The Archbishop faced round upon his knees; he had taken off the jewel from before his breast, and, with his chain of Chaplain of the George, it dangled across the corner of the fald-stool. His coat was unbuttoned at the neck, his robe open, and it was manifest that his sleeves of lawn were but sleeves, for in the opening was visible, harsh and grey, the shirt of hair that night and day he wore. 'I am weary of this talk of the world,' he said. 'Pray you begone and leave me to my prayers.' 'Please it your Grace to let me stay and hearten you,' Lascelles said, and he was aware that the Archbishop was afraid to be alone with the white Christ. 'All your other gentry are in bed. I shall watch your sleep, to wake you if you cry out.' And in his fear of Cromwell's ghost that came to him in his dreams, the Archbishop sighed-- 'Why stay, but speak not. Y'are over bold.' He turned again to the wall; his beads clicked; he sighed and remained still for a long time, a black shadow, huddled together in a black gown, sighing before the white and lamenting image that hung above him. 'God help me,' he said at last. 'Tell me why you say this is _dies felix_?' Lascelles, who smiled for ever and without mirth, said-- 'For two things: firstly, because this letter and its sending are put off. And secondly, because the Queen is--patently and to all people--proved lewd.' The Archbishop swung his head round upon his shoulders. 'You dare not say it!' he said. 'Why, the late Queen Katharine from Aragon was accounted a model of piety, yet all men know she was over fond with her confessor,' Lascelles smiled. 'It is an approved lie and slander,' the Archbishop said. 'It served mightily well in pulling down that Katharine,' his confidant answered. 'One day'--the Archbishop shivered within his robes--'the account and retribution for these lies shall be to be paid. For well we know, you, I, and all of us, that these be falsities and cozenings.' 'Marry,' Lascelles said, 'of this Queen it is now sufficiently proved true.' The Archbishop made as if he washed his hands. 'Why,' Lascelles said, 'what man shall believe it was by chance and accident that she met her cousin on these moors? She is not a compass that pointeth, of miraculous power, true North.' 'No good man shall believe what you do say,' the Archbishop cried out. 'But a multitude of indifferent will,' Lascelles answered. 'God help me,' the Archbishop said, 'what a devil you are that thus hold out and hold out for ever hopes.' 'Why,' Lascelles said, 'I think you were well helped that day that I came into your service. It was the Great Privy Seal that bade me serve you and commended me.' The Archbishop shivered at that name. 'What an end had Thomas Cromwell!' he said. 'Why, such an end shall not be yours whilst this King lives, so well he loves you,' Lascelles answered. The Archbishop stood upon his feet; he raised his hands above his head.