The door of the room they were in was not quite shut, and there was still a faint murmur of voices from across the hall; but almost immediately there was the sound of a lifted latch, and then Ralph’s voice clear and distinct. “I will see to it, my lord.” Beatrice stood up, feeling a little uneasy. She fancied that perhaps she ought not to be here; she remembered now the servant’s slight air of unwillingness to let her in. There was a footfall in the hall, and the sound of talking; and as Mr. Morris’s hasty step came up the passage, the door was pushed abruptly open, and Ralph was looking into the room, with one or two others beyond him. “I did not know,” he began, and flushed a little, smiling and making as if to close the door. But Cromwell’s face, with its long upper lip and close-set grey eyes, appeared over his shoulder, and Ralph turned round, almost deprecatingly. “I beg your pardon, sir; this is Mistress Atherton, and her woman.” Cromwell came forward into the room, with a kind of keen smile, in his rich dress and chain. “Mistress Beatrice Atherton?” he said with a questioning deference; and Ralph introduced them to one another. Beatrice was conscious of a good deal of awkwardness. It was uncomfortable to be caught here, as if she had come to spy out something. She felt herself flushing as she explained that she had had no idea who was there. Cromwell looked at her very pleasantly. “There is nothing to ask pardon for, Mistress,” he said. “I knew you were a friend of Mr. Torridon. He has told me everything.” Ralph seemed strangely ill-at-ease, Beatrice thought, as Cromwell congratulated them both with a very kindly air, and then turned towards the hall again. “My lord,” he called, “my lord--” Then Beatrice saw a tall ecclesiastic, clean-shaven, with a strangely insignificant but kindly face, with square drooping lip and narrow hazel eyes, come forward in his prelate’s dress; and at the sight of him her eyes grew hard and her lips tight. “My lord,” said Cromwell, “this is Mistress Beatrice Torridon.” The prelate put out his hand, smiling faintly, with the ring uppermost to be kissed. Beatrice stood perfectly still. She could see Ralph at an angle looking at her imploringly. “You know my Lord of Canterbury,” said Cromwell, in an explanatory voice. “I know my Lord of Canterbury,” said Beatrice. There was a dead silence for a moment, and then a faint whimper from the maid. Cranmer dropped his hand, but still smiled, turning to Ralph. “We must be gone, Mr. Torridon. Master Cromwell has very kindly--” Cromwell, who had stood amazed for a moment, turned round at his name. “Yes,” he said to Ralph, “my lord is to come with me. And you will be at my house to-morrow.” He said good-day to the girl, looking at her with an amused interest that made her flush; and as Dr. Cranmer passed out of the street-door to the carriage with Ralph bare-headed beside him, he spoke very softly.