Well, it was on that very day that, coming in from the orchard with a basket of early apples, I saw Father Austin walking up the paved path, which led from his house to the church, with such a perturbed face as I never saw him wear before. He passed through the church, and presently the whole family were called together in a great hall which joined the church, and was called—I don't know why—the chapter-room. It was the room in which our elections were held, and was seldom or never used on other occasions. There we were, old and young, all standing according to our degree, and some of us looking scared enough, for rumor flies fast, and we all had an idea that something dreadful was going to happen. The prioress sat in her great chair, with her attendant sisters behind her, and looked about with a dazed, helpless expression. She had grown very stout and unwieldy, and some of us thought she was not quite right in her mind. The elders of the house were at her right hand, and near by stood Father Austin and another priest, with a thin, clever, crafty face, whom we knew to be Bishop Gardiner's chaplain, and a person of great consideration. I always had a dislike to this man; chiefly because the shape of his head—very flat behind, and with prominent angles at the jaw-bones—reminded me of a viper. I could not help thinking at that moment that he watched the prioress as a viper might watch a fat frog on which he had a design. When we were all settled, Father Austin raised his hand, and spoke: "My mothers and sisters, your reverend prioress has called you together to hear a most important message which our visitor has sent us by his chaplain, Father Simon, who will now deliver the same." With that he was silent, and Father Simon spoke. I cannot remember his words, but the gist of the matter was this: The king had wholly broken off with the pope, and, by consent of the parliament, had proclaimed himself supreme head of the English Church. All bishops, heads of religious houses, and certain other officers were required to take the oath of supremacy, as it was called, under severe penalties—even that of death—as was like to be the case with the Bishop of Rochester, who was now in prison and threatened with the loss of his head. (He really did come to the scaffold soon after.) It was probable that commissioners would shortly be sent to our house to administer this oath, and Bishop Gardiner—who, though not our bishop, was our regular visitor by some ecclesiastical arrangement which I never understood—had himself taken this oath, and advised us to submit to the same, as a necessity of the times.