“Now, sir,” went on the other, “your only hope is to submit yourself to the King’s clemency. You have confessed yourself to treason in your preaching, and even if you did not, it would not signify, for I have the accusation from the young man at Farley in my bag. You tell me you did not know it was treason; but are you ready, sir, to tell the King’s Grace that?” The monk’s eyes glanced from one to the other anxiously. Ralph could see that he was desperately afraid. “Tell me that, sir,” cried the doctor again, rapping the table with his open hand. “I--I--what shall I do, sir?” stammered the monk. “You must throw yourself on the King’s mercy, reverend father. And as a beginning you must throw yourself on mine and Mr. Torridon’s here. Now, listen to this.” Dr. Layton lifted one of the papers that lay before him and read it aloud, looking severely at the monk over the top of it between the sentences. It was in the form of a confession, and declared that on such a date in the Priory Church of St Pancras at Lewes the undersigned had preached treason, although ignorant that it was so, in the presence of the Prior and community; and that the Prior, although he knew what was to be said, and had heard the sermon in question, had neither forbidden it beforehand nor denounced it afterwards, and that the undersigned entreated the King’s clemency for the fault and submitted himself entirely to his Grace’s judgment. “I--I dare not accuse my superior,” stammered the monk. Dr. Layton glared at him, laying the paper down. “The question is,” he cried, “which would you sooner offend--your Prior, who will be prior no longer presently, or the King’s Grace, who will remain the King’s Grace for many years yet, by the favour of God, and who has moreover supreme rights of life and death. That is your choice, reverend father.”--He lifted the paper by the corners.--“You have only to say the word, sir, and I tear up this paper, and write my own report of the matter.” The monk again glanced helplessly at the two men. Ralph had a touch of contentment at the thought that this was Christopher’s superior, ranged like a naughty boy at the table, and looked at him coldly. Dr. Layton made a swift gesture as if to tear the paper, and the Sub-Prior threw out his hands. “I will sign it, sir,” he said, “I will sign it.” When the monk had left the room, leaving his signed confession behind him, Dr. Layton turned beaming to Ralph. “Thank God!” he said piously. “I do not know what we should have done if he had refused; but now we hold him and his prior too. How have you fared, Mr. Torridon?” Ralph told him a little of his experiences since his last report, of a nunnery where all but three had been either dismissed or released; of a monastery where he had actually caught a drunken cellarer unconscious by a barrel, and of another where he had reason to fear even worse crimes.