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 Great Keynes immediately after the execution that had taken place that morning. He was a man of tolerable education, and told his story well. Sir James sat as he listened, with his hand shading his eyes; Nicholas was fidgetting at the hearth, interrupting the servant now and again with questions and reminders; and Chris leaned in the dark corner by the window. There floated vividly before his mind as he listened the setting of the scene that he had looked upon a few days ago, though there were new actors in it now. “It was this morning, sir, on Tower Hill. There was a great company there long before the time. He came out bravely enough, walking with the 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 were crazy 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 he got 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. He told them that he was to die for the faith of the Catholic Church, as my Lord of Rochester did.” “Have you heard of my lord’s head being taken to Nan Boleyn?” put in Nicholas fiercely. Sir James looked up. “Presently, Nick,” he said. The man went on. “Master More kneeled down presently at his prayers; and all the folk kept very quiet. There was not one that cried against him. Then he stood up again, put off his gown, so that his neck was bare; and passed his hand over it smiling. Then he told the headsman that it was but a short one, and bade him be brave and strike straight, lest his good name should suffer. Then he laid himself down to the block, and put his neck on it; but he moved again before he gave the sign, and put his beard out in 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 not therefore suffer as he had to do. And then he thrust out his hand for a sign--and ’twas done at a stroke.” “God damn them!” hissed Nicholas again as a kind of Amen, turning swiftly to the fire-place so that his face could not be seen. There was complete silence for a few seconds. The groom had his eyes cast down, and stood there--then again he spoke. “As to my Lord of Rochester’s head, that was taken off to the--the Queen, 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-men drinking round about; and ’twas tumbled into a hole in Barking Churchyard that night.” “At whose orders?”