "

There was silence a moment. Chris glanced at the other, and wasreassured by the steady look on his ruddy face. 

"I will stay, Dom Anthony, " he said softly. 

The other looked at him tenderly. 

"God bless you, brother!" he said. 

That night Dom Bernard and another were gone. And still the others madeno sign or comment; and it was not until yet another pair had gone thatDom Anthony spoke plainly. 

He was now the senior monk in the house; and it was his place to directthe business of the chapter. When the formal proceedings were over hestood up fearlessly. 

"You cannot hide it longer, " he said. "I have known for some while whatwas impending. " He glanced round at the empty stalls, and his faceflushed with sudden anger: "For God's sake, get you gone, you who meanto go; and let us who are steadfast serve our Lord in peace. "

Chris looked along the few faces that were left; but they were downcastand sedate, and showed no sign of emotion. 

Dom Anthony waited a moment longer, and then gave the signal to depart. By a week later the two were left alone. 

 * * * * *

It was very strange to be there, in the vast house and church, and tolive the old life now stripped of three-fourths of its meaning; but theydid not allow one detail to suffer that it was possible to preserve. The_opus Dei_ was punctually done, and God was served in psalmody. At theproper hours the two priests met in the cloister, cowled and in theirchoir-shoes, and walked through to the empty stalls; and there, one oneither side, each answered the other, bowed together at the _Gloria_, confessed and absolved alternately. Two masses were said each day in thehuge lonely church, one at the high altar and the other at our Lady's, and each monk served the other. In the refectory one read from thepulpit as the other sat at the table; and the usual forms were observedwith the minutest care. In the chapter each morning they met for mutualconfession and accusation; and in the times between the exercises andmeals each worked feverishly at the details that alone made the lifepossible. 

They were assisted in this by two paid servants, who were sent to themby Chris's father, for both the lay-brothers and the servants had gonewith the rest; and the treasurer had disappeared with the money. 

Chris had written to Sir James the day that the last monk had gone, telling him the state of affairs, and how the larder was almost empty;and by the next evening the servants had arrived with money andprovisions; and a letter from Sir James written from a sick-bed, sayingthat he was unable to come for the present, for he had taken the fever, and that Morris would not leave him, but expressing a hope that he wouldcome soon in person, and that Morris should be sent in a few days. Thelatter ended with passionate approval of his son's action. 

"God bless and reward you, dear lad!" he had written. "I cannot tell youthe joy that it is to my heart to know that you are faithful. It cannotbe for long; but whether it is for long and short, you shall have myprayers and blessings; and please God, my poor presence too after a fewdays. May our Lady and your holy patron intercede for you both who areso worthy of their protection!"

 * * * * *

At the end of the second week in March Mr. Morris arrived. 

Chris was taking the air in the court shortly before sunset, after ahard day's work in church. The land was beginning to stir with theresurrection-life of spring; and the hills set round the town had thatfaint flush of indescribable colour that tinges slopes of grass as thesleeping sap begins to stir. The elm-trees in the court were hazy withgrowth as the buds fattened at the end of every twig, and a group ofdaffodils here and there were beginning to burst their sheaths of gold. There on the little lawn before the guest-house were half a dozen whiteand lavender patches of colour that showed where the crocuses would starthe grass presently; and from the high west front of the immense church, and from beneath the eaves of the offices to the right the birds werepractising the snatches of song that would break out with full melody amonth or two later. 

In spite of all that threatened, Chris was in an ecstasy of happiness. It rushed down on him, overwhelmed and enveloped him; for he knew nowthat he had been faithful. The flood of praise in the church haddwindled to a thread; but it was still the _opus Dei_, though it flowedbut from two hearts; and the pulse of the heavenly sacrifice stillthrobbed morning by morning, and the Divine Presence still burned asunceasingly as the lamp that beaconed it, in the church that was now allbut empty of its ministers. There were times when the joy that was inhis heart trembled into tears, as when last night he and his friend hadsung the song to Mary; and the contrast between the two poor voices, and the roar of petition that had filled the great vaulting a yearbefore, had suddenly torn his heart in two. 

But now the poignant sorrow had gone again; and as he walked here aloneon this March evening, with the steady hills about him and the flushingsky overhead, and the sweet life quickening in the grass at his feet, anextraordinary peace flooded his soul. 

There came a knocking at the gate, and the jangle of a bell; and he wentacross quickly and unbarred the door. 

Mr. Morris was there on horseback, a couple of saddlebags strapped tohis beast; and a little group of loungers stood behind. 

Chris smiled with delight, and threw the door wide. 

The servant saluted him and then turned to the group behind. 

"You have no authority, " he said, "as to my going in. "

Then he rode through; and Chris barred the gate behind him, glancing ashe did so at the curious faces that stared silently. 

Mr. Morris said nothing till he had led his horse into the stable. Thenhe explained. 

"One of the fellows told me, sir, that this was the King's house now;and that I had no business here. "

Chris smiled again. 

"I know we are watched, " he said, "the servants are questioned each timethey set foot outside. "

Mr. Morris pursed his lips. 

"How long shall you be here, sir?" he asked. 

"Until we are turned out, " said Chris. 

 * * * * *

It was true, as he had said, that the house was watched. Ever since thelast monk had left there had been a man or two at the gate, anotheroutside the church-door that opened towards the town; and another yetagain beyond the stream to the south of the priory-buildings. DomAnthony had told him what it meant. It was that the authorities had noobjection to the two monks keeping the place until it could be dealtwith, but were determined that nothing should pass out. It had not beenworthwhile to send in a caretaker, for all the valuables had beenremoved either by the Visitors or by the Prior when he went at night. There were only two sets of second-best altar vessels left, and a fewother comparatively worthless utensils for the use of the church andkitchen. The great relics and the jewelled treasures had gone longbefore. Chris had wondered a little at the house being disregarded forso long; but the other monk had reminded him that such things as leadand brass and bells were beyond the power of two men to move, and couldkeep very well until other more pressing business had been despatchedelsewhere. 

Mr. Morris gave him news of his father. It had not been the true feverafter all, and he would soon be here; in at any rate a week or two. Asregarded other news, there was no tidings of Mr. Ralph except that hewas very busy. Mistress Margaret was at home; no notice seemed to havebeen taken of her when she had been turned out with the rest at thedissolution of her convent. 

It was very pleasant to see that familiar face about the cloister andrefectory; or now and again, when work was done, looking up from beyondthe screen as the monks came in by the sacristy door. Once or twice ondark evenings when terror began to push through the rampart of the willthat Chris had raised up, it was reassuring too to know that Morris wasthere, for he bore with him, as old servants do, an atmosphere of homeand security, and he carried himself as well with a wonderfulnaturalness, as if the relief of beleaguered monks were as ordinary aduty as the cleaning of plate. 

March was half over now; and still no sign had come from the worldoutside. There were no guests either to bring tidings, for the priorywas a marked place and it was well not to show or receive kindliness inits regard. 

Within, the tension of nerves grew acute. Chris was conscious of adeepening exaltation, but it was backed by horror. He found himself nowsmiling with an irrepressible internal joy, now twitching withapprehension, starting at sudden noises, and terrified at loneliness. Dom Anthony too grew graver still; and would take his arm sometimes andwalk with him, and tell him tales, and watch him with tender eyes. Butin him, as in the younger monk, the strain tightened every day. 

 * * * * *

They were singing Compline together one evening with tired, overstrainedvoices, for they had determined not to relax any of the chant until itwas necessary. Mr. Morris was behind them at a chair set beyond thescreen; and there were no others present in church. 

The choir was perfectly dark (for they knew the office by heart) exceptfor a glimmer from the sacristy door where a lamp burned within to lightthem to bed. Chris's thoughts had fled back to that summer evening longago when he had knelt far down in the nave and watched the serried lineof the black-hooded soldiers of God, and listened to the tramp of thepsalmody, and longed to be of their company. Now the gallant regimenthad dwindled to two, of which he was one, and the guest-master that hadreceived him and encouraged him, the other. 

Dom Anthony was the officiant this evening, and had just sung lustilyout in the dark that God was about them with His shield, that they needfear no nightly terror. 

The movement flagged for a moment, for Chris was not attending; Mr. Morris's voice began alone, _A sagitta volante_--and then stoppedabruptly as he realised that he was singing by himself; andsimultaneously came a sharp little crash from the dark altar that roseup in the gloom in front. 

A sort of sobbing breath broke from Chris at the sudden noise, and hegripped his hands together. 

In a moment Dom Anthony had taken up the verse. 

_A sagitta volante_--"From the arrow that flieth by day, from the thingthat walketh in darkness--" Chris recovered himself; and the officepassed on. 

As the two passed out together towards the door, Dom Anthony wentforward up the steps; and Chris waited, and watched him stoop and passhis hands over the floor. Then he straightened himself, came down thesteps and went before Chris into the sacristy. 

Under the lamp he stopped, and lifted what he carried to the light. Itwas the little ivory crucifix that he had hung there a few weeks agowhen the last cross of precious metal had disappeared with theSub-Prior. It was cracked across the body of the figure now, and one ofthe arms was detached at the shoulder and swung free on the nail throughthe hand. 

Dom Anthony looked at it, turned and looked at Chris; and without a wordthe two passed out into the cloister and turned up the dormitory stairs. To both of them it was a sign that the end was at hand. 

 * * * * *

On the following afternoon Mr. Morris ran in to Chris's carrel, andfound him putting the antiphonary and his implements up into a parcel. 

"Master Christopher, " he said, "Sir James and Sir Nicholas are come. "

As he hurried out of the cloister he saw the horses standing there, spent with fast travelling, and the two riders at their heads, with thedust on their boots, and their clothes disordered. They remainedmotionless as the monk came towards them; but he saw that his father'sface was working and that his eyes were wide and anxious. 

"Thank God, " said the old man softly. "I am in time. They are comingto-night, Chris. " But there was a questioning look on his face. 

Chris looked at him. 

"Will you take the horses?" said his father again. "Nick and I aresafe. "

Chris still stared bewildered. Then he understood; and withunderstanding came decision. 

"No, father, " he said. 

The old man's face broke up into lines of emotion. 

"Are you sure, my son?"

Chris nodded steadily. 

"Then we will all be together, " said Sir James; and he turned to leadhis horse to the stable. 

 * * * * *

There was a little council held in the guest-house a few minutes later. Dom Anthony hurried to it, his habit splashed with whitewash, for he hadbeen cleaning the dormitory, and the four sat down together. 

It seemed that Nicholas had ridden over from Great Keynes to Overfieldearlier in the afternoon, and had brought the news that a company of menhad passed through the village an hour before, and that one of them hadasked which turn to take to Lewes. Sir Nicholas had ridden after themand enquired their business, and had gathered that they were bound forthe priory, and he then turned his horse and made off to Overfield. Hishorse was spent when he arrived there; but he had changed horses andcame on immediately with Sir James, to warn the monks of the approach ofthe men, and to give them an opportunity of making their escape if theythought it necessary. 

"Who were the leaders?" asked the elder monk. 

Nicholas shook his head. 

"They were in front; I dared not ride up. "

But his sturdy face looked troubled as he answered, and Chris saw hisfather's lips tighten. Dom Anthony drummed softly on the table. 

"There is nothing to be done, " he said. "We wait till we are cast out. "

"You cannot refuse admittance?" questioned Sir James. 

"But we shall do so, " said the other tranquilly; "at least we shall notopen. "

"But they will batter the door down. "

"Certainly, " said the monk. 

"And then?"

He shrugged his shoulders. 

"I suppose they will put us out. "

There was absolutely nothing to be done. It was absurd to dream of morethan formal resistance. Up in the North in more than one abbey theinmates had armed themselves, and faced the spoilers grimly on thevillage green; but that was where the whole country side was with them, and here it was otherwise. 

They talked a few minutes longer, and decided that they would neitheropen nor resist. The monks two were determined to remain there untilthey were actually cast out; and then the responsibility would rest onother shoulders than theirs. 

It was certain of course that by this time to-morrow at the latest theywould have been expelled; and it was arranged that the two monks shouldride back to Overfield, if they were personally unmolested, and remainthere until further plans were decided upon. 

The four knew of course that there was a grave risk in provoking theauthorities any further, but it was a risk that the two Religious weredetermined to run. 

They broke up presently; Mr. Morris came upstairs to tell them that foodwas ready in one of the parlours off the cloister; and the two laymenwent off with him, while the monks went to sing vespers for the lasttime. 

 * * * * *

An hour or two later the two were in the refectory at supper. Theevening was drawing in, and the light in the tall windows was fading. Opposite where Chris sat (for Dom Anthony was reading aloud from thepulpit), a row of coats burned in the glass, and he ran his eyes overthem. They had been set there, he remembered, soon after his own comingto the place; the records had been searched, and the arms of every priorcopied and emblazoned in the panes. There they all were; from Lanzo offive centuries ago, whose arms were conjectural, down to Robert Crowham, who had forsaken his trust; telling the long tale of prelates andmonastic life, from the beginning to the close. He looked round beyondthe circle of light cast by his own candle, and the place seemed full ofghosts and presences to his fancy. The pale oak panelling glimmeredalong the walls above the empty seats, from the Prior's to the left, over which the dusky fresco of the Majesty of Christ grew darker stillas the light faded, down to the pulpit opposite where Dom Anthony'sgrave ruddy face with downcast eyes stood out vivid in the candlelight. Ah! surely there was a cloud of witnesses now, a host of faces lookingdown from the black rafters overhead, and through the glimmeringpanes, --the faces of those who had eaten here with the same sacramentaldignity and graciousness that these two survivors used. It wasimpossible to feel lonely in this stately house, saturated with holylife; and with a thrill at his heart he remembered how Dom Anthony hadonce whispered to him at the beginning of the troubles, that if othersheld their peace the very stones should cry out; and that God was ableof those stones to raise up children to His praise. .. . 

There was a sound of brisk, hurrying footsteps in the cloister outside, Dom Anthony ceased his reading with his finger on the place, and theeyes of the two monks met. 

The door was opened abruptly, and Morris stood there. 

"My master has sent me, sir, " he said. "They are coming. "

CHAPTER VI

THE LAST STAND

The court outside had deepened into shadows as they came out; butoverhead the sky still glowed faintly luminous in a tender translucentgreen. The evening star shone out clear and tranquil opposite them inthe west. 

There were three figures standing at the foot of the steps that led downfrom the cloister; one of the servants with the two gentlemen; and asChris pushed forward quickly his father turned and lifted his finger forsilence. 

The town lay away to the right; and over the wall that joined the westend of the church to the gatehouse, there were a few lightsvisible--windows here and there just illuminated. 

For the first moment Chris thought there had been a mistake; he hadexpected a clamour at the gate, a jangling of the bell. Then as helistened he knew that it was no false alarm. 

Across the wall, from the direction of the hills that showed dimlyagainst the evening sky, there came a murmur, growing as he listened. The roads were hard from lack of rain, and he could distinguish thesound of horses, a great company; but rising above this was a dull roarof voices. Every moment it waxed, died once or twice, then sounded outnearer and louder. There was a barking of dogs, the cries of children, and now and again the snatch of a song or a shouted word or two. 

Of the group on the steps within not one stirred, except when Sir Jamesslowly lowered his upraised hand; and so they waited. 

The company was drawing nearer now; and Chris calculated that they mustbe coming down the steep road that led from the town; and even as hethought it he heard the sound of hoofs on the bridge that crossed theWinterbourne. 

Dom Anthony pushed by him. 

"To the gate, " he said, and went down the step and across the courtfollowed by the others. As they went the clamour grew loud and near inthe road outside; and a ruddy light shone on the projecting turret ofthe gateway. 

Chris was conscious of extraordinary coolness now that the peril was onhim; and he stared up at the studded oak doors, at the wicket cut in oneof the leaves, and the sliding panel that covered the grill, with littlethought but that of conjecture as to how long the destruction of thegate would take. The others, too, though he was scarcely aware of theirpresence, were silent and rigid at his side, as Dom Anthony stepped upto the closed grill and waited there for the summons. 

It came almost immediately. 

There was a great crescendo of sound as the party turned the corner, anda flare of light shone under the gate; then the sound of loud talking, asilence of the hoofs; and a sudden jangle on the bell overhead. 

The monk turned from the grill and lifted his hand. 

Then again the talking grew loud, as the mob swept round the cornerafter the horses. 

Still all was silent within. Chris felt his father's hand seek his own amoment, and grip it; and then above the gabbling clamour a voice spokedistinctly outside. 

"Have the rats run, then?"

The bell danced again over their heads; and there was a clatter of rapson the huge door. 

Dom Anthony slid back the shutter. 

 * * * * *

For a moment it was not noticed outside, for the entry was dark. Chriscould catch a glimpse on either side of the monk's head of a flare oflight, but no more. 

Then the same voice spoke again, and with something of a foreign accent. 

"You are there, then; make haste and open. "

Another voice shouted authoritatively for silence; and the clamour oftongues died. 

Dom Anthony waited until all was quiet, and then answered steadily. 

"Who are you?"

There was an oath; the tumult began again, but hushed immediately, asthe same voice that had called for admittance shouted aloud--

"Open, I tell you, you bloody monk! We come from the King. "

"Why do you come?"

A gabble of fierce tongues broke out; Chris pressed up to Dom Anthony'sback, and looked out. The space was very narrow, and he could not seemuch more than a man's leg across a saddle, the brown shoulder of ahorse in front, and a smoky haze beyond and over the horse's back. Theleg shifted a little as he watched, as if the rider turned; and thenagain the voice pealed out above the tumult. 

"Will you open, sir, for the last time?"

"I will not, " shouted the monk through the grill. "You are nothingbut--" then he dashed the shutter into its place as a stick struckfiercely at the bars. 

"Back to the cloister, " he said. 

The roar outside was tremendous as the six went back across the emptycourt; but it fell to a sinister silence as an order or two was shoutedoutside; and then again swelled with an excited note in it, as the firstcrash sounded on the panels. 

Chris looked at his father as they stood again on the steps fifty yardsaway. The old man was standing rigid, his hands at his sides, staringout towards the arch of the gateway that now thundered like a drum; andhis lips were moving. Once he caught his breath as a voice shouted abovethe din outside, and half turned to his son, his hand uplifted as if forsilence. Then again the voice pealed, and Sir James faced round andstared into Chris's eyes. But neither spoke a word. 

Dom Anthony, who was standing a yard or two in front, turned presentlyas the sound of splintering began to be mingled with the reverberations, and came towards them. His square, full face was steady and alert, andhe spoke with a sharp decision. 

"You and Sir Nicholas, sir, had best be within. My place will be here;they will be in immediately. "

His words were perfectly distinct here in the open air in spite of theuproar from the gate. 

There was an indignant burst from the young squire. 

"No, no, father; I shall not stir from here. "

The monk looked at him; but said no more and turned round. 

A sedate voice spoke from the dark doorway behind. 

"John and I have fetched out a table or two, father; we can brace thisdoor--"

Dom Anthony turned again. 

"We shall not resist further, " he said. 

Then they were silent, for they were helpless. There was nothing to bedone but to stand there and listen to the din, to the crash thatsplintered more every moment in the cracked woodwork, and to watch thehigh wall and turret solemn and strong against the stars, and brighthere and there at the edges with the light from the torches beneath. Theguest-house opposite them was dark, except for one window in the upperfloor that glowed and faded with the light of the fire that had beenkindled within an hour or two before. 

Sir James took his son suddenly by the arm. 

"And you, Chris--" he said. 

"I shall stay here, father. "

There was a rending thunder from the gate; the wicket reeled in andfell, and in a moment through the flimsy opening had sprung the figureof a man. They could see him plainly as he stood there in the light ofthe torches, a tall upright figure, a feathered hat on his head, and ariding cane in his hand. 

The noise was indescribable outside as men fought to get through; therewas one scream of pain, the plunging of a horse, and then a loud steadyroar drowning all else. 

The oblong patch of light was darkened immediately, as another mansprang through, and then another and another; then a pause--then thebright flare of a torch shone in the opening; and a moment later afellow carrying a flambeau had made his way through. 

The whole space under the arch was now illuminated. Overhead the plainmouldings shone out and faded as the torch swayed; every brick of thewalls was visible, and the studs and bars of the huge doors. 

Chris had sprung forward by an uncontrollable impulse as the wicket fellin; and the two monks were now standing motionless on the floor of thecourt, side by side, in their black habits and scapulars, hooded andgirded, with the two gentlemen and the servants on the steps behind. 

Chris saw the leaders come together under the arch, as the whole gatebegan to groan and bulge under the pressure of the crowd; and a momentlater he caught the flash of steel as the long rapiers whisked out. 

Then above the baying he heard a fierce authoritative voice scream outan order, and saw that one of the gentlemen in front was at the door, his rapier protruded before him; and understood the man[oe]uvre. It wasnecessary that the mad crowd should be kept back. 

The tumult died and became a murmur; and then one by one a file offigures came through. In the hand of each was an instrument of somekind, a pick or a bludgeon; and it was evident that it was these who hadbroken in the gate. 

Chris counted them mechanically as they streamed through. There seemedto be a dozen or so. 

Then again the man who had guarded the door as they came through slippedback through the opening; and they heard his voice beginning to haranguethe mob. 

But a moment later they had ceased to regard him; for from the archway, with the torch-bearer beside him, advanced the tall man with theriding-cane who had been the first to enter; and as he emerged into thecourt Chris recognised his brother. 

 * * * * *

He was in a plain rich riding-suit with great boots and plumed hat. Hewalked with an easy air as if certain of himself, and neither quickenednor decreased his pace as he saw the monks and the gentlemen standingthere. 

He halted a couple of yards from them, and Chris saw that his face wasas assured as his gait. His thin lips were tight and firm, and his eyeswith a kind of insolent irony looked up and down the figures of themonks. There was not the faintest sign of recognition in them. 

"You have given us a great deal of labour, " he said, "and to no purpose. We shall have to report it all to my Lord Cromwell. I understand thatyou were the two who refused to sign the surrender. It was the act offools, like this last. I have no authority to take you, so you had bestbe gone. "

Dom Anthony answered him in an equally steady voice. 

"We are ready to go now, " he said. "You understand we have yielded tonothing but force. "

Ralph's lips writhed in a smile. 

"Oh! if that pleases you, " he said. "Well, then--"

He took a little step aside, and made a movement towards the gate wherethere sounded out still an angry hum beneath the shouting voice that wasaddressing them. 

Chris turned to his father behind, and the voice died in his throat, sodreadful was that face that was looking at Ralph. He was standing asbefore, rigid it seemed with grief or anger; and his grey eyes werebright with a tense emotion; his lips too were as firm as his son's. Buthe spoke no word. Sir Nicholas was at his side, with one foot advanced, and in attitude as if to spring; and Morris's face looked like a maskover his shoulder. 

"Well, then--" said Ralph once more. 

"Ah! you damned hound!" roared the young squire's voice; and his handwent up with the whip in it. 

Ralph did not move a muscle. He seemed cut in steel. 

"Let us go, " said Dom Anthony again, to Chris, almost tenderly; "it isenough that we are turned out by force. "

"You can go by the church, if you will, " said Ralph composedly. "Infact--" He stopped as the murmur howled up again from the gate--"Infact you had better go that way. They do not seem to be your friends outthere. "

"We will go whichever way you wish, " remarked the elder monk. 

"Then the church, " said Ralph, "or some other private door. I supposeyou have one. Most of your houses have one, I believe. "

The sneer snapped the tension. 

Dom Anthony turned his back on him instantly. 

"Come, brother, " he said. 

Chris took his father by the arm as he went up the steps. 

"Come, sir, " he said, "we are to go this way. "

There was a moment's pause. The old man still stared down at his elderson, who was standing below in the same position. Chris heard a deepbreath, and thought he was on the point of speaking; but there wassilence. Then the two turned and followed the others into the cloister. 

CHAPTER VII

AXES AND HAMMERS

Chris sat next morning at a high window of a house near Saint Michael'slooking down towards the south of the town. 

They had escaped without difficulty the night before through thechurch-entrance, with a man whom Ralph sent after them to see that theycarried nothing away, leaving the crowd roaring round the corner of thegate, and though people looked curiously at the monks, the five laymenwith them protected them from assault. Mr. Morris had found a lodging acouple of days before, unknown to Chris, in the house of a woman who wasfavourable to the Religious, and had guided the party straight there onthe previous evening. 

The two monks had said mass in Saint Michael's that morning before thetown was awake; and were now keeping within doors at Sir James's earnestrequest, while the two gentlemen with one of the servants had gone tosee what was being done at the priory. 

 * * * * *

From where Chris sat in his black habit at the leaded window he couldsee straight down the opening of the steep street, across the lowerroofs below, to where the great pile of the Priory church less thanhalf-a-mile away soared up in the sunlight against the water-meadowswhere the Ouse ran to the south of the town. 

The street was very empty below him, for every human being that coulddo so had gone down to the sacking of the priory. There might bepickings, scraps gathered from the hoards that the monks were supposedto have gathered; there would probably be an auction; and there wouldcertainly be plenty of excitement and pleasure. 

Chris was himself almost numb to sensation. The coolness that hadcondensed round his soul last night had hardened into ice; he scarcelyrealised what was going on, or how great was the catastrophe into whichhis life was plunged. There lay the roofs before him--he ran his eyefrom the west tower past the high lantern to the delicate tracery of theeastern apse and chapels--in the hands of the spoilers; and here he satdry-eyed and steady-mouthed looking down on it, as a man looks at awound not yet begun to smart. 

It was piteously clear and still. Smoke was rising from a fire somewherebehind the church, a noise as of metal on stone chinked steadily, andthe voices of men calling one to another sounded continually from theenclosure. Now and again the tiny figure of a workman showed clear onthe roof, pick in hand; or leaning to call directions down to hisfellows beneath. 

Dom Anthony looked in presently, breviary in hand, and knelt by Chris onthe window-step, watching too; but he spoke no word, glanced at thewhite face and sunken eyes of the other, sighed once or twice, and wentout again. 

The morning passed on and still Chris watched. By eleven o'clock the menwere gone from the roof; half an hour had passed, and no further figurehad appeared. 

There were footsteps on the stairs; and Sir James came in. 

He came straight across to his son and sat down by him. Chris looked athim. The old man nodded. 

"Yes, my son, " he said, "they are at it. Nothing is to be left, but thecloister and guest-house. The church is to be down in a week they say. "

Chris looked at him dully. 

"All?" he said. 

"All the church, my son. "

Sir James gave an account of what he had seen. He had made his way inwith Nicholas and a few other persons, into the court; but had not beenallowed to enter the cloister. There was a furnace being made ready inthe calefactorium for the melting of the lead, he had been told by oneof the men; and the church, as he had seen for himself, was full ofworkmen. 

"And the Blessed Sacrament?" asked Chris. 

"A priest was sent for this morning to carry It away to a church; I knownot which. "

Sir James described the method of destruction. 

They were beginning with the apse and the chapels behind the high altar. The ornaments had been removed, the images piled in a great heap in theouter court, and the brasses had been torn up. There were half a dozenmasons busy at undercutting the pillars and walls; and as they excavatedthe carpenters made wooden insertions to prop up the weight. The men hadbeen brought down from London, as the commissioners were not certain ofthe temper of the Lewes people. Two of the four great pillars behind thehigh altar were already cut half through. 

"And Ralph?"

The old man's face grew tense and bitter. 

"I saw him in the roof, " he said; "he made as if he did not see me. "

They were half-through dinner before Nicholas joined them. He wasflushed and dusty and furious. 

"Ah! the hounds!" he said, as he stood at the door, trembling. "Theysay they will have the chapels down before night. They have stripped thelead. "

Sir James looked up and motioned him to sit down. 

"We will go down again presently, " he said. 

"But we have saved our luggage, " went on Nicholas, taking his seat; "andthere was a parcel of yours, Chris, that I put with it. It is all to besent up with the horses to-night. "

"Did you speak with Mr. Ralph?" asked Dom Anthony. 

"Ah! I did; the dog! and I told him what I thought. But he dared notrefuse me the luggage. John is to go for it all to-night. "

He told them during dinner another fact that he had learned. 

"You know who is to have it all?" he said fiercely, his fingerstwitching with emotion. 

"It is Master Gregory Cromwell, and his wife, and his baby. A finenursery!"

 * * * * *

As the evening drew on, Chris was again at the window alone. He had saidhis office earlier in the afternoon, and sat here again now, with hishands before him, staring down at the church. 

One of the servants had come up with a message from Sir James an hourbefore telling him not to expect them before dusk; and that they wouldsend up news of any further developments. The whole town was there, saidthe man: it had been found impossible to keep them out. Dom Anthonypresently came again and sat with Chris; and Mr. Morris, who had beenleft as a safeguard to the monks, slipped in soon after and stood behindthe two; and so the three waited. 

The sky was beginning to glow again as it had done last night with theclear radiance of a cloudless sunset; and the tall west tower stood upbright in the glory. How infinitely far away last night seemed now, little and yet distinct as a landscape seen through a reversedtelescope! How far away that silent waiting at the cloister door, theclamour at the gate, the forced entrance, the slipping away through thechurch!

The smoke was rising faster than ever now from the great chimney, andhung in a cloud above the buildings. Perhaps even now the lead was beingcast. 

There was a clatter at the corner of the cobbled street below, and DomAnthony leaned from the window. He drew back. 

"It is the horses, " he said. 

The servant presently came up to announce that the two gentlemen werefollowing immediately, and that he had had orders to procure horses andsaddle them at once. He had understood Sir James to say that they mustleave that night. 

Mr. Morris hurried out to see to the packing. 

In five minutes the gentlemen themselves appeared. 

Sir James came quickly across to the two monks. 

"We must go to-night, Chris, " he said. "We had words with Portinari. Youmust not remain longer in the town. "

Chris looked at him. 

"Yes?" he said. 

"And the chapels will be down immediately. Oh! dear God!"

Dom Anthony made room for the old man to sit down in the window-seat;and himself stood behind the two with Nicholas; and so again theywatched. 

The light was fading fast now, and in the windows below lights werebeginning to shine. The square western tower that dominated the wholepriory had lost its splendour, and stood up strong and pale against themeadows. There was a red flare of light somewhere over the wall of thecourt, and the inner side of the gate-turret was illuminated by it. 

A tense excitement lay on the watchers; and no sound came from them butthat of quick breathing as they waited for what they knew was imminent. 

Outside the evening was wonderfully still; they could hear two mentalking somewhere in the street below; but from the priory came nosound. The chink of the picks was still, and the cries of the workmen. Far away beyond the castle on their left came an insistent barking of adog; and once, when a horseman rode by below Chris bit his lip withvexation, for it seemed to him like the disturbing of a death bed. Astar or two looked out, vanished, and peeped again from the luminoussky, to the south, and the downs beneath were grey and hazy. 

All the watchers now had their eyes on the eastern end of the churchthat lay in dim shadow; they could see the roof of the vault behindwhere the high altar lay beneath; the flying buttress of a chapel below;and, nearer, the low roof of the Lady-chapel. 

Chris kept his eyes strained on the upper vault, for there, he knew thefirst movement would show itself. 

The time seemed interminable. He moistened his dry lips from time totime, shifted his position a little, and moved his elbow from the sharpmoulding of the window-frame. 

Then he caught his breath. 

From where he sat, in the direct line of his eyes, the top of a patch ofevergreen copse was visible just beyond the roof of the vault; and ashe looked he saw that a patch of paler green had appeared below it. Allin a moment he saw too the flying buttress crook itself like an elbowand disappear. Then the vault was gone and the roof beyond; the wallssank with incredible slowness and vanished. 

A cloud of white dust puffed up like smoke. 

Then through the open window came the roar of the tumbling masonry; andshrill above it the clamour of a great crowd. 

BOOK III

THE KING'S GRATITUDE

CHAPTER I

A SCHEME

The period that followed the destruction of Lewes Priory held verystrange months for Chris. He had slipped out of the stream into aback-water, from which he could watch the swift movements of the time, while himself undisturbed by them; for no further notice was taken ofhis refusal to sign the surrender or of his resistance to theCommissioners. The hands of the authorities were so full of businessthat apparently it was not worth their while to trouble about aninoffensive monk of no particular notoriety, who after all had donelittle except in a negative way, and who appeared now to acquiesce insilence and seclusion. 

The household at Overfield was of a very mixed nature. Dom Anthony aftera month or two had left for the Continent to take up his vocation in aBenedictine house; and Sir James and his wife, Chris, Margaret, and Mr. Carleton remained together. For the present Chris and Margaret weredetermined to wait, for a hundred things might intervene--Henry's death, a changing of his mind, a foreign invasion on the part of the Catholicpowers, an internal revolt in England, and such things--and set theclock back again, and, unlike Dom Anthony, they had a home where theycould follow their Rules in tolerable comfort. 

The country was indeed very deeply stirred by the events that weretaking place; but for the present, partly from terror and partly fromthe great forces that were brought to bear upon English convictions, itgave no expression to its emotion. The methods that Cromwell hademployed with such skill in the past were still active. On the worldlyside there was held out to the people the hope of relieved taxation, ofthe distribution of monastic wealth and lands; on the spiritual side thebishops under Cranmer were zealous in controverting the old principlesand throwing doubt upon the authority of the Pope. It was impossible forthe unlearned to know what to believe; new manifestoes were issuedcontinually by the King and clergy, full of learned arguments andpersuasive appeals; and the professors of the old religion werecontinually discredited by accusations of fraud, avarice, immorality, hypocrisy and the like. They were silenced, too; while active andeloquent preachers like Latimer raged from pulpit to pulpit, denouncing, expounding, convincing. 

Meanwhile the work went on rapidly. The summer and autumn of '38 sawagain destruction after destruction of Religious Houses and objects ofveneration; and the intimidation of the most influential personages onthe Catholic side. 

In February, for example, the rood of Boxley was brought up to Londonwith every indignity, and after being exhibited with shouts of laughterat Whitehall, and preached against at Paul's Cross, it was tossed downamong the zealous citizens and smashed to pieces. In the summer, amongothers, the shrine of St. Swithun at Winchester was defaced and robbed;and in the autumn that followed the friaries which had stood out so longbegan to fall right and left. In October the Holy Blood of Hayles, arelic brought from the East in the thirteenth century and preservedwith great love and honour ever since, was taken from its resting placeand exposed to ridicule in London. Finally in the same month, after St. Thomas of Canterbury had been solemnly declared a traitor to his prince, his name, images and pictures ordered to be erased and destroyed out ofevery book, window and wall, and he himself summoned with grotesquesolemnity to answer the charges brought against him, his relics wereseized and burned, and--which was more to the point in the King's view, his shrine was stripped of its gold and jewels and vestments, which wereconveyed in a string of twenty-six carts to the King's treasury. Thefollowing year events were yet more terrible. The few great houses thatsurvived were one by one brought within reach of the King's hand; andthose that did not voluntarily surrender fell under the heavierpenalties of attainder. Abbot Whiting of Glastonbury was sent up toLondon in September, and two months later suffered on Tor hill withinsight of the monastery he had ruled so long and so justly; and on thesame day the Abbot of Reading suffered too outside his own gateway. Sixweeks afterwards Abbot Marshall, of Colchester, was also put to death. 

 * * * * *

It was a piteous life that devout persons led at this time; and few weremore unhappy than the household at Overfield. It was the more miserablebecause Lady Torridon herself was so entirely out of sympathy with theothers. While she was not often the actual bearer of ill news--for shehad neither sufficient strenuousness nor opportunity for it--it wasimpossible to doubt that she enjoyed its arrival. 

They were all together at supper one warm summer evening when a servantcame in to announce that a monk of St. Swithun's was asking hospitality. Sir James glanced at his wife who sat with passive downcast face; andthen ordered the priest to be brought in. 

He was a timid, tactless man who failed to grasp the situation, and whenthe wine and food had warmed his heart he began to talk a great deal toofreely, taking it for granted that all there were in sympathy with him. He addressed himself chiefly to Chris, who answered courteously; anddescribed the sacking of the shrine at some length. 

"He had already set aside our cross called Hierusalem, " cried the monk, his weak face looking infinitely pathetic with its mingled sorrow andanger, "and two of our gold chalices, to take them with him when hewent; and then with his knives and hammers, as the psalmist tells us, hehacked off the silver plates from the shrine. There was a fellow I knewvery well--he had been to me to confession two days before--who held acandle and laughed. And then when all was done; and that was not tillthree o'clock in the morning, one of the smiths tested the metal andcried out that there was not one piece of true gold in it all. And Mr. Pollard raged at us for it, and told us that our gold was as counterfeitas the rotten bones that we worshipped. But indeed there was plenty ofgold; and the man lied; for it was a very rich shrine. God's vengeancewill fall on them for their lies and their robbery. Is it not so, mistress?"

Lady Torridon lifted her eyes and looked at him. Her husband hastened tointerpose. 

"Have you finished your wine, father?"

The monk seemed not to hear him; and his talk flowed on about thedestruction of the high altar and the spoiling of the reredos, which hadtaken place on the following days; and as he talked he filled hisVenetian glass more than once and drank it off; and his lantern facegrew flushed and his eyes animated. Chris saw that his mother waswatching the monk shrewdly and narrowly, and feared what might come. Butit was unavoidable. 

"We poor monks, " the priest cried presently, "shall soon be cast out tobeg our bread. The King's Grace--"

"Is not poverty one of the monastic vows?" put in Lady Torridonsuddenly, still looking steadily at his half-drunk glass. 

"Why, yes, mistress; and the King's Grace is determined to make us keepit, it seems. "

He lifted his glass and finished it; and put out his hand again to thebottle. 

"But that is a good work, surely, " smiled the other. "It will be surelya safeguard against surfeiting and drunkenness. "

Sir James rose instantly. 

"Come, father, " he said to the staring monk, "you will be tired out, andwill want your bed. "

A slow smile shone and laded on his wife's face as she rose and rustleddown the long hall. 

 * * * * *

Such incidents as this made life at Overfield very difficult for themall; it was hard for these sore hearts to be continually on the watchfor dangerous subjects, and only to be able to comfort one another whenthe mistress of the house was absent; but above all it was difficult forMargaret. She was nearly as silent as her mother, but infinitely moretender; and since the two were naturally together for the most part, except when the nun was at her long prayers, there were often verydifficult and painful incidents. 

For the first eighteen months after her return her mother let heralone; but as time went on and the girl's resolution persevered, shebegan to be subjected to a distressing form of slight persecution. 

For example: Chris and his father came in one day in the autumn from awalk through the priory garden that lay beyond the western moat. As theypassed in the level sunshine along the prim box-lined paths, and hadreached the centre where the dial stood, they heard voices in thesummer-house that stood on the right behind a yew hedge. 

Sir James hesitated a moment; and as he waited heard Margaret's voicewith a thrill of passion in it. 

"I cannot listen to that, mother. It is wicked to say such things. "

The two turned instantly, passed along the path and came round thecorner. 

Margaret was standing with one hand on the little table, half-turned togo. Her eyes were alight with indignation, and her lips trembled. Hermother sat on the other side, her silver-handled stick beside her, andher hands folded serenely together. 

Sir James looked from one to the other; and there fell a silence. 

"Are you coming with us, Margaret?" he said. 

The girl still hesitated a moment, glancing at her mother, and thenstepped out of the summer-house. Chris saw that bitter smile writhe anddie on the elder woman's face, but she said nothing. 

Margaret burst out presently when they had crossed the moat and werecoming up to the long grey-towered house. 

"I cannot bear such talk, father, " she said, with her eyes bright withangry tears, "she was saying such things about Rusper, and how idle weall were there, and how foolish. "

"You must not mind it, my darling. Your mother does not--does notunderstand. "

"There was never any one like Mother Abbess, " went on the girl. "I neversaw her idle or out of humour; and--and we were all so busy and happy. "

Her eyes overflowed a moment; her father put his arm tenderly round hershoulders, and they went in together. 

It was a terrible thing for Margaret to be thrown like this out of theone life that was a reality to her. As she looked back now it seemed asif the convent shone glorified and beautiful in a haze of grace. Thediscipline of the house had ordered and inspired the associations onwhich memories afterwards depend, and had excluded the discordant notesthat spoil the harmonies of secular life. The chapel, with its delicatewindows, its oak rails, its scent of flowers and incense, its tiledfloor, its single row of carved woodwork and the crosier by the Abbess'sseat, was a place of silence instinct with a Divine Presence thatradiated from the hanging pyx; it was these particular things, and notothers like them, that had been the scene of her romance with God, heraspirations, tendernesses, tears and joys. She had walked in the tinycloister with her Lover in her heart, and the glazed laurel-leaves thatrattled in the garth had been musical with His voice; it was in herlittle white cell that she had learned to sleep in His arms and to waketo the brightness of His Face. And now all this was dissipated. Therewere other associations with her home, of childish sorrows and passionsbefore she had known God, of hunting-parties and genial ruddy men whosmelt of fur and blood, of her mother's chilly steady presence--associations that jarred with the inner life; whereas in the conventthere had been nothing that was not redolent with efforts and rewards ofthe soul. Even without her mother life would have been hard enough nowat Overfield; with her it was nearly intolerable. 

Chris, however, was able to do a good deal for the girl; for he hadsuffered in the same way; and had the advantage of a man's strength. Shecould talk to him as to no one else of the knowledge of the interiorvocation in both of them that persevered in spite of their ejection fromthe cloister; and he was able to remind her that the essence of theenclosure, under these circumstances, lay in the spirit and not inmaterial stones. 

It was an advantage for Chris too to have her under his protection. Thefact that he had to teach her and remind her of facts that they bothknew, made them more real to himself; and to him as to her there camegradually a kind of sorrow-shot contentment that deepened month by monthin spite of their strange and distracting surroundings. 

But he was not wholly happy about her; she was silent and lonelysometimes; he began to see what an immense advantage it would be to herin the peculiarly difficult circumstances of the time, to have some oneof her own sex and sympathies at hand. But he did not see how it couldbe arranged. For the present it was impossible for her to enter theReligious Life, except by going abroad; and so long as there was thefaintest hope of the convents being restored in England, both she andher father and brother shrank from the step. And the hope was increasedby the issue of the Six Articles in the following May, by whichTransubstantiation was declared to be a revealed dogma, to be held onpenalty of death by burning; and communion in one kind, the celibacy ofthe clergy, the perpetuity of the vow of chastity, private masses, andauricular confession were alike ratified as parts of the Faith held bythe Church of which Henry had made himself head. 

Yet as time went on, and there were no signs of the restoration of theReligious Houses, Chris began to wonder again as to what was best forMargaret. Perhaps until matters developed it would be well for her tohave some friend in whom she could confide, even if only to relax thestrain for a few weeks. He went to his father one day in the autumn andlaid his views before him. 

Sir James nodded and seemed to understand. 

"Do you think Mary would be of any service?"

Chris hesitated. 

"Yes, sir, I think so--but--"

His father looked at him. 

"It is a stranger I think that would help her more. Perhaps anothernun--?"

"My dear lad, I dare not ask another nun. Your mother--"

"I know, " said Chris. 

"Well, I will think of it, " said the other. 

A couple of days later Sir James took him aside after supper into hisown private room. 

"Chris, " he said, "I have been thinking of what you said. And Mary shallcertainly come here for Christmas, with Nick; but--but there is someoneelse too I would like to ask. "

He looked at his son with an odd expression. 

Chris could not imagine what this meant. 

"It is Mistress Atherton, " went on the other. "You see you know her alittle--at least you have seen her; and there is Ralph. And from allthat I have heard of her--her friendship with Master More and the rest, I think she might be the very friend for poor Meg. Do you think shewould come, Chris?"

Chris was silent. He could not yet fully dissociate the thought ofBeatrice from the memory of the time when she had taken Ralph's part. Besides, was it possible to ask her under the circumstances?

"Then there was one more thing that I never told you;" went on hisfather, "there was no use in it. But I went to see Mistress Athertonwhen she was betrothed to Ralph. I saw her in London; and I think I maysay we made friends. And she has very few now; she keeps herself aloof. Folks are afraid of her too. I think it would be a kindness to her. Icould not understand how she could marry Ralph; and now that isexplained. "

Chris was startled by this news. His father had not breathed a word ofit before. 

"She made me promise, " went on Sir James, "to tell her if Ralph didanything unworthy. It was after the first news had reached her of whatthe Visitors were doing. And I told her, of course, about Rusper. Ithink we owe her something. And I think too from what I saw of her thatshe might make her way with your mother. "

"It might succeed, " said Chris doubtfully, "but it is surely difficultfor her to come--"

"I know--yes--with Ralph and her betrothal. But if we can ask her, surely she can come. I can tell her how much we need her. I would sendMeg to Great Keynes, if I dared, but I dare not. It is not so safe thereas here; she had best keep quiet. "

They talked about it a few minutes more, and Chris became more inclinedto it. From what he remembered of Beatrice and the impression that shehad made on him in those few fierce minutes in Ralph's house he began tosee that she would probably be able to hold her own; and if onlyMargaret would take to her, the elder girl might be of great service inestablishing the younger. It was an odd and rather piquant idea, andgradually took hold of his imagination. It was a very extreme step totake, considering that she had broken off her betrothal to the eldestson of the house; but against that was set the fact that she would notmeet him there; and that her presence would be really valued by at leastfour-fifths of the household. 

It was decided that Lady Torridon should be told immediately; and a dayor two later Sir James came to Chris in the garden to tell him that shehad consented. 

"I do not understand it at all, " said the old man, "but your motherseemed very willing. I wonder--"

And then he stopped abruptly. 

The letter was sent. Chris saw it and the strong appeal it containedthat Beatrice should come to the aid of a nun who was pining for want ofcompanionship. A day or two later brought down the answer that MistressAtherton would have great pleasure in coming a week before Christmas. 

 * * * * *

Margaret had a fit of shyness when the day came for her arrival. It wasa clear frosty afternoon, with a keen turquoise sky overhead, and shewandered out in her habit down the slope to the moat, crossed thebridge, glancing at the thin ice and the sedge that pierced it, and cameup into the private garden. She knew she could hear the sounds of wheelsfrom there, and had an instinctive shrinking from being at the housewhen the stranger arrived. 

The grass walks were crisp to the foot; the plants in the deep bedsrested in a rigid stillness with a black blossom or two drooping hereand there; and the hollies beyond the yew hedge lifted masses of greenlit by scarlet against the pale sky. Her breath went up like smoke asshe walked softly up and down. 

There was no sound to disturb her. Once she heard the clink of theblacksmith's forge half a mile away in the village; once a blackbirddashed chattering from a hedge, scudded in a long dip, and rose againover it; a robin followed her in brisk hops, with a kind of patheticimpertinence in his round eye, as he wondered whether this humancreature's footsteps would not break the iron armour of the ground andgive him a chance to live. 

She wondered a thousand things as she went; what kind of a woman thiswas that was coming, how she would look, why she had not married Ralph, and above all, whether she understood--whether she understood!

A kind of frost had fallen on her own soul; she could find no sustenancethere; it was all there, she knew, all the mysterious life that hadrioted within her like spring, in the convent, breathing its fragrances, bewildering in its wealth of shape and colour. But an icy breath hadpetrified it all; it had sunk down out of sight; it needed a soul likeher own, feminine and sympathetic, a soul that had experienced the samethings as her own, that knew the tenderness and love of the Saviour, tomelt that frigid covering and draw out the essences and sweetness again, that lay there paralysed by this icy environment. .. . 

There were wheels at last. 

She gathered up her black skirt, and ran to the edge of the low yewsthat bounded the garden on the north; and as she caught a glimpse of thenodding heads of the postilions, the plumes of their mounts, and thegreat carriage-roof swaying in the iron ruts, she shrank back again, inan agony of shyness, terrified of being seen. 

The sky had deepened to flaming orange in the west, barred by the tallpines, before she unlatched the garden-gate to go back to the house. 

The windows shone out bright and inviting from the parlour on theground-floor and from beneath the high gable of the hall as she came upthe slope. Mistress Atherton, she knew, would be in one of these roomsif she had not already gone up stairs; and with an instinct of shynessstill strong within her the girl slipped round to the back, and passedin through the chapel. 

The court was lighted by a link that flared beside one of the doorwayson the left, and a couple of great trunks lay below it. A servant cameout as she stood there hesitating, and she called to him softly to knowwhere was Mistress Atherton. 

"She is in the parlour, Mistress Margaret, " said the man. 

The girl went slowly across to the corner doorway, glancing at theparlour windows as she passed; but the curtains were drawn on this side, and she could catch no glimpse of the party within. 

The little entrance passage was dark; but she could hear a murmur ofvoices as she stood there, still hesitating. Then she opened the doorsuddenly, and went into the room. 

Her mother was speaking; and the girl heard those icy detached tones asshe looked round the group. 

"It must be very difficult for you, Mistress Atherton, in these days. "

Margaret saw her father standing at the window-seat, and Chris besidehim; and in a moment saw that the faces of both were troubled anduneasy. 

A tall girl was in the chair opposite, her hands lying easily on thearms and her head thrown back almost negligently. She was well dressed, with furs about her throat; her buckled feet were crossed before theblaze, and her fingers shone with jewels. Her face was pale; herscarlet lips were smiling, and there was a certain keen and genialamusement in her black eyes. 

She looked magnificent, thought Margaret, still standing with her handon the door--too magnificent. 

Her father made a movement, it seemed of relief, as his daughter camein; but Lady Torridon, very upright in her chair on this side, went onimmediately. 

--"With your opinions, Mistress Atherton, I mean. I suppose all that youconsider sacred is being insulted, in your eyes. "

The tall girl glanced at Margaret with the amusement still in her face, and then answered with a deliberate incisiveness that equalled LadyTorridon's own. 

"Not so difficult, " she said, "as for those who have no opinions. "

There was a momentary pause; and then she added, as she stood up and SirJames came forward. 

"I am very sorry for them, Mistress Torridon. "

Before Lady Torridon could answer, Sir James had broken in. 

"This is my daughter Margaret, Mistress Atherton. "

The two ladies saluted one another. 

CHAPTER II

A DUEL

Margaret watched Beatrice with growing excitement that evening, in whichwas mingled something of awe and some thing of attraction. She had neverseen anyone so serenely self-possessed. 

It became evident during supper, beyond the possibility of mistake, thatLady Torridon had planned war against the guest, who was arepresentative in her eyes of all that was narrow-minded andcontemptible. Here was a girl, she seemed to tell herself, who had hadevery opportunity of emancipation, who had been singularly favoured inbeing noticed by Ralph, and who had audaciously thrown him over for thesake of some ridiculous scruples worthy only of idiots and nuns. Indeedto Chris it was fairly plain that his mother had consented so willinglyto Beatrice's visit with the express purpose of punishing her. 

But Beatrice held her own triumphantly. 

 * * * * *

They had not sat down three minutes before Lady Torridon opened theassault, with grave downcast face and in her silkiest manner. She wentabruptly back to the point where the conversation had been interruptedin the parlour by Margaret's entrance. 

"Mistress Atherton, " she observed, playing delicately with her spoon, "Ithink you said that to your mind the times were difficult for those whohad no opinions. "

Beatrice looked at her pleasantly. 

"Yes, Mistress Torridon; at least more difficult for those, than for theothers who know their own mind. "

The other waited a moment, expecting the girl to justify herself, butshe was forced to go on. 

"Abbot Marshall knew his mind, but it was not easy for him. "

(The news had just arrived of the Abbot's execution). 

"Do you think not, mistress? I fear I still hold my opinion. "

"And what do you mean by that?"

"I mean that unless we have something to hold to, in these troublesometimes, we shall drift. That is all. "

"Ah! and drift whither?"

Beatrice smiled so genially as she answered, that the other had noexcuse for taking offence. 

"Well, it might be better not to answer that. "

Lady Torridon looked at her with an impassive face. 

"To hell, then?" she said. 

"Well, yes: to hell, " said Beatrice. 

There was a profound silence; broken by the stifled merriment of aservant behind the chairs, who transformed it hastily into a cough. SirJames glanced across in great distress at his son; but Chris' eyestwinkled at him. 

Lady Torridon was silent a moment, completely taken aback by thesuddenness with which the battle had broken, and amazed by the girl'saudacity. She herself was accustomed to use brutality, but not to meetit. She laid her spoon carefully down. 

"Ah!" she said, "and you believe that? And for those who hold wrongopinions, I suppose you would believe the same?"

"If they were wrong enough, " said Beatrice, "and through their fault. Surely we are taught to believe that, Mistress Torridon?"

The elder woman said nothing at all, and went on with her soup. Hersilence was almost more formidable than her speech, and she knew that, and contrived to make it offensive. Beatrice paid no sort of attentionto it, however; and without looking at her again began to talkcheerfully to Sir James about her journey from town. Margaret watchedher, fascinated; her sedate beautiful face, her lace and jewels, herwhite fingers, long and straight, that seemed to endorse the impressionof strength that her carriage and manner of speaking suggested; as onemight watch a swordsman between the rounds of a duel and calculate hischances. She knew very well that her mother would not take her firstrepulse easily; and waited in anxiety for the next clash of swords. 

Beatrice seemed perfectly fearless, and was talking about the King withcomplete freedom, and yet with a certain discretion too. 

"He will have his way, " she said. "Who can doubt that?"

Lady Torridon saw an opening for a wound, and leapt at it. 

"As he had with Master More, " she put in. 

Beatrice turned her head a little, but made no answer; and there was notthe shadow of wincing on her steady face. 

"As he had with Master More, " said Lady Torridon a little louder. 

"We must remember that he has my Lord Cromwell to help him, " observedBeatrice tranquilly. 

Lady Torridon looked at her again. Even now she could scarcely believethat this stranger could treat her with such a supreme indifference. Andthere was a further sting, too, in the girl's answer, for all thereunderstood the reference to Ralph; and yet again it was impossible totake offence. 

Margaret looked at her father, half-frightened, and saw again a look ofanxiety in his eyes; he was crumbling his bread nervously as he answeredBeatrice. 

"My Lord Cromwell--" he began. 

"My Lord Cromwell has my son Ralph under him, " interrupted his wife. "Perhaps you did not know that, Mistress Atherton. "

Margaret again looked quickly up; but there was still no sign of wincingon those scarlet lips, or beneath the black eyebrows. 

"Why, of course, I knew it, " said Beatrice, looking straight at her withlarge, innocent eyes, "that was why--"

She stopped; and Lady Torridon really roused now, made a false step. 

"Yes?" she said. "You did not end your sentence?"

Beatrice cast an ironically despairing look behind her at the servants. 

"Well, " she said, "if you will have it: that was why I would not marryhim. Did you not know that, Mistress?"

It was so daring that Margaret caught her breath suddenly; and lookedhopelessly round. Her father and brother had their eyes steadily bent onthe table; and the priest was looking oddly at the quiet angry womanopposite him. 

Then Sir James slid deftly in, after a sufficient pause to let thelesson sink home; and began to talk of indifferent things; and Beatriceanswered him with the same ease. 

Lady Torridon made one more attempt just before the end of supper, whenthe servants had left the room. 

"You are living on--" she corrected herself ostentatiously--"you areliving with any other family now, Mistress Atherton? I remember my sonRalph telling me you were almost one of Master More's household. "

Beatrice met her eyes with a delightful smile. 

"I am living on--with your family at this time, Mistress Torridon. "

There was no more to be said just then. The girl had not only turned herhostess' point, but had pricked her shrewdly in riposte, three times;and the last was the sharpest of all. 

Lady Torridon led the way to the oak parlour in silence. 

 * * * * *

She made no more assaults that night; but sat in dignified aloofness, her hands on her lap, with an air of being unconscious of the presenceof the others. Beatrice sat with Margaret on the long oak settle; andtalked genially to the company at large. 

When compline had been said, Sir James drew Chris aside into thestar-lit court as the others went on in front. 

"Dear lad, " he said, "what are we to do? This cannot go on. Yourmother--"

Chris smiled at him, and took his arm a moment. 

"Why, father, " he said, "what more do we want? Mistress Atherton canhold her own. "

"But your mother will insult her. "

"She will not be able, " said Chris. "Mistress Atherton will not have it. Did you not see how she enjoyed it?"

"Enjoyed it?"

"Why, yes; her eyes shone. "

"Well, I must speak to her, " said Sir James, still perplexed. "Come withme, Chris. "

Mr. Carleton was just leaving the parlour as they came up to itsoutside door. Sir James drew him into the yard. There were no secretsbetween these two. 

"Father, " he said, "did you notice? Do you think Mistress Atherton willbe able to stay here?"

He saw to his astonishment that the priest's melancholy face, as thestarlight fell on it, was smiling. 

"Why, yes, Sir James. She is happy enough. "

"But my wife--"

"Sir James, I think Mistress Atherton may do her good. She--" hehesitated. 

"Well?" said the old man. 

"She--Lady Torridon has met her match, " said the chaplain, stillsmiling. 

Sir James made a little gesture of bewilderment. 

"Well, come in, Chris. I do not understand; but if you both think so--"

He broke off and opened the door. 

Lady Torridon was gone to her room; and the two girls were alone. Beatrice was standing before the hearth with her hands behind herback--a gallant upright figure; as they came in, she turned a cheerfulface to them. 

"Your daughter has been apologising, Sir James, " she said; and there wasa ripple of amusement in her voice. "She thinks I have been hardlytreated. "

She glanced at the bewildered Margaret, who was staring at her under herdelicate eyebrows with wide eyes of amazement and admiration. 

Sir James looked confused. 

"The truth is, Mistress Atherton, that I too--and my son--"

"Well, not your son, " said Chris smiling. 

"You too!" cried Beatrice. "And how have I been hardly treated?"

"Well, I thought perhaps, that what was said at supper--" began the oldman, beginning to smile too. 

"Lady Torridon, and every one, has been all that is hospitable, " saidBeatrice. "It is like old days at Chelsea. I love word-fencing; andthere are so few who practise it. "

Sir James was still a little perplexed. 

"You assure me, Mistress, that you are not distressed by--by anythingthat has passed?"

"Distressed!" she cried. "Why, it is a real happiness!"

But he was not yet satisfied. 

"You will engage to tell me then, if you think you are improperlytreated by--by anyone--?"

"Why, yes, " said the girl, smiling into his eyes. "But there is no needto promise that. I am really happy; and I am sure your daughter and Iwill be good friends. "

She turned a little towards Margaret; and Chris saw a curious emotion ofawe and astonishment and affection in his sister's eyes. 

"Come, my dear, " said Beatrice. "You said you would take me to my room. "

Sir James hastened to push open the further door that led to the stairs;and the two girls passed out together. 

Then he shut the door, and turned to his son. Chris had begun to laugh. 

CHAPTER III

A PEACE-MAKER

It was a very strange household that Christmas at Overfield. Mary andher husband came over with their child, and the entire party, with theexception of the duellists themselves, settled down to watch theconflict between Lady Torridon and Beatrice Atherton. Its prolongationwas possible because for days together the hostess retired into afortress of silence, whence she looked out cynically, shrugged hershoulders, smiled almost imperceptibly, and only sallied when she foundshe could not provoke an attack. Beatrice never made an assault; wasalways ready for the least hint of peace; but guarded deftly and struckhard when she was directly threatened. Neither would she ever take aninsult; the bitterest dart fell innocuous on her bright shield beforeshe struck back smiling; but there were some sharp moments of anxietynow and again as she hesitated how to guard. 

A silence would fall suddenly in the midst of the talk and clatter attable; there would be a momentary kindling of glances, as from the tallchair opposite the chaplain a psychological atmosphere of peril madeitself felt; then the blow would be delivered; the weapons clashed; andonce more the talk rose high and genial over the battlefield. 

 * * * * *

The moment when Beatrice's position in the house came nearest to beinguntenable, was one morning in January, when the whole party wereassembled on the steps to see the sportsmen off for the day. 

Sir James was down with the foresters and hounds at the further end ofthe terrace, arranging the details of the day; Margaret had not yet comeout of chapel, and Lady Torridon, who had had a long fit of silence, wasstanding with Mary and Nicholas at the head of the central stairs thatled down from the terrace to the gravel. 

Christopher and Beatrice came out of the house behind, talkingcheerfully; for the two had become great friends since they had learntto understand one another, and Beatrice had confessed to him franklythat she had been wrong and he right in the matter of Ralph. She hadtold him this a couple of days after her arrival; but there had been acertain constraint in her manner that forbade his saying much in answer. Here they came then, now, in the frosty sunshine; he in his habit andshe in her morning house-dress of silk and lace, talking briskly. 

"I was sure you would understand, father, " she said, as they came upbehind the group. 

Then Lady Torridon turned and delivered her point, suddenly andbrutally. 

"Of course he will, " she said. "I suppose then you are not going out, Mistress Atherton. " And she glanced with an offensive contempt at thegirl and the monk. Beatrice's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly, andopened again. 

"Why, no, Lady Torridon. "

"I thought not, " said the other; and again she glanced at the two--"forI see the priest is not. "

There was a moment's silence. Nick was looking at his wife with a faceof dismay. Then Beatrice answered smiling. 

"Neither are you, dear Lady Torridon. Is not that enough to keep me?"

A short yelp of laughter broke from Nicholas; and he stooped to examinehis boot. 

Lady Torridon opened her lips, closed them again, and turned her back onthe girl. 

"But you are cruel, " said Beatrice's voice from behind, "and--"

The woman turned once more venomously. 

"You do not want me, " she said. "You have taken one son of mine, and nowyou would take the other. Is not my daughter enough?"

Beatrice instantly stepped up, and put her hand on the other's arm. 

"Dear Mistress, " she said; and her voice broke into tenderness; "she isnot enough--"

Lady Torridon jerked her arm away. 

"Come, Mary, " she said. 

 * * * * *

Matters were a little better after that. Sir James was not told of theincident; because his son knew very well that he would not allowBeatrice to stay another day after the insult; but Chris felt himselfbound to consult those who had heard what had passed as to whetherindeed it was possible for her to remain. Nicholas grew crimson withindignation and vowed it was impossible. Mary hesitated; and Chrishimself was doubtful. He went at last to Beatrice that same evening; andfound her alone in the oak parlour, before supper. The sportsmen had notyet come back; and the other ladies were upstairs. 

Beatrice affected to treat it as nothing; and it was not till Christhreatened to tell his father, that she told him all she thought. 

"I must seem a vain fool to say so;" she said, leaning back in herchair, and looking up at him, "and perhaps insolent too; yet I must sayit. It is this: I believe that Lady Torridon--Ah! how can I say it?"

"Tell me, " said Chris steadily, looking away from her. 

Beatrice shifted a little in her seat; and then stood up. 

"Well, it is this. I do not believe your mother is so--so--is what shesometimes seems. I think she is very sore and angry; there are a hundredreasons. I think no one has--has faced her before. She has been obeyedtoo much. And--and I think that if I stay I may be able--I may be somegood, " she ended lamely. 

Chris nodded. 

"I understand, " he said softly. 

"Give me another week or two, " said Beatrice, "I will do my best. "

"You have worked a miracle with Meg, " said Chris. "I believe you canwork another. I will not tell my father; and the others shall noteither. "

 * * * * *

A wonderful change had indeed come to Margaret during the last month. Her whole soul, so cramped now by circumstances, had gone out inadoration towards this stranger. Chris found it almost piteous to watchher--her shy looks, the shiver that went over her, when the brilliantfigure rustled into the room, or the brisk sentences were delivered fromthose smiling lips. He would see too how their hands met as they sattogether; how Margaret would sit distracted and hungering for attention, eyeing the ceiling, the carpet, her embroidery; and how her eyes wouldleap to meet a glance, and her face flush up, as Beatrice throw her asoft word or look. 

And it was the right love, too, to the monk's eyes; not a rival flame, but fuel for divine ardour. Margaret spent longer, not shorter, time ather prayers; was more, not less, devout at mass and communion; and herwhole sore soul became sensitive and alive again. The winter had passedfor her; the time of the singing-birds was come. 

 * * * * *

She was fascinated by the other's gallant brilliance. Religion for thenun had up to the present appeared a delicate thing that grew in theshadow or in the warm shelter of the cloister; now it blossomed out inBeatrice as a hardy bright plant that tossed its leaves in the wind andexulted in sun and cold. Yet it had its evening tendernesses too, itssubtle fragrance when the breeze fell, its sweet colours andoutlines--Beatrice too could pray; and Margaret's spiritual instinct, asshe knelt by her at the altar-rail or glanced at the other's face as shecame down fresh with absolution from the chair in the sanctuary wherethe chaplain sat, detected a glow of faith at least as warm as her own. 

She was astonished too at her friend's gaiety; for she had expected, sofar as her knowledge of human souls led to expect anything, a quietconvalescent spirit, recovering but slowly from the tragedy throughwhich Margaret knew she had passed. It seemed to her at first as ifBeatrice must be almost heartless, so little did she flinch when LadyTorridon darted Ralph's name at her, or Master More's, or flicked hersuddenly where the wound ought to be; and it was not until the guest hadbeen a month in the house that the nun understood. 

They were together one evening in Margaret's own white little room abovethe oak parlour. Beatrice was sitting before the fire with her armsclasped behind her head, waiting till the other had finished her office, and looking round pleased in her heart, at the walls that told theirtale so plainly. It was almost exactly like a cell. A low oak bed, red-blanketted, stood under the sloping roof, a prie-dieu beside it, anda cheap little French image of St. Scholastica over it. There was atable, with a sheet of white paper, a little ink-horn and two quillsprimly side by side upon it; and at the back stood a couple of smallbound volumes in which the nun was accumulating little by little privatedevotions that appealed to her. A pair of beads hung on a nail by thewindow over which was drawn an old red curtain; two brass candlestickswith a cross between them stood over the hearth, giving it a faintresemblance to an altar. The boards were bare except for a strip ofmatting by the bed; and the whole room, walls, floor, ceiling andfurniture were speckless and precise. 

Margaret made the sign of the cross, closed her book, and smiled atBeatrice. 

"You dear child!" she answered. 

Margaret's face shone with pleasure; and she put out her hand softly tothe other's knee, and laid it there. 

"Talk to me, " said the nun. 

"Well?" said Beatrice. 

"Tell me about your life in London. You never have yet, you know. "

An odd look passed over the others face, and she dropped her eyes andlaid her hands together in her lap. 

"Oh, Meg, " she said, "I should love to tell you if I could. What wouldyou like to hear?"

The nun looked at her wondering. 

"Why--everything, " she said. 

"Shall I tell you of Chelsea and Master More?"

Margaret nodded, still looking at her; and Beatrice began. 

It was an extraordinary experience for the nun to sit there and hearthat wonderful tale poured out. Beatrice for the first time threw openher defences--those protections of the sensitive inner life that she hadraised by sheer will--and showed her heart. She told her first of herlife in the country before she had known anything of the world; of herfather's friendship with More when she was still a child, and of hisdeath when she was about sixteen. She had had money of her own, and hadcome up to live with Mrs. More's sisters; and so had gradually slippedinto intimacy at Chelsea. Then she described the life there--the orderedbeauty of it all--and the marvellous soul that was its centre and sun. She told her of More's humour, his unfailing gaiety, his sweet cynicismthat shot through his talk, his tender affections, and above all--forshe knew this would most interest the nun--his deep and resolutedevotion to God. She described how he had at one time lived at theCharterhouse, and had seemed to regret, before the end of his life, thathe had not become a Carthusian; she told her of the precious parcel thathad been sent from the Tower to Chelsea the day before his death, andhow she had helped Margaret Roper to unfasten it and disclose thehair-shirt that he had worn secretly for years, and which now he hadsent back for fear that it should be seen by unfriendly eyes or praisedby flattering tongues. 

Her face grew inexpressibly soft and loving as she talked; more thanonce her black eyes filled with tears, and her voice faltered; and thenun sat almost terrified at the emotion she had called up. It was hardlypossible that this tender feminine creature who talked so softly ofdivine and human things and of the strange ardent lawyer in whom bothwere so manifest, could be the same stately lady of downstairs whofenced so gallantly, who never winced at a wound and trod so bravelyover sharp perilous ground. 

"They killed him, " said Beatrice. "King Henry killed him; for that hecould not bear an honest, kindly, holy soul so near his own. And we areleft to weep for him, of whom--of whom the world was not worthy. "

Margaret felt her hand caught and caressed; and the two sat in silence amoment. 

"But--but--" began the nun softly, bewildered by this revelation. 

"Yes, my dear; you did not know--how should you?--what a wound I carryhere--what a wound we all carry who knew him. "

Again there was a short silence. Margaret was searching for some word ofcomfort. 

"But you did what you could for him, did you not? And--and even Ralph, Ithink I heard--"

Beatrice turned and looked at her steadily. Margaret read in her facesomething she could not understand. 

"Yes--Ralph?" said Beatrice questioningly. 

"You told father so, did you not? He did what he could for Master More?"

Beatrice laid her other hand too over Margaret's. 

"My dear; I do not know. I cannot speak of that. "

"But you said--"

"Margaret, my pet; you would not hurt me, would you? I do not think Ican bear to speak of that. "

The nun gripped the other's two hands passionately, and laid her cheekagainst them. 

"Beatrice, I did not know--I forgot. "

Beatrice stooped and kissed her gently. 

 * * * * *

The nun loved her tenfold more after that. It had been before a kind ofpassionate admiration, such as a subject might feel for a splendidqueen; but the queen had taken this timid soul in through thepalace-gates now, into a little inner chamber intimate and apart, andhad sat with her there and shown her everything, her broken toys, herfailures; and more than all her own broken heart. And as, after thatevening, Margaret watched Beatrice again in public, heard her retortsand marked her bearing, she knew that she knew something that the othersdid not; she had the joy of sharing a secret of pain. But there was onewound that Beatrice did not show her; that secret was reserved for onewho had more claim to it, and could understand. The nun could not haveinterpreted it rightly. 

 * * * * *

Mary and Nicholas went back to Great Keynes at the end of January; andBeatrice was out on the terrace with the others to see them go. Jim, thelittle seven-year-old boy, had fallen in love with her, ever since hehad found that she treated him like a man, with deference and courtesy, and did not talk about him in his presence and over his head. He waswalking with her now, a little apart, as the horses came round, andexplaining to her how it was that he only rode a pony at present, andnot a horse. 

"My legs would not reach, Mistress Atherton, " he said, protruding asmall leather boot. "It is not because I am afraid, or father either. Irode Jess, the other day, but not astride. "

"I quite understand, " said Beatrice respectfully, without the shadow oflaughter in her face. 

"You see--" began the boy. 

Then his mother came up. 

"Run, Jim, and hold my horse. Mistress Beatrice, may I have a word withyou?"

The two turned and walked down to the end of the terrace again. 

"It is this, " said Mary, looking at the other from under her plumed hat, with her skirt gathered up with her whip in her gloved hand. "I wishedto tell you about my mother. I have not dared till now. I have neverseen her so stirred in my life, as she is now. I--I think she will doanything you wish in time. It is useless to feign that we do notunderstand one another--anything you wish--come back to her Faithperhaps; treat my father better. She--she loves you, I think; and yetdare not--"

"On Ralph's account, " put in Beatrice serenely. 

"Yes; how did you know? It is on Ralph's account. She cannot forgivethat. Can you say anything to her, do you think? Anything to explain?You understand--"

"I understand. "

"I do not know how I dare say all this, " went on Mary blushingfuriously, "but I must thank you too for what you have done for mysister. It is wonderful. I could have done nothing. "

"My dear, " said Beatrice. "I love your sister. There is no need forthanks. "

A loud voice hailed them. 

"Sweetheart, " shouted Sir Nicholas, standing with his legs apart at themounting steps. "The horses are fretted to death. "

"You will remember, " said Mary hurriedly, as they turned. "And--Godbless you, Beatrice!"

Lady Torridon was indeed very quiet now. It was strange for the othersto see the difference. It seemed as if she had been conquered by the oneweapon that she could wield, which was brutality. As Mr. Carleton hadsaid, she had never been faced before; she had been accustomed to regarddevoutness as incompatible with strong character; she had never beenresisted. Both her husband and children had thought to conquer byyielding; it was easier to do so, and appeared more Christian; and sheherself, like Ralph, was only provoked further by passivity. And now shehad met one of the old school, who was as ready in the use of worldlyweapons as herself; she had been ignored and pricked alternately, andwith astonishing grace too, by one who was certainly of that tone ofmind that she had gradually learnt to despise and hate. 

Chris saw this before his father; but he saw too that the conquest wasnot yet complete. His mother had been cowed with respect, as a dog thatis broken in; she had not yet been melted with love. He had spoken toMary the day before the Maxwells' departure, and tried to put this intowords; and Mary had seen where the opening for love lay, through whichthe work could be done; and the result had been the interview withBeatrice, and the mention of Ralph's name. But Mary had not a notion howBeatrice could act; she only saw that Ralph was the one chink in hermother's armour, and she left it to this girl who had been so adroit upto the present, to find how to pierce it. 

Sir James had given up trying to understand the situation. He had for solong regarded his wife as an irreconcilable that he hoped for nothingbetter than to be able to keep her pacified; anything in the nature of aconversion seemed an idle dream. But he had noticed the change in hermanner, and wondered what it meant; he hoped that the pendulum had notswung too far, and that it was not she who was being bullied now bythis imperious girl from town. 

He said a word to Mr. Carleton one day about it, as they walked in thegarden. 

"Father, " he said, "I am puzzled. What has come to my wife? Have you notnoticed how she has not spoken for three days. Do you think she dislikesMistress Atherton. If I thought that--"

"No, sir, " said the priest. "I do not think it is that. I think it isthe other way about. She did dislike her--but not now. "

"You do not think, Mistress Atherton is--is a little--discourteous andsharp sometimes. I have wondered whether that was so. Chris thinks not, however. "

"Neither do I, sir. I think--I think it is all very well as it is. Ihope Mistress Atherton is to stay yet a while. "

"She speaks of going in a week or two, " said the old man. "She has beenhere six weeks now. "

"I hope not, " said the priest, "since you have asked my opinion, sir. "

Sir James sighed, looked at the other, and then left him, to search forhis wife and see if she wanted him. He was feeling a little sorry forher. 

 * * * * *

A week later the truth began to come out, and Beatrice had theopportunity for which she was waiting. 

They were all gathered before the hall-fire expecting supper; thepainted windows had died with the daylight, and the deep tones of thewoodwork in gallery and floor and walls had crept out from the gloominto the dancing flare of the fire and the steady glow of the sconces. The weather had broken a day or two before; all the afternoon sheets ofrain had swept across the fields and gardens, and heavy cheerlessclouds marched over the sky. The wind was shrilling now against thenorth side of the hall, and one window dripped a little inside on to thematting below it. The supper-table shone with silver and crockery, andthe napkins by each place; and the door from the kitchen was set widefor the passage of the servants, one of whom waited discreetly in theopening for the coming of the lady of the house. They were all there butshe; and the minutes went by and she did not come. 

Sir James turned enquiringly as the door from the court opened, but itwas only a wet shivering dog who had nosed it open, and now creptdeprecatingly towards the blaze. 

"You poor beast, " said Beatrice, drawing her skirts aside. "Take myplace, " and she stepped away to allow him to come. He looked gratefullyup, wagged his rat-tail, and lay down comfortably at the edge of thetiles. 

"My wife is very late, " said Sir James. "Chris--"

He stopped as footsteps sounded in the flagged passage leading from theliving rooms; and the next moment the door was flung open, and a womanran forward with outstretched hands. 

"O! mon Dieu, mon Dieu!" she cried. "My lady is ill. Come, sir, come!"

CHAPTER IV

THE ELDER SON

Ralph had prospered exceedingly since his return from the SussexVisitation. He had been sent on mission after mission by Cromwell, whohad learnt at last how wholly he could be trusted; and with each successhis reputation increased. It seemed to Cromwell that his man was morewhole-hearted than he had been at first; and when he was told abruptlyby Ralph that his relations with Mistress Atherton had come to an end, the politician was not slow to connect cause and effect. He had alwaysregretted the friendship; it seemed to him that his servant's characterwas sure to be weakened by his alliance with a friend of Master More;and though he had said nothing--for Ralph's manner did not encouragequestions--he had secretly congratulated both himself and his agent forso happy a termination to an unfortunate incident. 

For the meantime Ralph's fortunes rose with his master's; Lord Cromwellnow reigned in England next after the King in both Church and State. Heheld a number of offices, each of which would have been sufficient foran ordinary man, but all of which did not overtax his amazing energy. Hestood absolutely alone, with all the power in his hands; President ofthe Star Chamber, Foreign Minister, Home-Minister, and the Vicar-Generalof the Church; feared by Churchmen, distrusted by statesmen and nobles;and hated by all except his own few personal friends--an unique figurethat had grown to gigantic stature through sheer effort and adroitness. 

And beneath his formidable shadow Ralph was waxing great. He had failedto get Lewes for himself, for Cromwell designed it for Gregory his son;but he was offered his choice among several other great houses. For thepresent he hesitated to choose; uncertain of his future. If his fatherdied there would be Overfield waiting for him, so he did not wish to tiehimself to one of the far-away Yorkshire houses; if his father lived, hedid not wish to be too near him. There was no hurry, said Cromwell;there would be houses and to spare for the King's faithful servants; andmeantime it would be better for Mr. Torridon to remain in Westminster, and lay his foundations of prosperity deeper and wider yet beforebuilding. The title too that Cromwell dangled before him sometimes--thattoo could wait until he had chosen his place of abode. 

Ralph felt that he was being magnificently treated by his master; andhis gratitude and admiration grew side by side with his rising fortune. There was no niggardliness, now that Cromwell had learnt to trust inhim; he could draw as much money as he wished for the payment of hisunder-agents, or for any other purpose; and no questions were asked. 

The little house at Westminster grew rich in treasures; his bed-coverletwas the very cope he had taken from Rusper; his table was heavy withchalices beaten into secular shape; his fire-screen was a Spanishchasuble taken in the North. His servants were no longer three or foursleeping in the house; there was a brigade of them, some that attendedfor orders morning by morning, some that skirmished for him in thecountry and returned rich in documents and hearsay; and a dozen waitedon his personal wants. 

He dealt too with great folks. Half a dozen abbots had been to see himin the last year or two, stately prelates that treated him as an equaland pleaded for his intercession; the great nobles, enemies of hismaster and himself, eyed him with respectful suspicion as he walked withCromwell in Westminster Hall. The King had pulled his ears and praisedhim; Ralph had stayed at Greenwich a week at a time when the executionof the Benedictine abbots was under discussion; he had ridden downCheapside with Henry on his right and Cromwell beyond, between theshouting crowds and beneath the wild tossing of gold-cloth and tapestryand the windy pealing of a hundred brazen bells. He had gone up withNorfolk to Doncaster, a mouth through which the King might promise andthreaten, and had strode up the steps beside the Duke to make an end ofthe insurgent-leaders of the northern rebellion. 

He did not lack a goad, beside that of his own ambition, to drive himthrough this desperate stir; he found a sufficient one in his memory. Hedid not think much of his own family, except with sharp contempt. He didnot even trouble to make any special report about Chris or Margaret; butit was impossible to remember Beatrice with contempt. When she had lefthim kneeling at his table, she had left something besides--the sting ofher words, and the bitter coldness of her eyes. 

As he looked back he did not know whether he loathed her or loved her;he only knew that she affected him profoundly. Again and again as hedealt brutally with some timid culprit, or stood with his hand on hiship to direct the destruction of a shrine, the memory whipped him on hisraw soul. He would show her whether he were a man or no; whether hedepended on her or no; whether her woman's tongue could turn him or no. 

 * * * * *

He was exercised now with very different matters. Religious affairs forthe present had fallen into a secondary place, and home and foreignpolitics absorbed most of Cromwell's energies and time. Forces weregathering once more against England, and the Catholic powers were comingto an understanding with one another against the country that had thrownoff allegiance to the Pope and the Empire. There was an opportunity, however, for Henry's propensity to marriage once more to play a part inpolitics; he had been three years without a wife; and Cromwell hadhastened for the third time to avail himself of the King's passions asan instrument in politics. He had understood that a union betweenEngland and the Lutheran princes would cause a formidable obstacle toCatholic machinations; and with this in view had excited Henry by adescription and a picture of the Lady Anne, daughter of the Duke ofCleves and sister-in-law of the Elector of Saxony. He had been perfectlysuccessful in the first stages; the stout duchess had landed at Deal atthe end of December; and the marriage had been solemnised a few dayslater. But unpleasant rumour had been busy ever since; it was whisperedfar and wide that the King loathed his wife, and complained that he hadbeen deceived as to her charms; and Ralph, who was more behind thescenes than most men, knew that the rumour was only too true. He hadbeen present at an abominable incident the day after the marriage hadtaken place, when the King had stormed and raved about the council-room, crying out that he had been deceived, and adding many gross details forthe benefit of his friends. 

Cromwell had been strangely moody ever since. Ralph had watched hisheavy face day after day staring vacantly across the room, and his handthat held the pen dig and prick at the paper beneath it. 

Even that was not all. The Anglo-German alliance had provoked oppositionon the continent instead of quelling it; and Ralph saw more than onethreatening piece of news from abroad that hinted at a probable invasionof England should Cromwell's schemes take effect. These too, however, had proved deceptive, and the Lutheran princes whom he had desired toconciliate were even already beginning to draw back from theconsequences of their action. 

Ralph was in Cromwell's room one day towards the end of January, when acourier arrived with despatches from an agent who had been following theSpanish Emperor's pacific progress through France, undertaken as a kindof demonstration against England. 

Cromwell tore open the papers, and glanced at them, running his quickattentive eye over this page and that; and Ralph saw his face grow sternand white. He tossed the papers on to the table, and nodded to thecourier to leave the room. 

Then he took up a pen, examined it; dashed it point down against thetable; gnawed his nails a moment, and then caught Ralph's eye. 

"We are failing, " he said abruptly. "Mr. Torridon, if you are a rat youhad better run. "

"I shall not run, sir, " said Ralph. 

"God's Body!" said his master, "we shall all run together, I think;--butnot yet. "

Then he took up the papers again, and began to read. 

It was a few days later that Ralph received the news of his mother'sillness. 

She had written to him occasionally, telling him of his father'stiresome ways, his brother's arrogance, his sister's feeble piety, andfinally she had told him of Beatrice's arrival. 

"I consented very gladly, " she had written, "for I thought to teach mylady a lesson or two; but I find her very pert and obstinate. I do notunderstand, my dear son, how you could have wished to make her yourwife; and yet I will grant that she has a taking way with her; she seemsto fear nothing but her own superstitions and folly, but I am very happyto think that all is over between you. She never loved you, my Ralph;for she cares nothing when I speak your name, as I have done two orthree times; nor yet Master More either. I think she has no heart. "

Ralph had wondered a little as he read this, at his mother's curiousinterest in the girl; and he wondered too at the report of Beatrice'scallousness. It was her damned pride, he assured himself. 

Then, one evening as he arrived home from Hackney where he had slept theprevious night; he found a messenger waiting for him. The letter had notbeen sent on to him, as he had not left word where he was going. 

It contained a single line from his father. 

"Your mother is ill. Come at once. She wishes for you. "

 * * * * *

It was in the stormy blackness of a February midnight that he rode upthrough the lighted gatehouse to his home. Above the terrace as he cameup the road the tall hall-window glimmered faintly like a giganticluminous door hung in space; and the lower window of his father's roomshone and faded as the fire leapt within. 

A figure rose up suddenly from before the hall-fire as he came in, bringing with him a fierce gust of wet wind through the opened door; andwhen he had slipped off his dripping cloak into his servant's hands, hesaw that his father was there two yards away, very stern and white, withoutstretched hands. 

"My son, " said the old man, "you are too late. She died two hours ago. "

It was a fierce shock, and for a moment he stood dazed, blinking at thelight, holding his father's warm slender hands in his own, and trying toassimilate the news. He had been driven inwards, and his obstinacyweakened, during that long ride from town through the stormy sunset intothe black, howling night; memories had reasserted themselves on thestrength of his anxiety; and the past year or two slipped from him, andleft him again the eldest son of the house and of his two parents. 

Then as he looked into the pale bearded face before him, and the eyeswhich had looked into his own a few months ago with such passionateanger, he remembered all that was between them, dropped the hands andwent forward to the fire. 

His father followed him and stood by him there as he spread his fingersto the blaze, and told him the details, in short detached sentences. 

She had been seized with pain and vomiting on the previous night atsupper time; the doctor had been sent for, and had declared the illnessto be an internal inflammation. She had grown steadily worse on thefollowing day, with periods of unconsciousness; she had asked for Ralphan hour after she had been taken ill; the pain had seemed to becomefiercer as the hours went on; she had died at ten o'clock that night. 

Ralph stood there and listened, his head pressed against the highmantelpiece, and his fingers stretching and closing mechanically tosupple the stiffened joints. 

"Mistress Atherton was with her all the while, " said his father; "sheasked for her. "

Ralph shot a glance sideways, and down again. 

"And--" he began. 

"Yes; she was shriven and anointed, thank God; she could not receiveViaticum. "

Ralph did not know whether he was glad or sorry at that news. It was aproper proceeding at any rate; as proper as the candles and the shroudand the funeral rites. As regards grief, he did not feel it yet; but hewas aware of a profound sensation in his soul, as of a bruise. 

There was silence for a moment or two; then the wind bellowed suddenlyin the chimney, the tall window gave a crack of sound, and the smokeeddied out into the room. Ralph turned round. 

"They are with her still, " said Sir James; "we can go up presently. "

The other shook his head abruptly. 

"No, " he said, "I will wait until to-morrow. Which is my room?"

"Your old room, " said his father. "I have had a truckle-bed set therefor your man. Will you find your way? I must stay here for MistressAtherton. "

Ralph nodded sharply, and went out, down the hill. 

 * * * * *

It was half an hour more before Beatrice appeared; and then Sir Jameslooked up from his chair at the sound of a footstep and saw her comingup the matted floor. Her face was steady and resolute, but there weredark patches under her eyes, for she had not slept for two nights. 

Sir James stood up, and held out his hands. 

"Ralph has come, " he said. "He is gone to his room. Where are theothers?"

"The priests are at prayers and Meg too, " she said, "It is all ready, sir. You may go up when you please. "

"I must say a word first, " said Sir James. "Sit down, MistressAtherton. "

He drew forward his chair for her; and himself stood up on the hearth, leaning his head on his hand and looking down into the fire. 

"It is this, " he said: "May our Lord reward you for what you have donefor us. "

Beatrice was silent. 

"You know she asked my pardon, " he said, "when we were left alonetogether. You do not know what that means. And she gave me herforgiveness for all my folly--"

Beatrice drew a sharp breath in spite of herself. 

"We have both sinned, " he went on; "we did not understand one another;and I feared we should part so. That we have not, we have to thankyou--"

His old voice broke suddenly; and Beatrice heard him draw a long sobbingbreath. She knew she ought to speak, but her brain was bewildered withthe want of sleep and the long struggle; she could not think of a wordto say; she felt herself on the verge of hysteria. 

"You have done it all, " he said again presently. "She took all that Mr. Carleton said patiently enough, he told me. It is all your work. Mistress Atherton--"

She looked up questioningly with her bright tired eyes. 

"Mistress Atherton; may I know what you said to her?"

Beatrice made a great effort and recovered her self-control. 

"I answered her questions, " she said. 

"Questions? Did she ask you of the Faith? Did she speak of me? Am Iasking too much?"

Beatrice shook her head. For a moment again she could not speak. 

"I am asking what I should not, " said the old man. 

"No, no, " cried the girl, "you have a right to know. Wait, I will tellyou--"

Again she broke off, and felt her own breath begin to sob in her throat. She buried her face in her hands a moment. 

"God forgive me, " said the other. "I--"

"It was about your son Ralph, " said Beatrice bravely, though her lipsshook. 

"She--she asked whether I had ever loved him at all--and--"

"Mistress Beatrice, Mistress Beatrice, I entreat you not to say more. "

"And I told her--yes; and, yes--still. "

CHAPTER V

THE MUMMERS

It was a strange meeting for Beatrice and Ralph the next morning. Shesaw him first from the gallery in chapel at mass, kneeling by hisfather, motionless and upright, and watched him go down the aisle whenit was over. She waited a few minutes longer, quieting herself, marshalling her forces, running her attention over each movement or wordthat might prove unruly in his presence; and then she got up from herknees and went down. 

It had been an intolerable pain to tell the dying woman that she lovedher son; it tore open the wound again, for she had never yet spoken thatsecret aloud to any living soul, not even to her own. When the questioncame, as she knew it would, she had not hesitated an instant as to theanswer, and yet the answer had materialised what had been impalpablebefore. 

As she had looked down from the gallery this morning she knew that shehated, in theory, every detail of his outlook on life; he was brutal, insincere; he had lied to her; he was living on the fruits of sacrilege;he had outraged every human tie he possessed; and yet she loved everyhair of his dark head, every movement of his strong hands. It was thatthat had broken down the mother's reserve; she had been beaten by thegirl's insolence, as a dog is beaten into respect; she had only onething that she had not been able to forgive, and that was that thisgirl had tossed aside her son's love; then the question had been askedand answered; and the work had been done. The dying woman hadsurrendered wholly to the superior personality; and had obeyed like achild. 

 * * * * *

She had a sense of terrible guilt as she went downstairs into thepassage that opened on the court; the fact that she had put into wordswhat had lain in her heart, made her fancy that the secret was writtenon her face. Then again she drove the imagination down by sheer will;she knew that she had won back her self-control, and could trust her owndiscretion. 

Their greeting was that of two acquaintances. There was not the tremorof an eyelid of either, or a note in either voice, that betrayed thattheir relations had once been different. Ralph thanked her courteouslyfor her attention to his mother; and she made a proper reply. Then theyall sat down to breakfast. 

Then Margaret had to be attended to, for she was half-wild with remorse;she declared to Beatrice when they went upstairs together that she hadbeen a wicked daughter, that she had resented her mother's words againand again, had behaved insolently, and so forth. Beatrice took her inher arms. 

"My dear, " she said, "indeed you must leave all that now. Come and seeher; she is at peace, and you must be. "

The bedroom where Lady Torridon had died was arranged as a _chapelleardente;_ the great bed had been moved out into the centre of the room. Six tall candlesticks with escutcheons and yellow tapers formed aslender mystical wall of fire and light about it; the windows weredraped a couple of kneeling desks were set at the foot of the bed. Chris was kneeling at one beside his father as they went in, and MaryMaxwell, who had arrived a few hours before death had taken place, wasby herself in a corner. 

Beatrice drew Margaret to the second desk, pushed the book to her, andknelt by her. There lay the body of the strange, fierce, lonely woman, with her beautiful hands crossed, pale as wax, with a crucifix betweenthem; and those great black eyebrows beyond, below which lay the doublereverse curve of the lashes. It seemed as if she was watching them both, as her manner had been in life, with a tranquil cynicism. 

And was she at peace, thought Beatrice, as she had told her daughterjust now? Was it possible to believe that that stormy, vicious spirithad been quieted so suddenly? And yet that would be no greater miraclethan that which death had wrought to the body. If the one was so still, why not the other? At least she had asked pardon of her husband forthose years of alienation; she had demanded the sacraments of theChurch!

Beatrice bowed her head, and prayed for the departed soul. 

 * * * * *

She was disturbed by the soft opening of a door, and lifted her eyes tosee Ralph stand a moment by the head of the bed, before he sank on hisknees. She could watch every detail of his face in the candlelight; histhin tight lips, his heavy eyebrows so like his mother's, his curvednostrils, the clean sharp line of his jaw. 

She found herself analysing his processes of thought. His mother hadbeen the one member of his family with whom he had had sympathy; theyunderstood one another, these two bitter souls, as no one else did, except perhaps Beatrice herself. How aloof they had stood from allordinary affections; how keen must have been their dual loneliness! Andwhat did this snapped thread mean to him now? To what, in his opinion, did the broken end lead that had passed out from the visible world tothe invisible? Did he think that all was over, and that the one soulthat had understood his own had passed like a candle flame into thedark? And she too--was she crying for her son, a thin soundless sobbingin the world beyond sight? Above all, did he understand how alone he wasnow--how utterly, eternally alone, unless he turned his course?

A great well of pity broke up and surged in her heart, flooding her eyeswith tears, as she looked at the living son and the dead mother; and shedropped her head on her hands again, and prayed for his soul as well asfor hers. 

 * * * * *

It was a very strange atmosphere in the house during the day or two thatpassed before the funeral. The household met at meals and in the parlourand chapel, but seldom at other times. Ralph was almost invisible; andsilent when he appeared. There were no explanations on either side; hebehaved with a kind of distant courtesy to the others, answered theirquestions, volunteered a word or two sometimes; made himself useful insmall ways as regarded giving orders to the servants, inspecting thefuneral standard and scutcheons, and making one or two arrangementswhich fell to him naturally; and went out by himself on horseback or onfoot during the afternoon. His contempt seemed to have fallen from him;he was as courteous to Chris as to the others; but no word was spoken oneither side as regarded either the past and the great gulf thatseparated him from the others, or the future relations between him andhis home. 

The funeral took place three days after death, on the Saturday morning;a requiem was sung in the presence of the body in the parish church; andBeatrice sat with the mourners in the Torridon chapel behind the blackhearse set with lights, before the open vault in the centre of thepavement. Ralph sat two places beyond her, with Sir James between; andshe was again vividly conscious of his presence, of his movements as heknelt and sat; and again she wondered what all the solemn ceremoniesmeant to him, the yellow candles, the black vestments, the mysterioushallowing of the body with incense and water--counteracting, as it were, with fragrance and brightness, the corruption and darkness of the grave. 

She walked back with Margaret, who clung to her now, almost desperately, finding in her sane serenity an antidote to her own remorse; and as shewalked through the garden and across the moat, with Nicholas and Marycoming behind, she watched the three men going in front, Sir James inthe middle, the monk on his left, and the slow-stepping Ralph on hisright, and marvelled at the grim acting. 

There they went, the father and his two sons, side by side in courteoussilence--she noticed Ralph step forward to lift the latch of thegarden-gate for the others to pass through--and between them lay animpassable gulf; she found herself wondering whether the other gulf thatthey had looked into half an hour before were so deep or wide. 

She was out again with Sir James alone in the evening before supper, andlearnt from him then that Ralph was to stay till Monday. 

"He has not spoken to me of returning again, " said the old man, "Ofcourse it is impossible. Do you not think so, Mistress Atherton. "

"It is impossible, " she said. "What good would be served?"

"What good?" repeated the other. 

The evening was falling swiftly, layer on layer of twilight, as theyturned to come back to the house. The steeple of the church rose up ontheir left, slender and ghostly against the yellow sky, out of the blackyews and cypresses that lay banked below it. They stopped and looked atit a moment, as it aspired to heaven from the bones that lay about itsbase, like an eternal resurrection wrought in stone. There all about itwere the mortal and the dead; the stones and iron slabs leaned, as theyknew, in hundreds about the grass; and round them again stood the roofs, beginning now to kindle under the eaves, where the living slept and ate. There was a rumbling of heavy carts somewhere beyond the village, acrack or two of a whip, the barking of a dog. 

Then they turned again and went up to the house. 

 * * * * *

It was the chaplain who was late this evening for supper. The otherswaited a few minutes by the fire, but there was no sign of him. Aservant was sent up to his room and came back to report that he hadchanged his cassock and gone out; a boy had come from the parish-priest, said the man, ten minutes before, and Mr. Carleton had probably beensent for. 

They waited yet five minutes, but the priest did not appear, and theysat down. Supper was nearly over before before he came. He came in bythe side-door from the court, splashed with mud, and looking pale andconcerned. He went straight up to Sir James. 

"May I speak with you, sir?" he said. 

The old man got up at once, and went down the hall with him. 

The rest waited, expecting them to return, but there was no sign ofthem; and Ralph at last rose and led the way to the oak-parlour. As theypassed the door of Sir James's room they heard the sound of voiceswithin. 

Conversation was a very difficult matter that evening. Ralph had behavedwith considerable grace and tact, but Nicholas had not responded. Eversince his arrival on the day before the funeral he had eyed Ralph like astrange dog intruded into a house; Mary had hovered round her husband, watchful and anxious, stepping hastily into gaps in the conversation, sliding in a sentence or two as Nicholas licked his lips in preparationfor a snarl; once even putting her hand swiftly on his and drowning agrowl with a word of her own. Ralph had been wonderfullyself-controlled; only once had Beatrice seen him show his teeth for amoment as his brother-in-law had scowled more plainly than usual. 

The atmosphere was charged to-night, now that the master of the housewas away; and as Ralph took his seat in his father's chair, Beatrice hadcaught her breath for a moment as she saw the look on Nicholas's face. It seemed as if the funeral had lifted a stone that had hitherto heldthe two angry spirits down; Nicholas, after all, was but a son-in-law, and Ralph, to his view at least, a bad son. She feared that both mightthink that a quarrel did not outrage decency; but she feared forNicholas more than for Ralph. 

Ralph appeared not to notice the other's scowl, and leaned easily back, his head against the carved heraldry, and rapped his fingers softly andrhythmically on the bosses of the arms. 

Then she heard Nicholas draw a slow venomous breath; and the talk diedon Mary's lips. Beatrice stood up abruptly, in desperation; she did notknow what to say; but the movement checked Nicholas, and he glanced ather a moment. Then Mary recovered herself, put her hand sharply on herhusband's, and slid out an indifferent sentence. Beatrice saw Ralph'seyes move swiftly and sideways and down again, and a tiny wrinkle of asmile show itself at the corners of his mouth. But that danger waspassed; and a minute later they heard the door of Sir James's roomopposite open, and the footsteps of the two men come out. 

Ralph stood up at once as his father came in, followed by the priest, and stepped back to the window-seat; there was the faintest hint in theslight motion of his hands to the effect that he had held his post asthe eldest son until the rightful owner came. But the consciousness ofit in Beatrice's mind was swept away as she looked at the old man, standing with a white stern face and his hands clenched at his sides. She could see that something impended, and stood up quickly. 

"Mr. Carleton has brought shocking news, " he said abruptly; and his eyeswandered to his eldest son standing in the shadow of the curtain. "Acompany of mummers has arrived in the village--they--they are to givetheir piece to-morrow. "

There was a dead silence for a moment, for all knew what this meant. 

Nicholas sprang to his feet. 

"By God, they shall not!" he said. 

Sir James lifted his hand sharply. 

"We cannot hinder it, " he said. "The priests have done what they can. The fellow tells them--" he paused, and again his eyes wandered toRalph--"the fellow tells them he is under the protection of my LordCromwell. "

There was a swift rustle in the room. Nicholas faced sharply round tothe window-seat, his hands clenched and his face quivering. Ralph didnot move. 

"Tell them, father, " said Sir James. 

The chaplain gave his account. He had been sent for by the parish priestjust before supper, and had gone with him to the barn that had beenhired for the performance. The carts had arrived that evening fromMaidstone; and were being unpacked. He had seen the properties; theywere of the usual kind--all the paraphernalia for the parody of the Massthat was usually given by such actors. He had seen the vestments, thefriar's habit, the red-nosed mask, the woman's costume and wig--all theregular articles. The manager had tried to protest against the priests'entrance; had denied at first that any insult was intended to theCatholic Religion; and had finally taken refuge in defiance; he hadflung out the properties before their eyes; had declared that no onecould hinder him from doing as he pleased, since the Archbishop had notprotested; and Lord Cromwell had given him his express sanction. 

"We did all we were able, " said the priest. "Master Rector said he wouldput all the parishioners who came, under the ban of the Church; thefellow snapped his fingers in his face. I told them of Sir James'swishes; the death of my Lady--it was of no avail. We can do nothing. "

The priest's sallow face was flushed with fury as he spoke; and his lipstrembled piteously with horror and pain. It was the first time that themummers had been near Overfield; they had heard tales of them from otherparts of the country, but had hoped that their own village would escapethe corruption. And now it had come. 

He stood shaking, as he ended his account. 

"Mr. Carleton says it would be of no avail for me to go down myself. Iwished to. We can do nothing. "

Again he glanced at Ralph, who had sat down silently in the shadow whilethe priest talked. 

Nicholas could be restrained no longer. He shook off his wife's hand andtook a step across the room. 

"And you--you sit there, you devil!" he shouted. 

Sir James was with him in a moment, so swiftly that Beatrice did not seehim move. Margaret was clinging to her now, whispering and sobbing. 

"Nick, " snapped out the old man, "hold your tongue, sir. Sit down. "

"God's Blood!" bellowed the squire. "You bid me sit down. "

Sir James gripped him so fiercely that he stepped back. 

"I bid you sit down, " he said. "Ralph, will you help us?"

Ralph stood up instantly. He had not stirred a muscle as Nick shouted athim. 

"I waited for that, sir, " he said. "What is it you would have me do?"

Beatrice saw that his face was quite quiet as he spoke; his eyelidsdrooped a little; and his mouth was tight and firm. He seemed not to beaware of Nicholas's presence. 

"To hinder the play-acting, " said his father. 

There fell a dead silence again. 

"I will do it, sir, " said his son. "It--it is but decent. "

And in the moment of profound astonishment that fell, he came straightacross the room, passed by them all without turning his head, and wentout. 

Beatrice felt a fierce emotion grip her throat as she looked after him, and saw the door close. Then Margaret seized her again, and she turnedto quiet her. 

She was aware that Sir James had gone out after his son, after a momentof silence, and she heard his footsteps pass along the flags outside. 

"Oh! God bless him!" sobbed Margaret. 

Sir James came back immediately, shook his head, went across the room, and sat down in the seat that Ralph had left. A dreadful stillness fell. Margaret was quiet now. Mary was sitting with her husband on the otherside of the hearth. Chris rose presently and sat down by his father, butno one spoke a word. 

Then Nicholas got up uneasily, came across the room, and stood with hisback to the hearth warming himself. Beatrice saw him glance now andagain to the shadowed window-seat where the two men sat; he hummed anote or two to himself softly; then turned round and stared at the firewith outstretched hands. 

The bell rang for prayers, and still without a word being spoken theyall got up and went out. 

In the same silence they came back. Ralph's servant was standing by thedoor as they entered. 

"If you please, sir, Mr. Ralph is come in. He bade me tell you that allis arranged. "

The old man looked at him, swallowed once in his throat; and at lastspoke. 

"It is arranged, you say? It will not take place?"

"It will not take place, sir. "

"Where is Mr. Ralph?"

"He is gone to his room, sir. He bade me tell you he would be leavingearly for London. "

CHAPTER VI

A CATASTROPHE

Ralph rode away early next morning, yet not so early as to escape aninterview with his father. They met in the hall, Sir James in his loosemorning gown and Ralph booted and spurred with his short cloak and tightcap. The old man took him by the sleeve, drawing him to the fire thatburned day and night in winter. 

"Ralph--Ralph, my son, " he said, "I must thank you for last night. "

"You have to thank yourself only, sir, and my mother. I could do nootherwise. "

"It is you--" began his father. 

"It is certainly not Nick, sir. The hot fool nearly provoked me. "

"But you hate such mummery yourself, my son?"

Ralph hesitated. 

"It is not seemly--" began his father again. 

"It is certainly not seemly; but neither are the common folk seemly. "

"Did you have much business with them, my son?" Ralph smiled in thefirelight. 

"Why, no, sir. I told them who I was. I charged myself with the burden. "

"And you will not be in trouble with my Lord?"

"My Lord has other matters to think of than a parcel of mummers. "

Then they separated; and Ralph rode down the drive with his servantsbehind him. Neither father nor son had said a word of any return. Neither had Ralph had one private word with Beatrice during his threedays' stay. Once he had come into the parlour to find her going out atthe other door; and he had wondered whether she had heard his step andgone out on purpose. But he knew very well that under the superficialcourtesy between him and her there lay something deeper--some passionateemotion vibrated like a beam between them; but he did not know, even onhis side and still less on hers, whether that emotion were one of loveor loathing. It was partly from the discomfort of the chargedatmosphere, partly from a shrinking from thanks and explanations that hehad determined to go up to London a day earlier than he had intended; hehad a hatred of personal elaborateness. 

 * * * * *

He found Cromwell, on his arrival in London, a little less moody than hehad been in the previous week; for he was busy with preparations for theParliament that was to meet in April; and to the occupation that thisgave him there was added a good deal of business connected with Henry'snegotiations with the Emperor. The dispute, that at present centredround the treatment of Englishmen in Spain, and other similar matters, in reality ran its roots far deeper; and there were a hundred detailswhich occupied the minister. But there was still a hint of storm in theair; Cromwell spoke brusquely once or twice without cause, and Ralphrefrained from saying anything about the affair at Overfield, but tookup his own work again quietly. 

A fortnight later, however, he heard of it once more. 

He was sitting at a second table in Cromwell's own room in the RollsHouse, when one of the secretaries came up with a bundle of reports, andlaid them as usual before Ralph. 

Ralph finished the letter he was engaged on--one to Dr. Barnes who hadpreached a Protestant sermon at Paul's Cross, and who now challengedBishop Gardiner to a public disputation. Ralph was telling him to keephis pugnacity to himself; and when he had done took up the reports andran his eyes over them. 

They were of the usual nature--complaints, informations, protests, appeals from men of every rank of life; agents, farm-labourers, priests, ex-Religious, fanatics--and he read them quickly through, docketingtheir contents at the head of each that his master might be savedtrouble. 

At one, however, he stopped, glanced momentarily at Cromwell, and thenread on. 

It was an illiterate letter, ill-spelt and smudged, and consisted of acomplaint from a man who signed himself Robert Benham, against "Mr. Ralph Torridon, as he named himself, " for hindering the performance of apiece entitled "The Jolly Friar" in the parish of Overfield, on Sunday, February the first. Mr. Torridon, the writer stated, had used my LordCromwell's name and authority in stopping the play; expenses had beenincurred in connection with it, for a barn had been hired, and thetransport of the properties had cost money; and Mr. Benham desired toknow whether these expenses would be made good to him, and if Mr. Torridon had acted in accordance with my Lord's wishes. 

Ralph bit his pen in some perplexity, when he had finished making outthe document. He wondered whether he had better show it to Cromwell; itmight irritate him or not, according to his mood. If it was destroyedsurely no harm would be done; and yet Ralph had a disinclination todestroy it. He sat a moment or two longer considering; once he took thepaper by the corners to tear it; then laid it down again; glanced oncemore at the heavy intent face a couple of yards away, and then by asudden impulse took up his pen and wrote a line on the corner explainingthe purport of the paper, initialled it, and laid it with the rest. 

Cromwell was so busy during the rest of the day that there was noopportunity to explain the circumstances to him; indeed he was hardly inthe room again, so great was the crowd that waited on him continuallyfor interviews, and Ralph went away, leaving the reports for his chiefto examine at his leisure. 

 * * * * *

The next morning there was a storm. 

Cromwell burst out on him as soon as he came in. 

"Shut the door, Mr. Torridon, " he snapped. "I must have a word withyou. "

Ralph closed the door and came across to Cromwell's table and stoodthere, apparently imperturbable, but with a certain quickening of hispulse. 

"What is this, sir?" snarled the other, taking up the letter that waslaid at his hand. "Is it true?"

Ralph looked at him coolly. 

"What is it, my Lord? Mr. Robert Benham?"

"Yes, Mr. Robert Benham. Is it true? I wish an answer. "

"Certainly, my Lord. It is true. "

"You hindered this piece being played? And you used my name?"

"I told them who I was--yes. "

Cromwell slapped the paper down. 

"Well, that is to use my name, is it not, Mr. Torridon?"

"I suppose it is. "

"You suppose it is! And tell me, if you please, why you hindered it. "

"I hindered it because it was not decent. My mother had been buriedthat day. My father asked me to do so. "

"Not decent! When the mummers have my authority!

"If your Lordship does not understand the indecency, I cannot explainit. "

Ralph was growing angry now. It was not often that Cromwell treated himlike a naughty boy; and he was beginning to resent it. 

The other stared at him under black brows. 

"You are insolent, sir. "

Ralph bowed. 

"See here, " said Cromwell, "my men must have no master but me. They mustleave houses and brethren and sisters for my sake. You should understandthat by now; and that I repay them a hundredfold. You have been longenough in my service to know it. I have said enough. You can sit down, Mr. Torridon. "

Ralph went to his seat in a storm of fury. He felt he was supremely inthe right--in the right in stopping the play, and still more so for notdestroying the complaint when it was in his hands. He had been scoldedlike a school-child, insulted and shouted down. His hand shook as hetook up his pen, and he kept his back resolutely turned to his master. Once he was obliged to ask him a question, and he did so with an icyaloofness. Cromwell answered him curtly, but not unkindly, and he wentto his seat again still angry. 

When dinner-time came near, he rose, bowed slightly to Cromwell and wenttowards the door. As his fingers touched the handle he heard his namecalled; and turned round to see the other looking at him oddly. 

"Mr. Torridon--you will dine with me?"

"I regret I cannot, my Lord, " said Ralph; and went out of the room. 

 * * * * *

There were no explanations or apologies on either side when they metagain; but in a few days their behaviour to one another was as usual. Yet underneath the smooth surface Ralph's heart rankled and pricked withresentment. 

 * * * * *

At the meeting of Parliament in April, the business in Cromwell's handsgrow more and more heavy and distracting. 

Ralph went with him to Westminster, and heard him deliver his eloquentlittle speech on the discord that prevailed in England, and the King'sdetermination to restore peace and concord. 

"On the Word of God, " cried the statesman, speaking with extraordinaryfervour, his eyes kindling as he looked round the silent crowdedbenches, and his left hand playing with his chain, "On the Word of GodHis Highness' princely mind is fixed; on this Word he depends for hissole support; and with all his might his Majesty will labour that errorshall be taken away, and true doctrines be taught to his people, modelled by the rule of the Gospel. "

Three days later when Ralph came into his master's room, Cromwell lookedup at him with a strange animation in his dark eyes. 

"Good-day, sir, " he said; "I have news that I hope will please you. HisGrace intends to confer on me one more mark of his favour. I am to beEarl of Essex. "

It was startling news. Ralph had supposed that the minister was notstanding so high with the King as formerly, since the unfortunateincident of the Cleves marriage. He congratulated him warmly. 

"It is a happy omen, " said the other. "Let us pray that it be aconstellation and not a single star. There are others of my friends, Mr. Torridon, who have claim to His Highness' gratitude. "

He looked at him smiling; and Ralph felt his heart quicken once more, asit always did, at the hint of an honour for himself. 

The business of Parliament went on; and several important bills becamelaw. A land-act was followed by one that withdrew from most of the townsof England the protection of a sanctuary in the case of certainspecified crimes; the navy was dealt with; and then in spite of thepromises of the previous years a heavy money-bill was passed. Finallyfive more Catholics, four priests and a woman, were attainted for hightreason on various charges. 

 * * * * *

Ralph was not altogether happy as May drew on. There began to be signsthat his master's policy with regard to the Cleves alliance was losingground in the councils of the State; but Cromwell himself seemed toacquiesce, so it appeared as if his own mind was beginning to change. There was a letter to Pate, the ambassador to the Emperor, that Ralphhad to copy one day, and he gathered from it that conciliation was to beused towards Charles in place of the old defiance. 

But he did not see much of Parliament affairs this month. 

Cromwell had told him to sort a large quantity of private papers thathad gradually accumulated in Ralph's own house at Westminster; for thathe desired the removal of most of them to his own keeping. 

They were an enormous mass of documents, dealing with every sort andkind of the huge affairs that had passed through Cromwell's hands forthe last five years. They concerned hundreds of persons, living anddead--statesmen, nobles, the foreign Courts, priests, Religious, farmers, tradesmen--there was scarcely a class that was not representedthere. 

Ralph sat hour after hour in his chair with locked doors, sorting, docketting, and destroying; and amazed by this startling object-lessonof the vast work in which he had had a hand. There were secrets therethat would burst like a bomb if they were made public--intrigues, bribes, threats, revelations; and little by little a bundle of the mostimportant documents accumulated on the table before him. The rest lay inheaps on the floor. 

Those that he had set aside beneath his own eye were a miscellaneous setas regarded their contents; the only unity between them lay in the factthat they were especially perilous to Cromwell. Ralph felt as if he werehandling gunpowder as he took them up one by one or added to the heap. 

The new coronet that my Lord of Essex had lately put upon his head wouldnot be there another day, if these were made public. There would not beleft even a head to put it upon. Ralph knew that a great minister likehis master was bound to have a finger in very curious affairs; but hehad not recognised how exceptional these were, nor how many, until hehad the bundle of papers before him. There were cases in which personsaccused and even convicted of high treason had been set at liberty onCromwell's sole authority without reference to the King; there werecommissions issued in his name under similar conditions; there werepapers containing drafts, in Cromwell's own hand of statements ofdoctrine declared heretical by the Six Articles, and of which copies hadbeen distributed through the country at his express order; there werecopies of letters to country-sheriffs ordering the release of convictedheretics and the imprisonment of their accusers; there were evidences ofenormous bribes received by him for the perversion of justice. 

Ralph finished his task one June evening, and sat dazed with work andexcitement, his fingers soiled with ink, his tired eyes staring at theneat bundle before him. 

The Privy Council, he knew, was sitting that afternoon. Even at thismoment, probably, my Lord of Essex was laying down the law, speaking inthe King's name, silencing his opponents by sheer force of will, butwith the Royal power behind him. And here lay the papers. 

He imagined to himself with a fanciful recklessness what would happen ifhe made his way into the Council-room, and laid them on the table. Itwould be just the end of all things for his master. There would be nomore bullying and denouncing then on that side; it would be a matter ofa fight for life. 

The memory of his own grudge, only five months old, rose before hismind; and his tired brain grew hot and cloudy with resentment. He tookup the bundle in his hand and wielded it a moment, as a man might test asword. Here was a headsman's axe, ground and sharp. 

Then he was ashamed; set the bundle down again, leaned back in his chairand stretched his arms, yawning. 

What a glorious evening it was! He must go out and take the air for alittle by the river; he would walk down towards Chelsea. 

He rose up from his chair and went to the window, threw it open andleaned out. His house stood back a little from the street; and there wasa space of cobbled ground between his front-door and the uneven stonesof the thorough fare. Opposite rose up one of the tall Westminsterhouses, pushing forward in its upper stories, with a hundred diamondpanes bright in the slanting sunshine that poured down the street fromthe west. Overhead rose up the fantastic stately chimneys, against thebrilliant evening sky, and to right and left the street passed out ofsight in a haze of sunlight. 

It was a very quiet evening; the men had not yet begun to streamhomewards from their occupations; and the women were busy within. Achorus of birds sounded somewhere overhead; but there was not a livingcreature to be seen except a dog asleep in the sunshine at the corner ofthe gravel. 

It was delicious to lean out here, away from the fire that burned hotand red in the grate under its black mass of papers that had beendestroyed, --out in the light and air. Ralph determined that he would letthe fire die now; it would not be needed again. 

He must go out, he told himself, and not linger here. He could lock upthe papers for the present in readiness for their transport next day;and he wondered vaguely whether his hat and cane were in theentrance-hall below. 

He straightened himself, and turned away from the window, noticing as hedid so the dog at the corner of the street sit up with cocked ears. Hehesitated and turned back. 

There was a sound of furious running coming up the street. He would justsee who the madman was who ran like this on a hot evening, and then goout himself. 

As he leaned again the pulsating steps came nearer; they were comingfrom the left, the direction of the Palace. 

A moment later a figure burst into sight, crimson-faced and hatless, with arms gathered to the sides and head thrown back; it appeared to bea gentleman by the dress--but why should he run like that? He dashedacross the opening and disappeared. 

Ralph was interested. He waited a minute longer; but the footsteps hadceased; and he was just turning once more from the window, when anothersound made him stand and listen again. 

It came from the same direction as before; and at first he could notmake out what it was. There was a murmur and a pattering. 

It came nearer and louder; and he could distinguish once more runningfootsteps. Were they after a thief? he wondered. The murmur and clattergrew louder yet; and a second or two later two men burst into sight;one, an apprentice with his leather apron flapping as he ran, the othera stoutish man like a merchant. They talked and gesticulated as theywent. 

The murmur behind swelled up. There were the voices of many people, menand women, talking, screaming, questioning. The dog was on his feet bynow, looking intently down the street. 

Then the first group appeared; half a dozen men walking fast ortrotting, talking eagerly. Ralph could not hear what they said. 

Then a number surged into sight all at once, jostling round a centre, and a clamour went up to heaven. The dog trotted up suspiciously as ifto enquire. 

Ralph grew excited; he scarcely knew why. He had seen hundreds of suchcrowds; it might mean anything, from a rise in butter to a declarationof war. But there was something fiercely earnest about this mob. Was theKing ill?

He leaned further from the window and shouted; but no one paid him theslightest attention. The crowd shifted up the street, the din growingas they went; there was a sound of slammed doors; windows openedopposite and heads craned out. Something was shouted up and the headsdisappeared. 

Ralph sprang back from the window, as more and more surged into sight;he went to his door, glancing at his papers as he ran across; unlockedthe door; listened a moment; went on to the landing and shouted for aservant. 

There was a sound of footsteps and voices below; the men were alreadyalert, but no answer came to his call. He shouted again. 

"Who is there? Find out what the disturbance means. "

There was an answer from one of his men; and the street door opened andclosed. Again he ran to the window, and saw his man run out without hisdoublet across the court, and seize a woman by the arm. 

He waited in passionate expectancy; saw him drop the woman's arm andturn to another; and then run swiftly back to the house. 

There was something sinister in the man's very movements across thatlittle space; he ran desperately, with his head craning forward; once hestumbled; once he glanced up at his master; and Ralph caught a sight ofhis face. 

Ralph was on the landing as the steps thundered upstairs, and met him atthe head of the flight. 

"Speak man; what is it?"

The servant lifted a face stamped with terror, a couple of feet belowRalph's. 

"They--they say--"

"What is it?"

"They say that the King's archers are about my Lord Essex's house. "

Ralph drew a swift breath. 

"Well?"

"And that my Lord was arrested at the Council to-day. "

Ralph turned, and in three steps was in his room again. The key clackedin the lock. 

CHAPTER VII

A QUESTION OF LOYALTY

He did not know how long he stood there, with the bundle of papersgripped in his two hands; and the thoughts racing through his brain. 

The noises in the street outside waned and waxed again, as the newsswept down the lanes, and recoiled with a wave of excited crowdsfollowing it. Then again they died to a steady far-off murmur as the mobsurged and clamoured round the Palace and Abbey a couple of hundredyards away. 

At last Ralph sat down; still holding the papers. He must clear hisbrain; and how was that possible with the images flashing through it inendless and vivid succession? For a while he could not steady himself;the shock was bewildering; he could think of nothing but the appallingdrama. Essex was fallen!

Then little by little the muddy current of thought began to run clear. He began to understand what lay before him; and the question that stillawaited decision. 

His first instinct had been to dash the papers on to the fire and grindthem into the red heart of the wood; but something had checked him. Veryslowly he began to analyse that instinct. 

First, was it not useless? He knew he did not possess one hundredth partof the incriminating evidence that was in existence. Of what servicewould it be to his master to destroy that one small bundle?

Next, what would be the result to himself if he did? It was known thathe was a trusted agent of the minister's; his house would be searched;papers would be found; it would be certainly known that he had made awaywith evidence. There would be records of what he had, in the otherhouses. And what then?

On the other hand if he willingly gave up all that was in hispossession, it would go far to free him from complicity. 

Lastly, like a venomous snake lifting its head, his own privateresentment looked him in the eyes, and there was a new sting added to itnow. He had lost all, he knew well enough; wealth, honour and positionhad in a moment shrunk to cinders with Cromwell's fall, and for thesecinders he had lost Beatrice too. He had sacrificed her to his master;and his master had failed him. A kind of fury succeeded to his dismay. 

Oh, would it not be sweet to add even one more stone to the mass thatwas tottering over the head of that mighty bully, that had promised andnot performed?

He blinked his eyes, shocked by the horror of the thought, and grippedthe bundle yet more firmly. The memories of a thousand kindnessesreceived from his master cried at the door of his heart. The sweatdropped from his forehead; he lifted a stiff hand to wipe it away, anddropped it again into its grip on the papers. 

Then he slowly recapitulated to himself the reasons for not destroyingthem. They were overwhelming, convincing! What was there to set againstthem? One slender instinct only, that cried shrill and thin that inhonour he must burn that damning evidence--burn it--burn it--whether orno it would help or hinder, it must be burnt!

Then again he recurred to the other side; told himself that hisinstinct was no more than a ludicrous sentimentality; he must be guidedby reason, not impulse. Then he glanced at the impulse again. Then thetwo sides rushed together, locked in conflict. He moaned a little, andlay back in his chair. 

 * * * * *

The bright sunlight outside had faded to a mellow evening atmospherebefore he moved again; and the fire had died to one dull core ofincandescence. 

As he stirred, he became aware that bells were pealing outside; amelodious roar filled the air. Somewhere behind the house five brazenvoices, shouting all together, bellowed the exultation of the city overthe great minister's fall. 

He was weary and stiff as he stood up; but the fever had left his brain;and the decision had been made. He relaxed his fingers and laid thebundle softly down on the table from which he had snatched it a coupleof hours before. 

They would be here soon, he knew; he wondered they had not come already. 

Leaving his papers there, he went out, taking the key with him, andlocking the door after him. He called up one of his men, telling him hewould be ready for supper immediately in the parlour downstairs, andthat any visitors who came for him were to be admitted at once. 

Then he passed into his bedroom to wash and change his clothes. 

 * * * * *

Half an hour later he came upstairs again. 

He had supped alone, listening and watching the window as he ate; but nosign had come of any arrival. He had dressed with particular care, intending to be found at his ease when the searchers did arrive; theremust be no sign of panic or anxiety. He had told his man as he rosefrom table, to say to any that came for him that they were expected, andto bring them immediately upstairs. 

He unlocked the door of his private room, and went in. All was as he hadleft it; the floor between the window and table was white with orderedheaps of papers; the bundle on the table itself glimmered where he hadlaid it. 

The fire had sunk to a spark. He tenderly lifted off the masses of blacksheets that crackled as he touched them; it had not occurred to himbefore that these evidences of even a harmless destruction had better beremoved; and he slid them carefully on to a broad sheet of paper, foldedit, shaking the ashes together as he did so, and stood a moment, wondering where he should hide it. 

The room was growing dark now; he put the package down; went to the fireand blew it up a little, added some wood, and presently the flames weredancing on the broad hearth. 

As he stood up again he heard the knocker rap on his street-door. For amoment he had an instinct to run to the window and see who was there;but he put it aside; there was scarcely time to hide the ashes; and itwas best too to give no hint of anxiety. He lifted the package of burntpapers once more, and stood hesitating; a press would be worse thanuseless as a hiding-place; all such would of course be searched. Then athought struck him; he stood up noiselessly on his chair. The Holbeinportrait of Cromwell in his furred gown and chain leaned forward fromthe tapestry over the mantelpiece. Ralph set one hand against the wallat the side; and then tenderly let the package fall behind the portrait. As he did so the painted and living eyes were on a level; it seemedstrange to him that the faces were so near together at that moment; andit struck him with a grim irony that the master should be so protectingthe servant under these circumstances. 

Then he dropped lightly to the ground, and sat quickly in the chair, snatching up the bundle of papers from the table as he did so. 

The steps were on the landing now; he heard the crack of the balustrade;but it seemed they were coming very quietly. 

There was a moment's silence; the muscles of his throat contractedsharply, then there came the servant's tap; the handle was turned. 

Ralph stood up quickly, still holding the papers, as the door opened, and Beatrice stepped forward into the room. The door shut noiselesslybehind her. 

 * * * * *

She stood there, with the firelight playing on her dark loose-sleevedmantle, the hood that surrounded her head, her pale face a littleflushed, and her black steady eyes. Her breath came quickly between herparted lips. 

Ralph stared at her, dazed by the shock, still gripping the bundle ofpapers. She moved forward a step; and the spell snapped. 

"Mistress Beatrice, " he said. 

"I have come, " she said; "what is it? You want me?"

She came round the table, with an air of eager expectancy. 

"I--I did not know, " said Ralph. 

"But you wanted me. What is the matter? I heard you call. "

Ralph stared again, bewildered. 

"Call?" he said. 

"Yes, I heard you. I was in my room at my aunt's house--ah! a couple ofhours ago. You called me twice. 'Beatrice! Beatrice!' Then--then theytold me what had happened about my Lord Essex. "

"I called you?" repeated Ralph. 

"Yes--you called me. Your voice was quite close to me, at my ear; Ithought you were in the room. Tell me what it is. "

She loosened her hold of her mantle as she stood there by the table; andit dropped open, showing a sparkle of jewels at her throat. She threwback her hood, and it dropped on to her shoulders, leaving visible thecoiled masses of her black hair set with knots of ribbon. 

"I did not call, " said Ralph dully. "I do not know what you mean, Mistress Atherton. "

She made a little impatient gesture. 

"Ah! yes, " she said, "it is something. Tell me quickly. I suppose it hasto do with my Lord. What is it?"

"It is nothing, " said Ralph again. 

They stood looking at one another in silence. Beatrice's eyes ran amoment up and down his rich dress, the papers in his hands, thenwandered to the heaped floor, the table, and returned to the papers inhis hands. 

"You must tell me, " she said. "What is that you are holding?"

An angry terror seized Ralph. 

"That is my affair, Mistress Atherton. What is your business with me?"

She came a step nearer, and leant her left hand on his table. He couldsee those steady eyes on his face; she looked terribly strong andcontrolled. 

"Indeed you must tell me, Mr. Torridon. I am come here to do something. I do not know what. What are those papers?"

He turned and dropped them on to the chair behind him. 

"I tell you again, I do not know what you mean. "

"It is useless, " she said. "Have they been to you yet? What do you meanto do about my Lord? You know he is in the Tower?"

"I suppose so, " said Ralph, "but my counsel is my own. "

"Mr. Torridon, let us have an end of this. I know well that you musthave many secrets against my lord--"

"I tell you that what I know is nothing. I have not a hundredth part ofhis papers. "

He felt himself desperate and bewildered, like a man being pushed to theedge of a precipice, step by step. But those black eyes held andcompelled him on. He scarcely knew what he was saying. 

"And are these papers all his? What have you been doing with them?"

"My Lord told me to sort them. "

The words were drawn out against his own will. 

"And those in your hand--on the chair. What are they?"

Ralph made one more violent effort to regain the mastery. 

"If you were not a woman, Mistress Atherton, I should tell you you wereinsolent. "

Not a ripple troubled those strong eyes. 

"Tell me, Mr. Torridon, what are they?"

He stood silent and furious. 

"I will tell you what they are, " she said; "they are my Lord's secrets. Is it not so? And you were about to burn them. Oh! Ralph, is it not so?"

Her voice had a tone of entreaty in it. He dropped his eyes, overcome bythe passion that streamed from her. 

"Is it not so?" she cried again. 

"Do you wish me to do so?" he said amazed. His voice seemed not his own;it was as if another spoke for him. He had the same sensation ofpowerlessness as once before when she had lashed him with her tongue inthe room downstairs. 

"Wish you?" she cried. "Why, yes; what else?"

He lifted his eyes to hers; the room seemed to have grown darker yet inthose few minutes. He could only see now a shadowed face looking at him;but her bright passionate eyes shone out from it and dominated him. 

Again he spoke, in spite of himself. 

"I shall not burn them, " he said. 

"Shall not? shall not?"

"I shall not, " he said again. 

There was silence. Ralph's soul was struggling desperately within him. He put out his hand mechanically and took up the papers once more, as ifto guard them from this fierce, imperious woman. Beatrice's eyesfollowed the movement; and then rested once more on his face. Then shespoke again, with a tense deliberateness that drove every word home, piercing and sharp to the very centre of his spirit. 

"Listen, " she said, "for this is what I came to say. I know what you arethinking--I know every thought as if it were my own. You tell yourselfthat it is useless to burn those secrets; that there are ten thousandmore--enough to cast my lord. I make no answer to that. "

"You tell yourself that you can only save yourself by giving them up tohis enemies. I make no answer to that. "

"You tell yourself that it will be known if you destroy them--that youwill be counted as one of His Highness's enemies. I make no answer tothat. And I tell you to burn them. "

She came a step nearer. There was not a yard between them now; and thefire of her words caught and scorched him with their bitterness. 

"You have been false to every high and noble thing. You have been falseto your own conscience--to your father--your brother--your sister--yourChurch--your King and your God. You have been false to love and honour. You have been false to yourself. And now Almighty God of His courtesygives you one more opportunity--an opportunity to be true to yourmaster. I say nothing of him. God is his judge. You know what thatverdict will be. And yet I bid you be true to him. He has a thousandclaims on you. You have served him, though it be but Satan's service;yet it is the highest that you know--God help you! He is calledfriendless now. Shall that be wholly true of him? You will be called atraitor presently--shall that be wholly true of you? Or shall there beone tiny point in which you are not false and treacherous as you havebeen in all other points?"

She stopped again, looking him fiercely in the eyes. 

 * * * * *

From the street outside there came the sound of footsteps; the ring ofsteel on stone. Ralph heard it, and his eyes rolled round to the window;but he did not move. 

Beatrice was almost touching him now. He felt the fragrance that hungabout her envelop him for a moment. Then he felt a touch on the papers;and his fingers closed more tightly. 

The steps outside grew louder and ceased; and the house suddenlyreverberated with a thunder of knocking. 

Beatrice sprang back. 

"Nay, you shall give me them, " she said; and stood waiting withoutstretched hand. 

Ralph lifted the papers slowly, stared at them, and at her. 

Then he held them out. 

 * * * * *

In a moment she had snatched them; and was on her knees by the hearth. Ralph watched her, and listened to the steps coming up the stairs. Thepapers were alight now. The girl dashed her fingers among them, grinding, tearing, separating the heavy pages. 

They were almost gone by now; the thick smoke poured up the chimney; andstill Beatrice tore and dashed the ashes about. 

There was a knocking at the door; and the handle turned. The girl rosefrom her knees and smiled at Ralph as the door opened, and thepursuivants stood there in the opening. 

CHAPTER VIII

TO CHARING

Chris had something very like remorse after Ralph had left Overfield, and no words of explanation or regret had been spoken on either side. Herecognised that he had not been blameless at the beginning of theirestrangement--if, indeed, there ever had been a beginning--for theirinflamed relations had existed to some extent back into boyhood as faras he could remember; but he had been responsible for at least a sharein the fierce words in Ralph's house after the death of the Carthusians. He had been hot-headed, insolent, theatrical; and he had not written toacknowledge it. He had missed another opportunity at Lewes--at leastone--when pride had held him back from speaking, for fear that he shouldbe thought to be currying favour. And now this last opportunity, thebest of all--when Ralph had been accessible and courteous, affected, Chris imagined, by the death of his mother--this too had been missed;and he had allowed his brother to ride away without a word of regret ormore than formal affection. 

He was troubled at mass, an hour after Ralph had gone; the distractioncame between him and the sweet solemnity upon which he was engaged. Hissoul was dry and moody. He showed it in his voice. As a younger brotherin past years; as a monk and a priest now, he knew that the duty of thefirst step to a reconciliation had lain with him; and that he had nottaken it. 

It had been a troubled household altogether when Ralph had gone. Therewas first the shock of Lady Torridon's death, and the hundred regretsthat it had left behind. Then Beatrice too, who had helped them all somuch, had told them that she must go back to town--her aunt was alone inthe little house at Charing, for the friend who had spent Christmasthere was gone back to the country; and Margaret, consequently, had beenalmost in despair. Lastly Sir James himself had been troubled; wonderingwhether he might not have been warmer with Ralph, more outspoken in hisgratitude for the affair of the mummers, more ready to welcome anexplanation from his son. The shadow of Ralph then rested on thehousehold, and there was something of pathos in it. He was so muchdetached now, so lonely, and it seemed that he was content it should beso. 

 * * * * *

There were pressing matters too to be arranged; and, weightiest of all, those relating to Margaret's future. She would now be the only womanbesides the servants, in the house; and it was growing less and lesslikely that she would be ever able to take up the Religious Life againin England. There seemed little reason for her remaining in the country, unless indeed she threw aside the Religious habit altogether, and wentto live at Great Keynes as Mary preferred. Beatrice made an offer toreceive her in London for a while, but in this case again she would haveto wear secular dress. 

The evening before Beatrice left, the two sat and talked for a couple ofhours. Margaret was miserable; she cried a little, clung to Beatrice, and then was ashamed of herself. 

"My dear child, " said the other. "It is in your hands. You can do as youplease. "

"But I cannot, " sobbed the nun. "I cannot; I do not know. Let me comewith you, Beatrice. "

Beatrice then settled down and talked to her. She told her of her dutyto her father for the present; she must remember that he was lonely now. In any case she must not think of leaving home for another six months. In the meantime she had to consider two points. First, did she considerherself in conscience bound to Religion? What did the priest tell her?If she did so consider herself, then there was no question; she must goto Bruges and join the others. Secondly, if not, did she think herselfjustified in leaving her father in the summer? If so, she might eithergo to Great Keynes, or come up for at least a long visit to Charing. 

"And what do you think?" asked the girl piteously. 

"Do you wish me to tell you!" said Beatrice. 

Margaret nodded. 

"Then I think you should go to Bruges in July or August. "

Margaret stared at her; the tears were very near her eyes again. 

"My darling; I should love to have you in London, " went on the othercaressing her. "Of course I should. But I cannot see that King Henry hisnotions make any difference to your vows. They surely stand. Is it notso, my dear?"

And so after a little more talk Margaret consented. Her mind had toldher that all along; it was her heart only that protested against thisfinal separation from her friend. 

Chris too agreed when she spoke to him a day or two later when Beatricehad gone back. He said he had been considering his own case too; andthat unless something very marked intervened he proposed to follow DomAnthony abroad. They could travel together, he said. Finally, when thematter was laid before their father he also consented. 

"I shall do very well, " he said. "Mary spoke to me of it; and Nicholashas asked me to make my home at Great Keynes; so if you go, my son, withMeg in the summer, I shall finish matters here, lease out the estate, and Mr. Carleton and I shall betake ourselves there. Unless"--hesaid--"unless Ralph should come to another mind. "

 * * * * *

As the spring and early summer drew on, the news, as has been seen, wasnot reassuring. 

In spite of the Six Articles of the previous year by which all vows ofchastity were declared binding before God, there was no hint of makingit possible for the thousands of Religious in England still compelled bythem to return to the Life in which such vows were tolerable. TheReligious were indeed dispensed from obedience and poverty by the civilauthority; it was possible for them to buy, inherit, and occupyproperty; but a recognition of their corporate life was as far as everaway. It was becoming plainer every day that those who wished to pursuetheir vocation must do so in voluntary exile; and letters were alreadybeing exchanged between the brother and sister at home and therepresentatives of their respective communities on the Continent. 

Then suddenly on the eleventh of June there arrived the news ofCromwell's fall and of all that it involved to Ralph. 

They were at dinner when it came. 

There was a door suddenly thrust open at the lower end of the hall; anda courier, white with dust and stiff with riding, limped up the mattingand delivered Beatrice's letter. It was very short. 

"Come, " she had written. "My Lord of Essex is arrested. He is in theTower. Mr. Ralph, too, is there for refusing to inform against him. Hehas behaved gallantly. "

There followed a line from Mistress Jane Atherton, her aunt, offeringrooms in her own house. 

 * * * * *

A wild confusion fell upon the household. Men ran to and fro, womenwhispered and sobbed in corners under shadow of the King's displeasurethat lay on the house, the road between the terrace and the stablebuzzed with messengers, ordering and counter-ordering, for it was notcertain at first that Margaret would not go. A mounted groom dashed upfor instructions and was met by Sir James in his riding-cloak on theterrace who bade him ride to Great Keynes with the news, and entreat SirNicholas Maxwell to come up to London and his wife to Overfield; therewas not time to write. Sir James's own room was in confusion; hisclothes lay tumbled on the ground and a distraught servant tossed themthis way and that; Chris was changing his habit upstairs, for it wouldmean disaster to go to town as a monk. Margaret was on her knees inchapel, silent and self-controlled, but staring piteously at thecompassionate figure of the great Mother who looked down on her with HerSon in Her arms. The huge dog under the chapel-cloister lifted his headand bayed in answer, as frantic figures fled across the court beforehim. And over all lay the hot June sky, and round about the deeppeaceful woods. 

A start was made at three o'clock. 

Sir James was already in his saddle, as Chris ran out; an unfamiliarfigure in his plain priest's cloak and cap and great riding bootsbeneath. A couple of grooms waited behind, and another held the monk'shorse. Margaret was on the steps, white and steadied by prayer; and thechaplain stood behind with a strong look in his eyes as they met thoseof his patron. 

"Take care of her, father; take care of her. Her sister will be hereto-night, please God. Oh! God bless you, my dear! Pray for us all. Jesukeep us all! Chris, are you mounted?"

Then they were off; and the white dust rose in clouds about them. 

 * * * * *

It was between eight and nine as they rode up the north bank of theriver from London Bridge to Charing. 

It had been a terrible ride, with but few words between the two, andlong silences that were the worst of all; as, blotting out the richcountry and the deep woods and the meadows and heathery hills on eitherside of the road through Surrey, visions moved and burned before them, such as the King's vengeance had made possible to the imagination. Fromfar away across the Southwark fields Chris had seen the huddledbuildings of the City, the princely spire that marked them, and hadheard the sweet jangling of the thousand bells that told the Angelus;but he had thought of little but of that high gateway under which theymust soon pass, where the pikes against the sky made palpable thehorrors of his thought. He had given one swift glance up as he wentbeneath; and then his heart sickened as they went on, past the housesand St. Thomas's chapel with gleams of the river seen beneath. Then ashe looked his breath came sharp; far down there eastwards, seen for amoment, rose up the sombre towers where Ralph lay, and the saints hadsuffered. 

The old Religious Houses, stretching in a splendid line upwards, fromthe Augustinian priory near the river-bank, along the stream that floweddown from Ludgate, caught the last rays of sunlight high against therich sky as the riders went along towards Charing between thesedge-brinked tide and the slope of grass on their right; and the monk'ssorrowful heart was overlaid again with sorrow as he looked at them, empty now and desolate where once the praises of God had sounded day andnight. 

They stopped beneath the swinging sign of an inn, with Westministertowers blue and magical before them, to ask for Mistress Atherton'shouse, and were directed a little further along and nearer to thewater's edge. 

It was a little old house when they came to it, built on a tiny privateembankment that jutted out over the flats of the river-bank; of plasterand timber with overhanging storeys and windows beneath the roof. Itstood by itself, east of the village, and almost before the jangle ofthe bell had died away, Beatrice herself was at the door, in herhouse-dress, bare-headed; with a face at once radiant and constrained. 

She took them upstairs immediately, after directing the men to take thehorses, when they had unloaded the luggage, back to the inn where theyhad enquired the way: for there was no stable, she said, attached to thehouse. 

Chris came behind his father as if in a dream through the dark littlehall and up the two flights on to the first landing. Beatrice stopped ata door. 

"You can say what you will, " she said, "before my aunt. She is of ourmind in these matters. "

Then they were in the room; a couple of candles burned on a table beforethe curtained window; and an old lady with a wrinkled kindly facehobbled over from her chair and greeted the two travellers. 

"I welcome you, gentlemen, " she said, "if a sore heart may say so tosore hearts. "

There was no news of Nicholas, they were told; he had not been heard of. 

 * * * * *

They heard the story so far as Beatrice knew it; but it was softened fortheir ears. She had found Ralph, she said, hesitating what to do. He hadbeen plainly bewildered by the sudden news; they had talked a while; andthen he had handed her the papers to burn. The magistrate sent by theCouncil had arrived to find the ashes still smoking. He had questionedRalph sharply, for he had come with authority behind him; and Ralph hadrefused to speak beyond telling him that the bundles lying on the floorwere all the papers of my Lord Essex that were in his possession. Theyhad laid hands on these, and then searched the room. A quantity ofashes, Beatrice said, had fallen from behind a portrait over the hearthwhen they had shifted it. Then the magistrate had questioned her too, enquired where she lived, and let her go. She had waited at the cornerof the street, and watched the men come out. Ralph walked in the centreas a prisoner. She had followed them to the river; had mixed with thecrowd that gathered there; and had heard the order given to thewherryman to pull to the Tower. That was all that she knew. 

"Thank God for your son, sir. He bore himself gallantly. "

There was a silence as she ended. The old man looked at her wonderingand dazed. It was so sad, that the news scarcely yet conveyed itsmessage. 

"And my Lord Essex?" he said. 

"My Lord is in the Tower too. He was arrested at the Council by the Dukeof Norfolk. "

The old lady intervened then, and insisted on their going down tosupper. It would be ready by now, she said, in the parlour downstairs. 

They supped, themselves silent, with Beatrice leaning her arms on thetable, and talking to them in a low voice, telling them all that wassaid. She did not attempt to prophesy smoothly. The feeling againstCromwell, she said, passed all belief. The streets had been filled witha roaring crowd last night. She had heard them bellowing till long afterdark. The bells were pealed in the City churches hour after hour, intriumph over the minister's fall. 

"The dogs!" she said fiercely. "I never thought to say it, but my heartgoes out to him. "

Her spirit was infections. Chris felt a kind of half-joyful recklessnesstingle in his veins, as he listened to her talk, and watched her blackeyes hot with indignation and firm with purpose. What if Ralph werecast? At least it was for faithfulness--of a kind. Even the father'sface grew steadier; that piteous trembling of the lower lip ceased, andthe horror left his eyes. It was hard to remain in panic with that girlbeside them. 

They had scarcely done supper when the bell of the outer door rangagain, and a moment later Nicholas was with them, flushed with hardriding. He strode into the room, blinking at the lights, and tossed hisriding whip on to the table. 

"I have been to the Lieutenant of the Tower, " he said; "I know him ofold. He promises nothing. He tells me that Ralph is well-lodged. Mary isgone to Overfield. God damn the King!"

He had no more news to give. He had sent off his wife at once onreceiving the tidings, and had started half an hour later for London. Hehad been ahead of them all the way, it seemed; but had spent a couple ofhours first in trying to get admittance to the Tower, and then ininterviewing the Lieutenant; but there was no satisfaction to be gainedthere. The utmost he had wrung from him was a promise that he would seehim again, and hear what he had to say. 

Then Nicholas had to sup and hear the whole story from the beginning;and Chris left his father to tell it, and went up with Beatrice toarrange about rooms. 

Matters were soon settled with the old lady; Nicholas and Chris were tosleep in one room, and Sir James in an another. Two servants only couldbe accommodated in the house; the rest were to put up at the inn. Beatrice went off to give the necessary orders. 

Mistress Jane Atherton and Chris had a few moments together before theothers came up. 

"A sore heart, " said the old lady again, "but a glad one too. Beatricehas told me everything. "

"I am thankful too, " said Chris softly. "I wonder if my fatherunderstands. "

"He will, father, he will. But even if he does not--well, God knowsall. "

It was evident when Sir James came upstairs presently that he did notunderstand anything yet, except that Beatrice thought that Ralph hadbehaved well. 

"But it is to my Lord Essex--who has been the worker of all themischief--that my son is faithful. Is that a good thing then?"

"Why, yes, " said Chris. "You would not have him faithless there too?"

"But would he not be on God's side at last, if he were againstCromwell?"

The old man was still too much bewildered to understand explanations, and his son was silent. 

 * * * * *

Chris could not sleep that night, and long after Nicholas lay deep inhis pillow, with open mouth and tight eyes, the priest was at the windowlooking out over the river where the moon hung like a silver shieldabove Southwark. The meadows beyond the stream were dim and colourless;here and there a roof rose among trees; and straight across the broadwater to his feet ran a path of heaving glory, where the strong rippletossed the silver surface that streamed down upon it from the moon. 

London lay round him as quiet as Overfield, and Chris remembered with astir at his heart his moonlight bathe all those years ago in the lake athome, when he had come back hot from hunting and had slipped down withthe chaplain after supper. Then the water had seemed like a cool restfulgulf in the world of sensation; the moon had not been risen at first;only the stars pricked above and below in air and water. Then the moonhad come up, and a path of splendour had smitten the surface into sight. He had swum up it, he remembered, the silver ripple washing over hisshoulders as he went. 

And now those years of monastic peace and storm had come and gone, sifting and penetrating his soul, washing out from it little by littlethe heats and passions with which he had plunged. As he looked back onhimself he was astonished at his old complacent smallness. His figureappeared down that avenue of years, a tiny passionate thing, gesticulating, feverish, self-conscious. He remembered his serenecertainty that he was right and Ralph wrong in every touch of frictionbetween them, his own furious and theatrical outburst at the death ofthe Carthusians, his absurd dignity on later occasions. Even in thosefirst beginnings of peace when the inner life had begun to well up andenvelop him he had been narrow and self-centred; he had despised thecommon human life, not understanding that God's Will was as energetic inthe bewildering rush of the current as in the quiet shelteredback-waters to which he himself had been called. He had been awakenedfrom that dream by the fall of the Priory, and that to which he openedhis eyes had been forced into his consciousness by the months at home, when he had had that astringent mingling of the world and the spirit, ofthe interpenetration of the inner by the outer. And now for the firsttime he stood as a balanced soul between the two, alight with a tranquilgrace within, and not afraid to look at the darkness without. He wasready now for either life, to go back to the cloister and labour therefor the world at the springs of energy, or to take his place in the newEngland and struggle at the tossing surface. 

He stood here now by the hurrying turbulent stream, a wider and moreperilous gulf than that that had lain before him as he looked at themoonlit lake at Overfield and yet over it brooded the same quiet shieldof heaven, gilding the black swift flowing forces with the promise of aPresence greater than them all. 

He stood there long, staring and thinking. 

CHAPTER IX

A RELIEF-PARTY

The days that followed were very anxious and troubled ones for Ralph'sfriends at Charing. They were dreadful too from their veryuneventfulness. 

On the morning following their arrival Chris went off to the Temple toconsult a lawyer that the Lieutenant had recommended to Nicholas, andbrought him back with him an hour later. The first need to be suppliedwas their lack of knowledge as to procedure; and the four men sattogether until dinner, in the parlour on the first floor looking overthe sunlit river; and discussed the entire situation. 

The lawyer, Mr. Herries, a shrewd-faced Northerner, sat with his back tothe window, fingering a quill horizontally in his lean brown fingers andtalking in short sentences, glancing up between them, with patientsilences as the others talked. He seemed the very incarnation of theslow inaction that was so infinitely trying to these anxious souls. 

The three laymen did not even know the crime with which Ralph wascharged, but they soon learnt that the technical phrase for it wasmisprision of treason. 

"Mr. Torridon was arrested, I understand, " said the lawyer, "by order ofCouncil. He would have been arrested in any case. He was known to beprivy to my Lord Essex's schemes. You inform me that he destroyedevidence. That will go against him if they can prove it. "

He drew the quill softly through his lips, and then fell to fingering itagain, as the others stared at him. 

"However, " went on Mr. Herries, "that is not our affair now. There willbe time for that. Our question is, when will he be charged, and how? MyLord Essex may be tried by a court, or attainted in Parliament. I shouldsuppose the latter. Mr. Torridon will be treated in the same way. If itbe the former, we can do nothing but wait and prepare our case. If it bethe latter, we must do our utmost to keep his name out of the bill. "

He went on to explain his reasons for thinking that a bill of attainderwould be brought against Cromwell. It was the customary method, he said, for dealing with eminent culprits, and its range had been greatlyextended by Cromwell himself. At this moment three Catholics lay in theTower, attainted through the statesman's own efforts, for their supposedshare in a conspiracy to deliver up Calais to the invaders who hadthreatened England in the previous year. Feeling, too, ran very highagainst Cromwell; the public would be impatient of a long trial; and abill of attainder would give a readier outlet to the fury against him. 

This then was the danger; but they could do nothing, said the lawyer, toavert it, until they could get information. He would charge himself withthat business, and communicate with them as soon as he knew. 

"And then?" asked Chris, looking at him desperately, for the colddeliberate air of Mr. Herries gave him a terrible sense of thepassionless process of the law. 

"I was about to speak of that, " said the lawyer. "If it goes as I thinkit will, and Mr. Torridon's name is suggested for the bill, we mustapproach the most powerful friends we can lay hold on, to use theirinfluence against his inclusion. Have you any such, sir?" he added, looking at Sir James sharply over the quill. 

The old man shook his head. 

"I know no one, " he said. 

The lawyer pursed his lips. 

"Then we must do the best we can. We can set aside at once all of myLord Essex's enemies--and--and he has many now. Two names come to mymind. Master Ralph Sadler--the comptroller; and my Lord of Canterbury. "

"Ah!" cried Chris, dropping his hand, "my Lord of Canterbury! My brotherhas had dealings with him. "

Sir James straightened himself in his chair. 

"I will ask no favour of that fellow, " he said sternly. 

The lawyer looked at him with a cocked eyebrow. 

"Well, sir, " he said, "if you will not you will not. But I cannotsuggest a better. He is in high favour with his Grace; they say he hasalready said a word for my Lord Essex--not much--much would be too much, I think; but still 'twas something. And what of Master Sadler?"

"I know nothing of him, " faltered the old man. 

There was silence a moment. 

"Well, sir, " said Mr. Herries, "you can think the matter over. I am formy Lord of Canterbury; for the reasons I have named to you. But we canwait a few days. We can do nothing until the method of procedure isknown. "

Then he went; promising to let them know as soon as he had information. 

 * * * * *

Rumours began to run swiftly through the City. It was said, thoughuntruly at that time, that Cromwell had addressed a letter to the Kingat Henry's own request, explaining his conduct, utterly denying that hehad said certain rash words attributed to him, and that His Majesty wasgreatly affected by it. There was immense excitement everywhere; a crowdassembled daily outside Westminster Hall; groups at every corner of thestreets discussed the fallen minister's chances; and shouts were raisedfor those who were known to be his enemies, the Duke of Norfolk, Rich, and others--as they rode through to the Palace. 

Meanwhile Ralph's friends could do little. Nicholas rode down once ortwice to see the Lieutenant of The Tower, and managed to extract apromise that Ralph should hear of their presence in London; but he couldnot get to see him, or hear any news except that he was in good healthand spirits, and was lodged in a private cell. 

Then suddenly one afternoon a small piece of news arrived from Mr. Herries to the effect that Cromwell was to be attainted; and anxietybecame intense as to whether Ralph would be included. Sir James couldeat nothing at supper, but sat crumbling his bread, while Beatricetalked almost feverishly in an attempt to distract him. Finally he roseand went out, and the others sat on, eyeing one another, anxious andmiserable. 

In desperation Nicholas began to talk of his visit to the Tower, of theLieutenant's timidity, and his own insistence; and they noticed nothing, till the door was flung open, and the old man stood there, his eyesbright and his lips trembling with hope. He held a scrap of paper in hishand. 

"Listen, " he cried as the others sprang to their feet. 

"A fellow has just come from Mr. Herries with this"--he lifted the paperand read, --"Mr. Torridon's name is not in the bill. I will be with youto-morrow. "

"Thank God!" said Chris. 

 * * * * *

There was another long discussion the following morning. Mr. Herriesarrived about ten o'clock to certify his news; and the four sat tilldinner once again, talking and planning. There was not the samedesperate hurry now; the first danger was passed. 

There was only one thing that the lawyer could do, and that was torepeat his advice to seek the intercession of the Archbishop. Heobserved again that while Cranmer had the friendship of the fallenminister, he had not in any sense been involved in his fall; he wasstill powerful with the King, and of considerable weight with theCouncil in consequence. He was likely therefore to be both able andwilling to speak on behalf of Cromwell's agent. 

"But I would advise nothing to be done until the bill of attainder hascome before Parliament. We do not know yet how far Mr. Torridon's actionhas affected the evidence. From what you say, gentlemen, and from what Ihave heard elsewhere, I should think that the papers Mr. Torridondestroyed are not essential to a conviction. My Lord's papers at his ownhouse are sufficient. "

But they had some difficulty in persuading Sir James to consent to ask afavour of the Archbishop. In his eyes, Cranmer was beyond the pale ofdecency; he had lived with two women, said the old man, whom he calledhis wives, although as a priest he was incapable of marriage; he hadviolated his consecration oath; he had blessed and annulled the frequentmarriages of the King with equal readiness; he was a heretic confessedand open on numberless points of the Catholic Faith. 

Mr. Herries pointed out with laborious minuteness that this was besidethe question altogether. He did not propose that Sir James Torridonshould go to the Archbishop as to a spiritual superior, but as to onewho chanced to have great influence;--if he were a murderer it wouldmake no difference to his advice. 

Chris broke in with troubled eyes. 

"Indeed, sir, " he said to his father, "you know how I am with you inall that you say; and yet I am with Mr. Herries too. I do notunderstand--"

"God help us, " cried the old man. "I do not know what to do. "

"Will you talk with Mistress Beatrice?" asked Chris. 

Sir James nodded. 

"I will do that, " he said. 

 * * * * *

The next day the bill was passed; and the party in the house at Charingsat sick at heart within doors, hearing the crowds roaring down thestreet, singing and shouting in triumph. Every cry tore their hearts;for was it not against Ralph's master and friend that they rejoiced? Asthey sat at supper a great battering broke out at the door that lookedon to the lane; and they sprang up to hear a drunken voice bellowing atthem to come out and shout for liberty. Nicholas went crimson withanger; and he made a movement towards the hall, his hand on his hilt. 

"Ah! sit down, Nick, " said the monk. "The drunken fool is away again. "

And they heard the steps reel on towards Westminster. 

 * * * * *

It was not until a fortnight later that they went at last to Lambeth. 

Sir James had been hard to persuade; but Beatrice had succeeded at last. Nicholas had professed himself ready to ask a favour of the devilhimself under the circumstances; and Chris himself continued to supportthe lawyer's opinion. He repeated his arguments again and again. 

Then it was necessary to make an appointment with the Archbishop; and aday was fixed at last. My Lord would see them, wrote a secretary, attwo o'clock on the afternoon of July the third. 

Beatrice sat through that long hot afternoon in the window-seat of theupstairs parlour, looking out over the wide river below, consciousperhaps for the first time of the vast weight of responsibility thatrested on her. 

She had seen them go off in a wherry, the father and son with Nicholasin the stern, and the lawyer facing them on the cross-bench; they hadbeen terribly silent as they walked down to the stairs; had stoodwaiting there without a word being spoken but by herself, as the wherrymade ready; and she had talked hopelessly, desperately, to relieve thetension. Then they had gone off. Sir James had looked back at her overhis shoulder as the boat put out; and she had seen his lips move. Shehad watched them grow smaller and smaller as they went, and then when abarge had come between her and them, she had gone home alone to wait fortheir return, and the tidings that they would bring. 

And she, in a sense was responsible for it all. If it had not been forher visit to Ralph, he would have handed the papers over to theauthorities; he would be at liberty now, no doubt, as were Cromwell'sother agents; and, as she thought of it, her tortured heart asked againand again whether after all she had done right. 

She went over the whole question, as she sat there, looking out over theriver towards Lambeth, fingering the shutter, glancing now and again atthe bent old figure of her aunt in her tall chair, and listening to therip of the needle through the silk. Could she have done otherwise? Washer interference and advice after all but a piece of mad chivalry, unnecessary and unpractical?

And yet she knew that she would do it again, if the same circumstancesarose. It would be impossible to do otherwise. Reason was against it;Mr. Herries had hinted as much with a quick lifting of his bushyeyebrows as she had told him the story. It would have made no differenceto Cromwell--ah! but she had not done it for that; it was for the sakeof Ralph himself; that he might not lose the one opportunity that cameto him of making a movement back towards the honour he had forfeited. 

But it was no less torture to think of it all, as she sat here. She hadfaced the question before; but now the misery she had watched duringthese last three weeks had driven it home. Day by day she had seen theold father's face grow lined and haggard as the suspense gnawed at hisheart; she had watched him at meals--had seen him sit in bewilderedgrief, striving for self-control and hope--had seen him, as the lightfaded in the parlour upstairs, sink deeper into himself; his eyes hiddenby his hand, and his grey pointed beard twitching at the trembling ofhis mouth. Once or twice she had met his eyes fixed on hers, in aquestioning stare, and had known what was in his heart--a simple, unreproachful wonder at the strange events that had made her sointimately responsible for his son's happiness. 

She thought of Margaret too, as she sat there; of the poor girl who hadso rested on her, believed in her, loved her. There she was now atOverfield, living in a nightmare of suspense, watching so eagerly forthe scanty letters, disappointed every time of the good news for whichshe hoped. .. . 

 * * * * *

The burden was an intolerable one. Beatrice was scarcely conscious ofwhere she sat or for what she waited. She was living over again everydetail of her relations with Ralph. She remembered how she had seen himat first at Chelsea; how he had come out with Master More from the doorof the New Building and across the grass. She had been twisting agrass-ring then as she listened to the talk, and had tossed it on to thedog's back. Then, day by day she had met him; he had come at all hours;and she had watched him, for she thought she had found a man. Sheremembered how her interest had deepened; how suddenly her heart hadleapt that evening when she came into the hall and found him sitting inthe dark. Then, step by step, the friendship had grown till it hadrevealed its radiant face at the bitterness of Chris's words in thehouse at Westminster. Then her life had become magical; all the worldcried "Ralph" to her; the trumpets she heard sounded to his praise; thesunsets had shone for him and her. Then came the news of the Visitors'work; and her heart had begun to question her insistently; the questionshad become affirmation; and in one passionate hour she had gone to him, scourged him with her tongue, and left him. She had seen him again onceor twice in the years that followed; had watched him from a window hungwith tapestries in Cheapside, as he rode down beside the King; and hadnot dared to ask herself what her heart so longed to tell her. Then hadcome the mother's question; and the falling of the veils. 

Then he had called her; she never doubted that; as she sat alone in herroom one evening. It had come, thin and piteous;--"Beatrice, Beatrice. "He needed her, and she had gone, and meddled with his life once more. 

And he lay in the Tower. .. . 

 * * * * *

"Beatrice, my child. "

She turned from the window, her eyes blind with tears; and in a momentwas kneeling at her aunt's side, her face buried in her lap, and feltthose kindly old hands passing over her hair. She heard a murmur overher head, but scarcely caught a word. There was but one thing sheneeded, and that--

Then she knelt suddenly upright listening, and the caressing hand wasstill. 

"Beatrice, my dear, Beatrice. "

 * * * * *

There were footsteps on the stairs outside, eager and urgent. The girlrose to her feet, and stood there, swaying a little with a restrainedexpectation. 

Then the door was open, and Chris was there, flushed and radiant, withthe level evening light full on his face. 

"It is all well, " he cried, "my Lord will take us to the King. "

CHAPTER X

PLACENTIA

The river-front of Greenwich House was a magnificent sight as the fourmen came up to it one morning nearly three weeks later. The longtwo-storied row of brick buildings which Henry had named Placentia, withtheir lines of windows broken by the two clusters of slender towers, andporticos beneath, were fronted by broad platforms and a strip of turfwith steps leading down to the water, and at each of these entrancesthere continually moved brilliant figures, sentries with the sunlightflashing on their steel caps and pike-points, servants in the royallivery, watermen in their blue and badges. 

Here and there at the foot of the steps rocked gaudy barges, a mass ofgilding and colour, with broad low canopies at the stern, and flagsdrooping at the prow; wherries moved to and fro, like water-beetles, shooting across from bank to bank with passengers, above and below thepalace, or pausing with uplifted oars as the stream swept them down, forthe visitors to stare and marvel at the great buildings. Behind rose upthe green masses of trees against the sloping park. And over all lay theJuly sky, solemn flakes of cloud drifting across a field of intenseblue. 

There had been a delay in the fulfilment of the Archbishop's promise; atone time he himself was away in the country on affairs, at another timethe King was too much pressed, Cranmer reported, to have such a matterbrought before him; and then suddenly a messenger had come across fromLambeth with a letter, bidding them present themselves at Greenwich onthe following morning; for the day following that had been fixed forCromwell's execution, and the Archbishop hoped that the King would beready to hear a word on behalf of the agent whose loyalty had failed tosave his master. 

 * * * * *

The boatman suddenly backed water with his left-hand oar, took a strokeor two with his right, glancing over his shoulder; and the boat slid upto the foot of the steps. 

A couple of watermen were already waiting there, in the Archbishop'slivery, and steadied the boat for the four gentlemen to step out; and amoment later the four were standing on the platform, looking about them. 

They were at one of the smaller entrances to the palace, up-stream. Ahundred yards further down was the royal entrance, canopied andcarpeted, with the King's barge rocking at the foot, a number ofservants coming and going on the platform, and the great state windowsoverlooking all; but here they were in comparative quiet. A smalldoorway with its buff and steel-clad sentry before it opened on theirright into the interior of the palace. 

One of the watermen saluted the party. 

"Master Torridon?" he said. 

Chris assented. 

"My Lord bade me take you through to him, sir, as soon as you arrived. "

He went before them to the door, said a word to the guard, and then theparty passed on through the little entrance-hall into the interior. Thecorridor was plainly and severely furnished with matting under-foot, chairs here and there set along the wainscot, pieces of stuff withcrossed pikes between hanging on the walls; through the bow windowsthey caught a glimpse now and again of a little court or two, ashrubbery and a piece of lawn, and once a vista of the park where Henryin his younger days used to hold his May-revels, a gallant and princelyfigure all in green from cap to shoes, breakfasting beneath the trees. 

Continually, as they went, first in the corridor and then through thewaiting rooms at the end, they passed others going to and fro, servantshurrying on messages, leisurely and magnificent persons with their hatson, pages standing outside closed doors; and twice they were asked theirbusiness. 

"For my Lord of Canterbury, " answered the waterman each time. 

It seemed to Chris that they must have gone an immense distance beforethe waterman at last stopped, motioning them to go on, and a page inpurple livery stepped forward from a door. 

"For my Lord of Canterbury, " said the waterman for the last time. 

The page bowed, turned, and threw open the door. 

They found themselves in a square parlour, carpeted and hung withtapestries from floor to ceiling. A second door opened beyond, in thewindow side, into another room. A round table stood in the centre, withbrocaded chairs about it, and a long couch by the fireplace. Oppositerose up the tall windows through which shone the bright river with thetrees and buildings on the north bank beyond. 

They had hardly spoken a word to one another since they had leftCharing, for all that was possible had been said during the weeks ofwaiting for the Archbishop's summons. 

Cranmer had received them kindly, though he had not committed himselfbeyond promising to introduce them to the King, and had expressed noopinion on the case. 

He had listened to them courteously, had nodded quietly as Chrisexplained what it was that Ralph had done, and then almost withoutcomment had given his promise. It seemed as if the Archbishop could noteven form an opinion, and still less express one, until he had heardwhat his Highness had to say. 

 * * * * *

Chris walked to the window and the lawyer followed him. 

"Placentia!" said Mr. Herries, "I do not wonder at it. It is even morepleasing from within. "

He stood, a prim, black figure, looking out at the glorious view, theshining waterway studded with spots of colour, the long bank of theriver opposite, and the spires of London city lying in a blue heat-hazefar away to the left. 

Chris stared at it too, but with unseeing eyes. It seemed as if allpower of sensation had left him. The suspense of the last weeks hadcorroded the surfaces of his soul, and the intensity to which it was nowrising seemed to have paralysed what was left. He found himselfpicturing the little house at Charing where Beatrice was waiting, and, he knew, praying; and he reminded himself that the next time he saw herhe would know all, whether death or life was to be Ralph's sentence. Thesolemn quiet and the air of rich and comfortable tranquillity which thepalace wore, and which had impressed itself on his mind even in thehundred yards he had walked in it, gave him an added sense of what itwas that lay over his brother, the huge passionless forces with which hehad become entangled. 

Then he turned round. His father was sitting at the table, his head onhis hand; and Nicholas was staring round the grave room with thesolemnity of a child, looking strangely rustic and out of place in thesesurroundings. 

It was very quiet as Chris leaned against the window-shutter, in hissecular habit, with his hands clasped behind his back, and looked. Oncea footstep passed in the corridor outside, and the floor vibratedslightly to the tread; once a horn blew somewhere far away; and from theriver now and again came the cry of a waterman, or the throb of oars inrowlocks. 

Sir James looked up once, opened his lips as if to speak; and thendropped his head on to his hand again. 

The waiting seemed interminable. 

Chris turned round to the window once more, slipped his breviary out ofhis pocket, and opened it. He made the sign of the cross and began--

_"In nomine Patris et Filii. .. . "_

Then the second door opened; he turned back abruptly; there was a rustleof silk, and the Archbishop came through in his habit and gown. 

Chris bowed slightly as the prelate went past him briskly towards thetable where Sir James was now standing up, and searched his featureseagerly for an omen. There was nothing to be read there; his smoothlarge-eyed face was smiling quietly as its manner was, and his wide lipswere slightly parted. 

"Good-day, Master Torridon; you are in good time. I am just come fromHis Highness, and will take you to him directly. "

Chris saw his father's face blanch a little as he bowed in return. Nicholas merely stared. 

"But we have a few minutes, " went on the Archbishop. "Sir ThomasWriothesly is with him. Tell me again sir, what you wish me to say. "

Sir James looked hesitatingly to the lawyer. 

"Mr. Herries, " he said. 

Cranmer turned round, and again made that little half-deprecating bow tothe priest and the lawyer. Mr. Herries stepped forward as Cranmer satdown, clasping his hands so that the great amethyst showed on hisslender finger. 

"It is this, my Lord, " he said, "it is as we told your Lordship atLambeth. This gentleman desires the King's clemency towards Mr. RalphTorridon, now in the Tower. Mr. Torridon has served--er--Mr. Cromwellvery faithfully. We wish to make no secret of that. He destroyed certainprivate papers--though that cannot be proved against him, and you willremember that we were doubtful whether his Highness should be informedof that--"

Sir James broke in suddenly. 

"I have been thinking of that, my Lord. I would sooner that the King'sGrace knew everything. I have no wish that that should be kept fromhim. "

The Archbishop who had been looking with smiling attention from one tothe other, now himself broke in. 

"I am glad you think that, sir. I think so myself. Though it cannot beproved as you say, it is far best that His Grace should know all. IndeedI think I should have told him in any case. "

"Then, my Lord, if you think well, " went on Mr. Herries, "you might laybefore his Grace that this is a free and open confession. Mr. Torridondid burn papers, and important ones; but they would not have servedanything. Master Cromwell was cast without them. "

"But Mr. Torridon did not know that?" questioned the Archbishop blandly. 

"Yes, my Lord, " cried Sir James, "he must have known--that my LordCromwell--"

The Archbishop lifted his hand delicately. 

"Master Cromwell, " he corrected. 

"Master Cromwell, " went on the old man, "he must have known that Mr. Cromwell had others, more important, that would be certainly found andused against him. "

"Then why did he burn them? You understand, sir, that I only wish toknow what I have to say to his Grace. "

"He burned them, my Lord, because he could not bear that his hand shouldbe lifted against his master. Surely that is but loyal and good!"

The Archbishop nodded quietly three or four times. 

"And you desire that his Grace will take order to have Mr. Torridonreleased?"

"That is it, my Lord, " said the lawyer. 

"Yes, I understand. And can you give any pledge for Mr. Torridon's goodbehaviour?"

"He has served Mr. Cromwell, " answered the lawyer, "very well for manyyears. He has been with him in the matter of the Religious Houses; hewas one of the King's Visitors, and assisted in the--the destruction ofLewes priory; and that, my Lord, is a sufficient--"

Sir James gave a sudden sob. 

"Mr. Herries, Mr. Herries--"

Cranmer turned to him smiling. 

"I know what you feel, sir, " he said. "But if this is true--"

"Why, it is true! God help him, " cried the old man. 

"Then that is what we need, sir; as you said just now. Yes, Mr. Herries?"

The lawyer glanced at the old man again. 

"That is sufficient guarantee, my Lord, that Mr. Ralph Torridon is noenemy of his Grace's projects. "

"I cannot bear that!" cried Sir James. 

Nicholas, who had been looking awed and open-mouthed from one to theother, took him by the arm. 

"You must, father, " he said. "It--it is devilish; but it is true. Chris, have you nothing?"

The monk came forward a step. 

"It is true, my Lord, " he said. "I was a monk of Lewes myself. "

"And you have conformed, " put in the Archbishop swiftly. 

"I am living at home peaceably, " said Chris; "it is true that my brotherdid all this, but--but my father wishes that it should not be used inhis cause. "

"If it is true, " said the Archbishop, "it is best to say it. We wantnothing but the bare truth. "

"But I cannot bear it, " cried the old man again. 

Chris came round behind the Archbishop to his father. 

"Will you leave it, father, to my Lord Archbishop? My Lord understandswhat we think. "

Sir James looked at him, dazed and bewildered. 

"God help us! Do you think so, Chris. "

"I think so, father. My Lord, you understand all?"

The Archbishop's bowed again slightly. 

"Then, my Lord, we will leave it all in your hands. "

There was a tap at the door. 

The Archbishop rose. 

"That is our signal, " he said. "Come, gentlemen, his Grace will be readyimmediately. "

Mr. Herries sprang to the door and opened it, bowing as the Archbishopwent through, followed by Sir James and Nicholas. He and Chris followedafter. 

 * * * * *

There was a kind of dull recklessness in the monk's heart as he wentthrough. He knew that he was in more peril than any of the others, andyet he did not fear it. The faculty of fear had been blunted, notsharpened, by his experiences; and he passed on towards the King'spresence, almost without a tremor. 

The room was empty, except for a page by the further door, who opened itas the party advanced; and beyond was a wide lobby, with doors allround, and a staircase on the right as they came out. The Archbishopmade a little motion to the others as he went up, gathering his skirtsabout him, and acknowledging with his disengaged hand the salute of thesentry that stood in the lobby. 

At the top of the stairs was a broad landing; then a corridor throughwhich they passed, and on. They turned to the left, and as they went itwas apparent that they were near the royal apartments. There were thickleather rugs lying here and there; along the walls stood magnificentpieces of furniture, inlaid tables with tall dragon-jars upon them, suits of Venetian armour elaborately worked in silver, and at the doorof every room that opened on the corridor there was standing a sentry ora servant, who straightened themselves at the sight of the Archbishop. He carefully acknowledged each salutation, and nodded kindly once ortwice. 

There was a heavy odour in the air, warm and fragrant, as of mingledstuffs and musk, which even the wide windows set open towards the gardenon the right hand did not wholly obliterate. 

For the first time since leaving Charing, Chris's heart quickened. Theslow stages of approach to the formidable presence had begun to do theirwork; if he had seen the King at once he would not have been moved; ifhe had had an hour longer, he would have recovered from his emotion; butthis swift ordered approach, the suggestiveness of the thick carpetsand furniture, the sight of the silent figures waiting, the musky smellin the air, all combined now to work upon him; he began to fancy that hewas drawing nearer the presence of some great carrion-beast that hadmade its den here, that was guarded by these discreet servitors, and towhich this smooth prelate, in the rôle of the principal keeper, wasguiding him. Any of these before him might mark the sanctuary of thelabyrinth, where the creature lurked; one might open, and a savage facelook out, dripping blood and slaver. 

A page threw back a door at last, and they passed through; but againthere was a check. It was but one more waiting room. The dozen persons, folks of all sorts, a lawyer, a soldier, and others stood up and bowedto the prelate. 

Then the party sat down near the further door in dead silence, and theminutes began to pass. 

There were cries from the river once or twice as they waited; once afootstep vibrated through the door, and twice a murmur of voices soundedand died again. 

Then suddenly a hand was laid on the handle from the other side, and theArchbishop rose, with Sir James beside him. 

There was still a pause. Then a voice sounded loud and near, and therewas a general movement in the room as all rose to their feet. The doorswung open and the Garter King-at-Arms came through, bland and smiling, his puffed silk sleeves brushing against the doorpost as he passed. Aface like a mask, smooth and expressionless, followed him, and nodded tothe Archbishop. 

Cranmer turned slightly to his party, again made that little movement, and went straight through. 

Chris followed with Mr. Herries. 

CHAPTER XI

THE KING'S HIGHNESS

As Chris knelt with the others, and the door closed behind him, he wasaware of a great room with a tall window looking on to the river on hisleft, tapestry-hung walls, a broad table heaped with papers in thecentre, a high beamed ceiling, and the thick carpet under his knees. 

For a moment he did not see the King. The page who had beckoned them inhad passed across the room, and Chris's eyes followed him out through aninner door in the corner. 

Then, still on his knees, he turned his eyes to see the Archbishop goingtowards the window, and up the step that led on to the dais thatoccupied the floor of the oriel. 

Then he saw the King. 

 * * * * *

A great figure was seated opposite the side door at which they hadentered on the broad seat that ran round the three sides of the window. The puffed sleeves made the shoulders look enormous; a gold chain layacross them, with which the gross fingers were playing. Beneath, thevast stomach swelled out into the slashed trunks, and the scarlet legswere crossed one over the other. On the head lay a broad plumed velvetcap, and beneath it was the wide square face, at once jovial and solemn, with the narrow slits of eyes above, and the little pursed mouth fringedby reddish hair below, that Chris remembered in the barge years before. The smell of musk lay heavy in the air. 

Here was the monstrous carrion-beast then at last, sunning himself andwaiting. 

 * * * * *

So the party rested a moment or two, while the Archbishop went across tothe dais; he knelt again and then stood up and said a word or tworapidly that Chris could not hear. 

Henry nodded, and turned his bright narrow eyes on to them; and thenmade a motion with his hand. The Archbishop turned round and repeatedthe gesture; and Chris rose in his place as did the others. 

"Master Torridon, your Grace, " explained the Archbishop, with adeferential stoop of his shoulders. "Your Grace will remember--"

The King nodded abruptly, and thrust his hand out. 

Chris touched his father behind. 

"Go forward, " he whispered; "kiss hands. "

The old man went forward a hesitating step or two. The Archbishopmotioned sharply, and Sir James advanced again up to the dais, sankdown, and lifted the hand to his lips, and fell back for the others. 

When Chris's turn came, and he lifted the heavy fingers, he noticed fora moment a wonderful red stone on the thumb, and recognised it. It wasthe Regal of France that he had seen years before at his visit to St. Thomas's shrine at Canterbury. In a flash, too, he remembered Cromwell'screst as he had seen it on the papers at Lewes--the demi-lion holding upthe red-gemmed ring. 

Then he too had fallen back, and the Archbishop was speaking. 

"Your Grace will remember that there is a Mr. Ralph Torridon in theTower--an agent of Mr. Cromwell's--"

The King's face moved slightly, but he said nothing. 

--"Who is awaiting trial for destroying evidence. It is that, at least, your Grace, that is asserted against him. But it has not been proved. Master Torridon here tells me, your Highness, that it cannot be proved, but that he wishes to acknowledge it freely on his son's behalf. "

Henry's eyes shot back again at the old man, ran over the others, andsettled again on Cranmer's face, who was standing beside him with hisback to the window. 

"He is here to plead for your Grace's clemency. He wishes to lay beforeyour Grace that his son erred through over-faithfulness to Mr. Cromwell's cause; and above all that the evidence so destroyed has notaffected the course of justice--"

"God's Body!" jarred in the harsh voice suddenly, "it has not. Nor shallit. "

Cranmer waited a moment with downcast eyes; but the King was silentagain. 

"Master Torridon has persuaded me to come with him to your Grace tospeak for him. He is not accustomed--"

"And who are these fellows?"

Chris felt those keen eyes running over him. 

"This is Master Nicholas Maxwell, " explained the Archbishop, indicatinghim. "Master Torridon's son-in-law; and this, Mr. Herries--"

"And the priest?" asked the King. 

"The priest is Sir Christopher Torridon, living with his father atOverfield. "

"Ha! has he always lived there then?"

"No, your Grace, " said Cranmer smoothly, "he was a monk at Lewes untilthe dissolution of the house. "

"I have heard somewhat of his name, " mused Henry. "What is it, sir, thatI have beard of you?"

"It was perhaps Mr. Ralph Torridon's name that your Grace--" beganCranmer. 

"Nay, nay, it was not. What was it, sir?"

Chris's heart was beating in his ears like a drum now. It had come, then, that peril that had always been brooding on the horizon, and whichhe had begun to despise. He had thought that there could be no danger inhis going to the King; it was so long since Lewes had fallen, and hisown part had been so small. But his Grace's memory was good, it seemed!Danger was close to him, incarnate in that overwhelming presence. Hesaid nothing, but stood awaiting detection. 

"It is strange, " said Henry. "I have forgot. Well, my Lord?"

"I have told your Grace all, " explained the Archbishop. "Mr. RalphTorridon has not yet been brought to trial, and his father hopes thatyour Grace will take into consideration these two things: that it was amistake of over-faithfulness that his son committed; and that it has nothindered the course of justice. "

"Well, well, " said Henry, "and that sounds to be in reason. We have nonetoo much of either faithfulness or justice in these days. And there isno other charge against the fellow?"

"There is no other charge, your Grace. "

There fell a complete silence for a moment or two. 

Chris glanced up at his father, his own heart uplifted by hope, and sawthe old man's face trembling with it too. The wrinkled eyes were full oftears, and his lips quivered; and Chris could feel the short cloak thathung against him shaking at his hand. Nicholas's crimson face showed amingling of such emotion and solemnity that Chris was seized with aninternal hysterical spasm; but it suddenly died within him as hebrought his eyes round, and saw that the King was staring at himmoodily. .. . 

The Archbishop's voice broke in again. 

"Are we to understand, your Grace, that your Grace's clemency isextended to Mr. Ralph Torridon?"

"Eh! then, " said the King peevishly, "hold your tongue, my Lord. I amtrying to remember. Where is Michael?"

"Shall I call him, your Grace?"

"Nay, then; let the lawyer ring the bell!"

Mr. Herries sprang to the table at the King's gesture, and struck thelittle hand-bell that stood there. The door where the page haddisappeared five minutes before opened silently, and the servant stoodthere. 

"Michael, " said the King, and the page vanished. 

There was an uncomfortable silence. Cranmer stood back a little with anair of patient deference, and his quick eyes glanced up now and again atthe party before him. There was a certain uneasiness in his manner, asChris could see; but the monk presently dropped his eyes again, as hesaw that the King was once more looking at him keenly, with tight pursedlips, and a puzzled look on his forehead. 

The thoughts began to race through Chris's brain. He found himselfpraying with desperate speed that Michael, whoever he was, might notknow; and that the King might not remember; and meanwhile throughanother part of his being ran the thought of the irony of his situation. Here he was, come to plead for his brother's life, and on the brink ofhaving to plead for his own. The quiet room increased his sense of theirony. It seemed so safe and strong and comfortable, up here in the richroom, with the tall window looking on to the sunlit river, in a palacegirt about with guards; and yet the very security of it was his danger. He had penetrated into the stronghold of the great beast that ruledEngland: he was within striking distance of those red-stained claws andteeth. 

Then suddenly the creature stirred and snarled. 

"I know it now, sir. You were one of the knaves that would not sign thesurrender of Lewes. "

Chris lifted his eyes and dropped them again. 

"God's Body, " said the King, "and you come here!"

Again there was silence. 

Chris saw his father half turn towards him with a piteous face, andperceived that the lawyer had drawn a little away. 

The King turned abruptly to Cranmer. 

"Did you know this, my Lord?"

"Before God, I did not!"--but his voice shook as he answered. 

Chris was gripping his courage, and at last spoke. 

"We were told it was a free-will act, your Grace. "

Henry said nothing to this. His eyes were rolling up and down the monk'sfigure, with tight, thoughtful lips. Cranmer looked desperately at SirJames. 

"I did not know that, your Grace, " he said again. "I only knew that thispriest's brother had been very active in your Grace's business. "

Henry turned sharply. 

"Eh?" he said. 

Sir James's hands rose and clasped themselves instinctively. Cranmeragain looked at him almost fiercely. 

"Mr. Ralph Torridon was one of the Visitors, " explained the Archbishopnervously. 

"And this fellow a monk!" cried the King. 

"They must have met at Lewes, your Grace. "

"Ah! my Lord, " cried Sir James suddenly. "I entreated you--"

Henry turned on him suddenly. 

"Tell us the tale, sir. What is all this?"

Sir James took a faltering step forward, and then suddenly threw out hishands. 

"Ah! your Grace, it is a bitter tale for a father to tell. It is true, all of it. My son here was a monk at Lewes. He would not sign thesurrender. I--I approved him for it. I--I was there when my son Ralphcast him out--"

"God's blood!" cried the King with a beaming face. "The one brother castthe other out!"

Chris saw the Archbishop's face suddenly lighten as he watched the Kingsideways. 

"But I cannot bear that he should be saved for that!" went on the oldman piteously. "He was a good servant to your Grace, but a bad one toour Lord--"

The Archbishop drew a swift breath of horror, and his hands jerked. ButHenry seemed not to hear; his little mouth had opened in a round hole ofamazed laughter, and he was staring at the old man without hearing him. 

"And you were there?" he said. "And your wife? And your aunts andsisters?"

"My wife is dead, " cried the old man. "Your Grace--"

"And on which side was she?"

"She was--was on your Grace's side. "

Henry threw himself back in his chair. 

 * * * * *

For one moment Chris did not know whether it was wrath or laughter thatshook him. His face grew crimson, and his narrow eyes disappeared intoshining slits; his fat hands were on his knees, and his great bodyshook. From his round open mouth came silent gusts of quick breath, andhe began to sway a little from side to side. 

Across the Archbishop's face came a deferential and sympathetic smile, and he looked quickly and nervously from the King to the group and backagain. Sir James had fallen back a pace at the King's laughter, andstood rigid and staring. Chris took a step close to him and gripped hishand firmly. 

There was a footstep behind, and the King leaned forward again, wipingthe tears away with his sleeve. 

"Oh, Michael, Michael!" he sobbed, "here is a fine tale. "

A dark-dressed man stepped forward from behind, and stood expectant. 

"God! What a happy family!" said the King. "And this fellow here?"

He motioned towards Nicholas, with a feeble gesture. He was still weakwith laughter. 

The young squire moved forward a step, rigid and indignant. 

"I am against your Grace, " he said sharply. 

Henry grew suddenly grave. 

"Eh! that is no way to speak, " he said. 

"It is the only way I can speak, " said Nicholas, "if your Grace desiresthe truth. "

The King looked at him a moment; but the humour still shone in his eyes. 

"Well, well. It is the truth I want. Michael, I sent for you to knowabout the priest here; but I know now. And is it true that his brotherin the Tower--Ralph Torridon--was one of the Visitors?"

The man pursed his lips a moment. He was standing close to Chris, alittle in front of him. 

"Yes, your Majesty. "

"Oh! well. We must let him out, I suppose--if there is nothing moreagainst him. You shall tell me presently, Michael. "

The Archbishop looked swiftly across at the party. 

"Then your Grace extends--"

"Well, Michael, what is it?" interrupted the King. 

"It is a matter your Majesty might wish to hear in private, " said thestranger. 

"Oh, step aside, my Lord. And you, gentlemen. "

The King motioned down to the further end of the room, as Michael cameforward. 

The Archbishop stepped off the low platform, and led the way down thefloor; and the others followed. 

 * * * * *

Chris was in a whirl of bewilderment. He could see the King's great faceinterested and attentive as the secretary said something in his ear, andthen suddenly light up with amusement again. 

"Not a word, not a word, " whispered Henry harshly. "Very good, Michael. "

The secretary then whispered once more. Chris could hear the sharpsibilants, but no word. The King nodded once more, and the man steppeddown off the dais. 

"Prepare the admission, then, " said the King after him. 

The secretary bowed as he turned and went out of the room once more. 

Henry beckoned. 

"Come, gentlemen. "

He watched them with a solemn joviality as they came up, the Archbishopin front, the father and son together, and the two others behind. 

"You are a sad crew, " began the King, eyeing them pleasantly, andsitting forward with a hand on either knee, "and I am astonished, myLord of Canterbury, at your companying with them. But we will havemercy, and remember your son's services, Master Torridon, in the past. That alone will excuse him. Remember that. That alone. He is thestronger man, if he turned out the priest there. And I remember your sonvery well, too; and will forgive him. But I shall not employ him again. And his forgiveness shall cover yours, Master Priest; but you must beoff--you must be off, sir, " he barked suddenly, "out of these realms ina week. We will have no more treason from you. "

The fierce overpowering personality flared out as he spoke, and Chrisfelt his heart beat sick at the force of it. 

"And you two gentlemen, " went on the King, still smouldering, "you twohad best hold your tongues. We will not hear such talk in our presenceor out of it. But we will excuse it now. There, sir, have I saidenough?"

Sir James dropped abruptly on his knees. 

"Oh! God bless your Grace!" he began, with the tears running down. 

Henry made an abrupt gesture. 

"You shall go to your son, " he said, "and see how he fares, and tell himthis. And she shall have the order of release presently, from me oranother. "

Again the little mouth creased and twitched with amusement. 

"And I hope he will be happy with his mother. You may tell him that fromme. "

The Archbishop looked up. 

"Mistress Torridon is dead, your Grace, " he said softly andquestioningly. 

"Oh, well, " said the King; and thrust out his hand to be kissed. 

 * * * * *

Chris did not know how they got out of the room. They kissed handsagain; the old man muttered out his thanks; but he seemed bewildered bythe rush of events, and the supreme surprise. Chris, as he backed awayfrom the presence, saw for the last time those narrow royal eyes fixedon him, still bright with amusement and expectancy, and the greatred-fringed cheeks creased about the tiny mouth with an effort to keepback laughter. Why was the King laughing, he wondered?

They waited a few minutes in the ante-room for the order that theArchbishop had whispered to them should be sent out immediately. Theysaid nothing to one another--but the three sat close, looking into oneanother's eyes now and again in astonishment and joy, while Mr. Herriesstood a little apart solemn and happy at the importance of the rôle hehad played in the whole affair, and disdaining even to look at the restof the company who sat on chairs and watched the party. 

The secretary came to them in a few minutes, and handed them the order. 

"My Lord of Canterbury is detained, " he said; "he bade me tell yougentlemen that he could not see you again. "

Sir James was standing up and examining the order. 

"For four?" he said. 

"Why, yes, " said the secretary, and glanced at the four men. 

Chris put his hand on his father's arm. 

"It is all well, " he whispered, "say nothing more. It will do forBeatrice. "

CHAPTER XII

THE TIDINGS AT THE TOWER

They debated as they stood on the steps in the sunlight five minuteslater, as to whether they should go straight to the Tower, or back toCharing and take Beatrice with them. They spoke softly to one another, as men that have come out from darkness to light, bewildered by thesense of freedom and freshness that lay round them. Instead of themusk-scented rooms, the formidable dominating presence, the suspense andthe terror, the river laughed before them, the fresh summer breeze blewup it, and above all Ralph was free, and that, not only of his prison, but of his hateful work. It had all been done in those few sentences;but as yet they could not realise it; and they regarded it, as theyregarded the ripples at their feet, the lapping wherry, and far-offLondon city, as a kind of dazzling picture which would by and bye befound to move and live. 

The lawyer congratulated them, and they smiled back and thanked him. 

"If you will put me to shore at London Bridge, " said Mr. Herries--"Ihave a little business I might do there--that is, if you will be goingso far. "

Chris looked at his father, whose arm he was holding. 

"We must take her with us, " he said. "She has earned it. "

Sir James nodded, dreamily, and turned to the boat. 

"To the London Bridge Stairs first, " he said. 

 * * * * *

There was a kind of piquant joy in their hearts as they crept up pastthe Tower, and saw its mighty walls and guns across the water. He wasthere, but it was not for long. They would see him that day, andto-morrow--to-morrow at the latest, they would all leave it together. 

There were a hundred plans in the old man's mind, as he leaned gentlyforward and back to the motion of the boat and stared at the brightwater. Ralph and he should live at Overfield again; his son would surelybe changed by all that had come to him, and above all by his ownresponse to the demands of loyalty. They should learn to understand oneanother better now--better than ever before. The hateful life lay behindthem of distrust and contempt; Ralph would come back to his old self, and be again as he had been ten years back before he had been dazzledand drugged by the man who was to die next day. Then he thought of thatman, and half-pitied him even then; those strong walls held nothing butterror for him--terror and despair; the scaffold was already going up onTower Hill--and as the old man thought of it he leaned forward and triedto see over the wharf and under the trees where the rising ground lay;but there was nothing to be seen--the foliage hid it. 

Chris, also silent beside him, was full of thoughts. He would go abroadnow, he knew, with Margaret, as they had intended. The King's order wasthe last sign of God's intention for him. He would place Margaret withher own sisters at Bruges, and then himself go on to Dom Anthony andtake up the life again. He knew he would meet some of his old brethrenin Religion--Dom Anthony had written to say that three or four hadalready joined him at Cluny; the Prior--he knew--had turned his back forever on the monastic life, and had been put into a prebendal stall atLincoln. 

And meanwhile he would have the joy of knowing that Ralph was free ofhis hateful business; the King would not employ him again; he would liveat home now, and rule Overfield well: he and his father together. Ah!and what if Beatrice consented to rule it with him! Surely now--Heturned and looked at his father as he thought of it, and their eyes met. 

Chris leaned a little closer. 

"Beatrice!" he said. "What if she--?"

The old man nodded tenderly, and his drawn eyes shone in his face. 

"Oh! Chris--I was thinking that--"

Then Nicholas came out of his maze. 

Ever since his entrance into the palace, except when he had flared outat the King, he had moved and stood and sat in a solemn bewilderment. The effect of the changed atmosphere had been to paralyse his simple andsturdy faculties; and his face had grown unintelligent during theprocess. More than once Chris had been seized with internal laughter, inspite of the tragedy; the rustic squire was so strangely incongruouswith the situation. But he awoke now. 

"God bless me!" he said wonderingly. "It is all over and done. God--"

Chris gave a short yelp of laughter. 

"Dear Nick, " he said, "yes. God bless you indeed! You spoke up well!"

"Did I do right, sir, " said the other to Sir James, "I could not helpit. I--"

"Oh! Nick, " said the old man, and leaned forward and put his hand on hisknee. 

Nicholas preened himself as he sat there; he would tell Mary how he hadbearded his Majesty, and what a diplomatist was her husband. 

"You did very well, sir, " put in Mr. Herries ironically. "You terrifiedhis Grace, I think. "

Chris glanced at the lawyer; but Nicholas took it all with the greatestcomplacency; tilted his hilt a little forward, smoothed his doublet, andsat smiling and well-pleased. 

They reached the Stairs presently and put Mr. Herries ashore. 

"I will be at your house to-morrow, sir, " he said, "when you go to takeMr. Ralph out of prison. The order will be there by the morning, I makeno doubt. "

He bowed and smiled and moved off, a stiff figure deliberately pickingits way up the oozy steps to the crowded street overhead. 

 * * * * *

Beatrice's face was at the window as they came up the tide half-an-hourlater. Chris stood up in the wherry, when he saw it, and waved his capfuriously, and the face disappeared. 

She was at the landing stage before they reached it, a slender brilliantfigure in her hood and mantle, with her aunt beside her. Chris stood upagain and cried between his hands across the narrowing space that allwas well; and her face was radiant as the boat slipped up to the side, and balanced there with the boatman's hand on the stone edging. 

"It is all well, " said Chris again as he stood by her a moment later. "He is to go free, and we are to tell him. "

He dared not look at her; but he was aware that she stood very still andrigid, and that her eyes were on his father's. 

"Oh! Mistress Beatrice--"

Chris began to understand it all a little better, a few minutes later, as the boat was once again on its way downstream. He and Nicholas hadmoved to the bows of the wherry, and the girl and the old man sat alonein the stern. 

They were all very silent at first; Chris leaned on his elbow and staredout at the sliding banks, the trees on this side and that, the greathouses with their high roofs and towers behind, and their stone steps infront, the brilliant glare on the water, the hundreds of boats--greatbarges flashing jewels from their dozen blades, spidery wherries makingthis way and that; and his mind was busy weaving pictures. He saw it allnow; there had been that in Beatrice's face during the moment he hadlooked at her, that was more than sympathy. In the shock of that greatjoy the veils had fallen, and her soul had looked out through her blacktearful eyes. 

There was little doubt now as to what would happen. It was not for theirsake alone, or for Ralph's, that she had looked like that; she had notsaid one word, but he knew what was unspoken. 

As they passed under London Bridge he turned a little and looked acrossthe boatmen's shoulder at the two as they sat there in the stern, andwhat he saw confirmed him. The old man had flung an arm along the backof the seat, and was leaning a little forward, talking in a low voice, his face showing indeed the lines and wrinkles that had deepened morethan ever during these last weeks, but irradiated with an extraordinaryjoy. And the girl was beside him, smiling with downcast eyes, turning aquick look now and again as she sat there. Chris could see her scarletlips trembling, and her hands clasped on her knee, shifting a little nowand again as she listened. It was a strange wooing; the father courtingfor the son, and the woman answering the son through the father; andChris understood what was the answer that she was giving. 

Nicholas was watching it too; and presently the two in the stern lookedup suddenly; first Beatrice and then Sir James, and their eyes flashedjoy across and across as the four souls met. 

 * * * * *

Five minutes later again they were at the Tower Stairs. 

Mr. Morris, who had been sent on by Mistress Jane Atherton when she hadheard the news, was there holding his horse by the bridle; and behindhim had collected a little crowd of idlers. He gave the bridle to one ofthem, and came down the steps to help them out of the boat. 

"You have heard?" said Chris as he stepped out last. 

"Yes, father, " said the servant. 

Chris looked at him; and his mask-like face too seemed strangely lightedup. There was still across his cheek the shadow of a mark as of an oldwhip-cut. 

As they passed up the steps they became aware that the little crowd thathad waited at the top was only the detached fringe of a multitude thathad assembled further up the slope. It stretched under the trees as faras they could see to right and left, from the outer wall of the Tower onthe one side, to where the rising ground on the left was hidden underthe thick foliage in the foreground. There was a murmur of talking andlaughter, the ringing of hand-bells, the cracking of whips and the criesof children. The backs of the crowd were turned to the steps: there wasplainly something going on higher up the slope, and it seemed somewhataway to the left. 

For a moment Chris did not understand, and he turned to Morris. 

"What is it?" he asked. 

"The scaffold, " said the servant tersely. 

At the same moment high above the murmur of the crowd came the sound ofheavy resounding blows, as of wood on wood. 

Then Chris remembered; and for one moment he sickened as he walked. Hisfather turned and looked over his shoulder as he went with Beatrice infront, and his eyes were eloquent. 

"I had forgotten, " said Chris softly. "God help him!"

 * * * * *

They turned in towards the right almost immediately to the low outergate of the fortress; and those for the first time remembered that theorder they carried was for four only. 

Nicholas instantly offered to wait outside and let Morris go in. Morrisflatly refused. There was a short consultation, and then Nicholas wentup to the sentry on guard with the order in his hand. 

The man looked at it, glanced at the party, and then turned and knockedwith his halberd on the great door behind, and in a minute or two anofficer came out in his buff and feathers. He took the order and ran hiseyes over it. 

Nicholas explained. 

The officer looked at him a moment without answering. 

"And the lady too?" he said. 

"Why, yes, " said Nicholas. 

"The lady wishes--" then he broke off. "You will have to see theLieutenant, " he went on. "I can let you all through to his lodgings. "

They passed in with a yeoman to conduct them under the low heavyvaulting and through to the open way beyond. On their right was the wallbetween them and the river, and on their left the enormous towers andbattlements of the inner court. 

Chris walked with Morris behind, remembering the last time he was herewith the Prior all those years before. They had walked silently then, too, but for another reason. 

They passed the low Traitor's Gate on their right; Chris glanced at thegreen lapping water beneath it as he went--Ralph had landed there--andturned up the steep slope to the left under the gateway of the innercourt; and in a minute or two more were at the door of the Lieutenant'slodgings. 

There seemed a strange suggestiveness in the silence and order of thewide ward that lay before them. The great White Tower dominated thewhole place on the further side, huge and menacing, pierced by itsnarrow windows set at wide intervals; on the left, the row of towersused as prisons diminished in perspective down to where the wall turnedat right angles and ran in behind the keep; and the great space enclosedby the whole was almost empty. There were soldiers on guard here andthere at the doorways; a servant hurried across the wide sunlit ground, and once, as they waited, a doctor in his short gown came out of onedoor and disappeared into another. 

And here they waited for an answer to their summons, silent and happy intheir knowledge. The place held no terrors for them. 

The soldier knocked again impatiently, and again stood aside. 

Chris saw Nicholas sidle up to the man with something of the same awe onhis face that had been there an hour ago. 

"My Lord--Master Cromwell?" he heard him whisper, correcting himself. 

The man jerked a thumb over his shoulder. 

"There, " he said. 

There were three soldiers, Chris noticed, standing at the foot of one ofthe Towers a little distance off. It was there, then, that ThomasCromwell, wool-carder, waited for death, hearing, perhaps, from hiswindow the murmur of the crowd beyond the moat, and the blows of malleton wood as his scaffold went up. 

Then the door opened, and after a word or two the soldier motioned themin. 

 * * * * *

Again they had to wait. 

The Lieutenant, they were told, had been called away. He was expectedback presently. 

They sat down, still in silence, in the little ground-floor parlour. Itwas a pleasant little room, with a wide hearth, and two windows lookingon to the court. 

But the suspense was not like that of the morning. Now they knew how itmust end. There would be a few minutes more, long perhaps to Ralph, ashe sat in his cell somewhere not far from them, knowing nothing of thepardon that was on its way; and then the door would open, where day byday for the last six weeks the gaoler had come and gone; and the faceshe knew would be there, and it would be from their lips that he wouldhear the message. 

The old man and the girl still sat together in the window-seat, silentnow like the others. They had had their explanations in the boat, andeach knew what was in the other's heart. Chris and Nicholas stood by thehearth, Mr. Morris by the door; and there was not the tremor of a doubtin any of them as to what the future held. 

Chris looked tranquilly round the room, at the little square table inthe centre, the four chairs drawn close to it, with their brocadepanels stained and well-worn showing at the back, the dark ceiling, thepiece of tapestry that hung over the side-table between the doors--itwas a martial scene, faded and discoloured, with ghostly bare-leggedknights on fat prancing horses all in inextricable conflict, a greatbattleaxe stood out against the dusky foliage of an autumn tree; and astag with his fore feet in the air, ramped in the foreground, lookingover his shoulder. It was a ludicrously bad piece of work, picked up nodoubt by some former Lieutenant who knew more of military than artisticmatters, and had hung there--how long? Chris wondered. 

He found himself criticising it detail by detail, comparing it with hisown designs in the antiphonary; he had that antiphonary still at home;he had carried it off from Lewes, when Ralph--Ralph!--had turned himout. He had put it up into a parcel on the afternoon of the spoilers'arrival. He would show it to Ralph again now--in a day or two atOverfield; they would laugh over it together; and he would take it withhim abroad, and perhaps finish it there. God's work is not so easilyhindered after all. 

But all the while, the wandering stream of his thought was lighted andpenetrated by the radiant joy of his heart. It was all true, not adream!

He glanced again at the two in the window-seat. 

His father was looking out of the lattice; but Beatrice raised her eyesto his, and smiled at him. 

Sir James stood up. 

"The Lieutenant is coming, " he said. 

A moment later there were steps in the flagged passage; and a murmur ofvoices. The soldier who had brought them to the lodgings was waitingthere with the order of admission, and was no doubt explaining thecircumstances. 

Then the door opened suddenly; and a tall soldierly-looking man, grey-haired and clean-shaven, in an officer's dress, stood there, withthe order in his hand, as the two in the window-seat rose to meet him. 

"Master Torridon, " he said abruptly. 

Sir James stepped forward. 

"Yes, sir. "

"You have come to see Mr. Ralph Torridon whom we have here?"

"Yes, sir--my son. "

Nicholas stepped forward, and the Lieutenant nodded at him. 

"Yes, sir, " said the officer to him, "I could not admit you before--" hestopped, as if embarrassed, and turned to Beatrice. 

"And this lady too?"

"Yes, Master Lieutenant, " said the old man. 

"But--but--I do not understand--"

He looked at the radiant faces before him, and then dropped his eyes. 

"I suppose--you have not heard then?"

Chris felt his heart leap, and then begin to throb furiously andinsistently. What had happened? Why did the man look like that? Why didhe not speak?

The Lieutenant came a step forward and put his hand on the table. He waslooking strangely from face to face. 

Outside the court was very still. The footstep that had passed on theflagstones a minute before had ceased; and there was no sound but thechirp of a bird under the eaves. 

"You have not heard then?" said the Lieutenant again. 

"Oh! for God's sake--" cried the old man suddenly. 

"I have just come from your son, " said the other steadily. "You are onlyjust in time. He is at the point of death. "

CHAPTER XIII

THE RELEASE

It was morning, and they still sat in Ralph's cell. 

 * * * * *

The attendant had brought in stools and a tall chair with a broken back, and these were grouped round the low wooden bed; the old man in thechair on one side, from where he could look down on his son's face, withBeatrice beside him, Chris and Nicholas on the other side. Mr. Morriswas everywhere, sitting on a form by the door, in and out with food andmedicine, at his old master's bedside, lifting his pillow, turning himin bed, holding his convulsive hands. 

He had been ill six days, the Lieutenant told them. The doctor who hadbeen called in from outside named the disease _phrenitis_. It wascertain that he would not recover; and a message to that effect had beensent across on the morning before, with the usual reports to Greenwich. 

They had supped as they sat--silently--on what the gaoler brought; andhad slept by turns in the tall chair, wakening at a sound from the bed;at the movement of the light across the floor as Morris slipped to andfro noiselessly; at the chirp of the birds and the noises of thestirring City as the daylight broadened on the wall, and the narrowwindow grew bright and luminous. 

And now the morning was high, and they were waiting for the end. 

 * * * * *

A little table stood by the door, white-covered, with two candles, guttering now in their sockets, and a tall crucifix, ivory and black, lifting its arms in the midst. Before it stood two veiled vessels. 

"He will speak before he passes, " the doctor had told them the eveningbefore; "I do not know whether he will be able to receive Viaticum. "

 * * * * *

Chris raised himself a little in his chair--he was stiff with leaningelbows on knees; and he stretched out his feet softly; looking downstill at the bed. 

His brother lay with his back to him; the priest could see the blackhair, longer than Court fashion allowed now, the brown sinewy neckbeneath; and one arm outlined over his hip beneath the piled clothes. The fingers were moving a little, contracting and loosening, contractingand loosening; and he could hear the long slow breaths. 

Beyond sat Beatrice, upright and quiet, one hand in her lap, and theother holding the father's. The old man was bowed with his head on hisother hand, as he had been for the last hour, his back bent forward withthe burden, and his feet crossed before him. 

From outside the noises grew louder as the morning advanced. There hadbeen the sound of continual coming and going since it was light. Wheelshad groaned and rattled up out of the distance and ceased abruptly; andthe noise of hoofs had been like an endless patter over thestone-paving. And now, as the hours passed a murmur had been increasing, a strange sound like the wind in dry trees, as the huge crowd gathered. 

Beatrice raised her eyes suddenly. 

The fortress itself which had been quiet till now seemed to awakenabruptly. 

The sound seemed to come to them up the stairs, but they had learntduring those hours that all sounds from within came that way. There wasa trumpet-note or two, short and brazen; a tramp of feet for a moment, the throb of drums; then silence again; then the noise of movingfootsteps that came and went in an instant. And as the sound came, Ralphstirred. 

He swayed slowly over on to his back; his breath came in little groansthat died to silence again as he subsided, and his arm drew out and layon the bedclothes. Chris could see his face now in sharp profile againstBeatrice's dark skirt, white and sharp; the skin was tightly stretchedover the nose and cheekbones, his long thin lips were slightly open, there was a painful frown on his forehead, and his eyes squintedterribly at the ceiling. 

A contraction seized the priest's throat as he watched; the face was atonce so august and so pitiable. 

The lips began to move again, as they had moved during the night; itseemed as if the dying man were talking and listening. The eyelidstwitched a little; and once he made a movement as if to rise up. Chriswas down on his knees in a moment, holding him tenderly down; he feltthe thin hands come up and fumble with his own, and noticed lines deepenbetween the flickering eyelids. Then the hands lay quiet. 

Chris lifted his eyes and saw his father's face and Beatrice's watching. Something of the augustness of the dying man seemed to rest on the greybearded lips and solemn eyes that looked down. Beatrice's face wassteady and tender, and as the priest's eyes met hers, she nodded. 

"Yes, speak to him, " she said. 

Chris threw a hand across the bed and rested it on the wooden frame, andthen lowered himself softly till his mouth was at the other's ear. 

"Ralph, " he said, "Ralph, do you hear me?"

Then he raised his face a little and watched. 

The eyelids were rising slowly; but they dropped again; and there came alittle faint babbling from the writhing lips; but no words wereintelligible. Then they were silent. 

"He hears, " said Beatrice softly. 

The priest bent low again; and as he did so, from outside came a strangesound, as of a long monstrous groan from a thousand throats. Again thedying man stirred; his hand sought his brother's arm and gripped it witha kind of feeble strength; then dropped again on to the coverlet. 

Chris hesitated a moment, and again glanced up; and as he did so, therewas a sound on the stairs. He threw himself back on his heels and lookedround, as the doctor came in with Morris behind him. 

He was a stout ruddy man, and moved heavily across the floor; but Ralphseemed not to hear it. 

The doctor came to the end of the bed, and stood staring down at thedying man's face, frowning and pursing his lips; Chris watched himintently for some sign. Then he came round by Beatrice, leaned over thebed, and took Ralph's wrist softly into his fingers. He suddenly seemedto remember himself, and turned his face abruptly over his shoulder toSir James. 

"There is a man come from the palace, " he whispered harshly. "I supposeit is the pardon. " And Chris saw him arch his eyebrows and purse hislips again. Then he bent over Ralph once more. 

Then again the doctor jerked his head towards the window behind andspoke across to Chris. 

"They have him out there, " he said; "Master Cromwell, I mean. "

Then he rose abruptly. 

"He cannot receive Viaticum; and he will not be able to make hisconfession. I should shrive him at once, sir, and anoint him. "

"At once?" whispered Chris. 

"The sooner the better, " said the doctor; "there is no telling. "

Chris rose swiftly from his knees, and made a sharp sign to Morris. Thenhe sank down once more, looking round, and lifted the purple stole fromthe floor where he had laid it the evening before; and even as he did sohis soul revolted. 

He looked up at Beatrice. Would not she understand the unchivalry of theact? But the will in her eyes compelled him. --Yes, yes! Who could set alimit to mercy?

He slipped the strip over his shoulders, and again bent down over hisbrother, with one arm across the motionless body. Beatrice and Sir Jameswere on their knees by now. Nicholas was busy with Morris at the furtherend of the room. The doctor was gone. 

There was a profound silence now outside as the priest bent lower andlower till his lips almost touched the ear of the dying man; and everyword of the broken abrupt sentences was audible to all in the room. 

"Ralph--Ralph--dear brother. You are at the point of death. I mustshrive you. You have sinned very deeply against God and man. I shallanoint you afterwards. Make an act of sorrow in your heart for all yoursins; it will stand for confession. Think of Jesu's love, and of Hisdeath on the bitter cross--the wounds that He bore for us in love. Giveme a sign if you can that you repent. "

Chris spoke rapidly, and leaned back a moment. Now he was terrified ofwaiting--he did not know how long it would be; but for an intent instanthe stared down on the shadowed face. 

Again the eyelids flickered; the lips formed words, and ceased again. 

The priest glanced up, scarcely knowing why; and then again loweredhimself that if it were possible Ralph might hear. 

Then he spoke, with a tense internal effort as if to drive the gracehome. .. . 

"_Ego te absolvo ab omnibus censuris et peccatis, in nomine Patris_--"He raised himself a little and lifted his hand, moving it sidewaysacross and down as he ended--"_et Filii et Spiritus Sancti_. "

 * * * * *

The priest rose up once more, his duty driving his emotion down; he didnot dare to look across at the two figures beyond the bed, or even toquestion himself again as to what he was doing. 

The two men at the further end of the room were waiting now; they hadlifted the candles and crucifix off the table, and set them on the benchby the side. 

Chris went swiftly across the room, dropped on one knee, rose again, lifted the veiled vessel that stood in the centre, with the little linencloth beneath, and set it all down on the bench. He knelt again, went astep aside back to the table, lifted the other vessel, and signed withhis head. 

The two men grasped the ends of the table, and carried it across thefloor to the end of the bed. Chris followed and set down the sacred oilsupon it. 

"The cross and one candle, " he whispered sharply. 

A minute later he was standing by the bed once more. 

"_Oremus_--" he began, reading rapidly off the book that Beatrice heldsteadily beneath his eyes. 

"_Almighty Everlasting God, who through blessed James Thy Apostle, hastspoken, saying, Is any sick among you, let him call the priests of theChurch_--" (The lips of the dying man were moving again at the sound ofthe words; was it in protest or in faith?)--" . .. _that is what is donewithout through our ministry, may be wrought within spiritually by Thydivine power, and invisibly by Thy healing; through our Lord JesusChrist. Amen. _"

The lips were moving faster than ever on the pillow; the head wasbeginning to turn from side to side, and the mouth lay open. 

"_Usquequo, Domine_" . .. Began Beatrice. 

Chris dipped his thumb in the vessel, and sank swiftly on to his knees. 

"_Per istam sanctam Unctionem_"--"_through this holy unction_. .. . "

(The old man leaned suddenly forward on to his knees, and steadied thatrolling head in his two hands; and Chris signed firmly on the eyelids, pressing them down and feeling the fluttering beneath his thumb as hedid so. )

" . .. _And His most loving mercy, may the Lord forgive thee whatsoeverthou hast sinned through sight. _"

Ah! that was done--dear God! those eyes that had drooped and sneered, that had looked so greedily on treasure--their lids shone now with theloving-kindness of God. 

Chris snatched a morsel of wool that Morris put forward from behind, wiped the eyelids, and dropped the fragment into the earthen basin athis side. 

"_Per istam sanctam Unctionem_. .. . "

And the ears were anointed--the ears that had listened to Layton'sfilth, to Cromwell's plotting; and to the cries of the oppressed. 

The nostrils; the lips that had lied and stormed and accused againstGod's people, compressed now in his father's fingers--they seemed tosneer even now, and to writhe under the soft oil; the hands that hadbeen laid on God's portion, that had torn the vessels from the altar andthe cloth of gold from the treasury--those too were signed now, and laytwitching on the coverlet. 

The bed clothes at the foot of the wooden framework were lifted and laidback as Chris passed round to the end, and the long feet, icy cold, werelying exposed side by side. 

_Per Istam sanctam Unctionem, et suam piissimam misericordiam, indulgeattibi Domimus quidquid peccasti per incessum pedum. Amen. _

Then they too were sealed with pardon, the feet that had been so swiftand unwearied in the war with God, that had trodden the sanctuary in Hisdespite, and trampled down the hearts of His saints--they too weresigned now with the mark of Redemption and lay again under the foldedcoverlet at the end of their last journey. 

A convulsion tore at the priest's heart. 

 * * * * *

Then suddenly in the profound silence outside there broke out anindescribable clamour, drowning in an instant the murmur of prayerswithin. It seemed as if the whole world of men were there, and roaring. The sound poured up through the window, across the moat; the boards ofthe flooring vibrated with the sound. There was the throb of drumspulsating through the long-drawn yell, the screams of women, the barkingof dogs; and a moment later, like some devilish benediction, the bellsof Barking Church pealed out, mellow and jangling, in an exultation ofblood. 

Ralph struggled in his bed; his hands rose clutching at his throat, tearing open his shirt before Beatrice's fingers could reach them. Thebreath came swift and hoarse through his open teeth, and his eyelidsflickered furiously. Then they opened, and his face grew quiet, as helooked out across the room. 

"My--my Lord!" he said. 

THE END.