'Write now,' he said. '"Henry--by the grace of God--Defender of the Faith--King, Lord Paramount."' He stirred in his chair. 'Set down all my styles and titles: "Duke Palatine--Earl--Baron--Knight"--leave out nothing, for I will show how mighty I am.' He hummed, considered, set his head on one side and then began to speak swiftly-- 'Set it down thus: "We, Henry, and the rest, being a very mighty King, such as few have been, are become a very humble man. A man broken by years, having suffered much. A man humbled to the dust, crawling to kiss the wounds of his Redeemer. A Lord of many miles both of sea and land." Why, say-- '"Guide and Leader of many legions, yet comes he to thee for guidance." Say, too, "He who was proud cometh to thee to regain his pride. He who was proud in things temporal cometh to thee that he may once more have the pride of a champion in Christendom----"' He had been speaking as if with a malicious glee, for his words seemed to strike, each one, into the face of the pallid figure, darkly standing before him. And he was aware that each word increased the stiff and watchful constraint of the figure that knelt beside the table to write. But suddenly his glee left him; he scowled at the Archbishop as if Cranmer had caused him to sin. He pulled at the collar around his throat. 'No,' he cried out, 'write down in simple words that I am a very sinful man. Set it down that I grow old! That I am filled with fears for my poor soul! That I have sinned much! That I recall all that I have done! An old man, I come to my Saviour's Regent upon earth. A man aware of error, I will make restitution tenfold! Say I am broken and aged and afraid! I kneel down on the ground----' He cast his inert mass suddenly a little forward as if indeed he were about to come on to his knees in the rushes. 'Say----' he muttered--'say----' But his face and his eyes became suffused with blood. 'It is a very difficult thing,' he uttered huskily, 'to meddle in these sacred matters.' He fell heavily back into his chair-straps once more. 'I do not know what I will have you to say,' he said. He looked broodingly at the floor. 'I do not know,' he muttered. He rolled his eyes, first to the face of the Archbishop, then to Lascelles-- 'Body of God--what carved turnips!' he said, for in the one face there was only panic, and in the other nothing at all. He rolled on to his feet, catching at the table to steady himself. 'Write what you will,' he called, 'to these intents and purposes. Or stay to write--I will send you a letter much more good from the upper rooms.' Cranmer suddenly stretched out, with a timid pitifulness, his white hands. But, rolling his huge shoulders, like a hastening bear, the King went over the rushes. He pulled the heavy door to with such a vast force that the latch came again out of the hasp, and the door, falling slowly back and quivering as if with passion, showed them his huge legs mounting the little staircase.