"And all the world knows that I did it," he said with a vehement kind of bitterness. "Yes; I did it, for there was no way out of it that I could see. It was they or the Crown must go. But I never intended it; and I swore I would not." "Yes, Sir," I said quietly, "you said so to me." "Did I? Well, I said so to many. I even swore that my right hand might rot off if I did it." His heavy face was all working. I had seldom seen him so much moved. "Yes," he said, "that was what I swore. Well, Mr. Mallock, did you ever hear what followed?" "No, Sir," I said again. "It was within that week, that when I awakened one morning I felt my right hand to be all stiff. I thought nothing of it at the first; I believed I must have strained it at tennis. Well; that day I said nothing to anyone; but I rubbed some ointment on my hand that night." He stopped again, lifted his right hand a little and looked at it, as if meditating on it. It was a square strong man's hand, but very well shaped and very brown; it had a couple of great rings on the fingers. "Well," he said, "the next morning a sore had broken out on it; and I sent for a physician. He told me it was nothing but a little humour in the blood, and he bade me take care of my diet. I said nothing to anyone else, and bade him not speak of it; and that night I put on some more ointment; and the next morning another sore was broken out, between the finger and the thumb, so that I could not hold a pen without pain; and it was then, for the first time, that I remembered what I had sworn." He had his features under command again, but I could see, as he looked at me, that his eyes were still full of emotion. "Well, Mr. Mallock; I was in a great way at that; but yet I dared tell nobody. I wore my glove all day, so that no one should see my hand; and that evening when I went in to see Her Majesty, what should I see hanging up on the wall of the chamber but the pictures of the five men whose warrants I had signed!" Once more he stopped. Now I remembered that I had heard a little gossip as to the King's hand about that time; but it had been so little that I had thought nothing of it. It was very strange to hear it all now from himself. "Well, sir," he said, "I am not ashamed to say what I did. I kissed their pictures one by one, and I begged them to intercede for me. The next morning, Mr. Mallock, the sores were healed up; and, the morning after, the stiffness was all gone." I said nothing; for what could I say? It is true enough that many might say that it had all fallen out so, by chance, that it was no more than a strain at tennis, or a humour in the blood, as the physician had thought. But I did not think so, nor, I think, would many Catholics. "You say nothing, Mr. Mallock," said the King. "What is there to say, Sir?" asked I. "What indeed?" he cried, again with the greatest emotion. "There is nothing at all to say. The facts are as I have said."