“Do not dare to rise, sir, till I give you leave,” he roared. “You had best be a penitent. Now tell me, sir, what you have to say. It shall not be said that we condemned a man unheard. Eh! Mr. Torridon?” Ralph nodded sharply, and glanced at Chris; but his brother was staring at the Prior. “Now then, sir,” cried the doctor again. “I entreat you, Master Layton--” The Prior’s voice was convulsed with terror as he cried this with outstretched hands. “Yes, sir, I will hear you.” “I entreat you, sir, not to tell his Grace. Indeed I am innocent,”--his voice rose thin and high in his panic--“indeed, I did not know it was treason that was preached.” “Did not know?” sneered the doctor, leaning forward over the table. “Why, you know your Faith, man--” “Master Layton, Master Layton; there be so many changes in these days--” “Changes!” shouted the priest; “there be no changes, except of such knaves as you, Master-Prior; it is the old Faith now as ever. Do you dare to call his Grace a heretic? Must that too go down in the charges?” “No, no, Master Layton,” screamed the Prior, with his hands strained forward and twitching fingers. “I did not mean that--Christ is my witness!” “Is it not the same Faith, sir?” “Yes, Master Layton--yes--indeed, it is. But I did not know--how could I know?” “Then why are you Prior,” cried the doctor with a dramatic gesture, “if it is not to keep your subjects true and obedient? Do you mean to tell me--?” “I entreat you, sir, for the love of Mary, not to tell his Grace--” “Bah!” shouted Dr. Layton, “you may keep your breath till you tell his Grace that himself. There is enough of this.” Again he rose, and swept his eyes round the white-faced monks. “I am weary of this work. The fellow has not a word to say--” “Master Layton, Master Layton,” cried the kneeling man once more, lifting his hands on one of which gleamed the prelatical ring. “Silence, sir,” roared the doctor. “It is I who am speaking now. We have had enough of this work. It seems that there be no true men left, except in the world; these houses are rotten with crime. Is it not so, Master Torridon?--rotten with crime! But of all the knaves that I did ever meet, and they are many and strong ones, I do believe Master Prior, that you are the worst. Here is my sentence, and see that it be carried out. You, Master Prior, and you Master Sub-Prior, are to appear before Master Cromwell in his court on All-Hallows’ Eve, and tell your tales to him. You shall see if he be so soft as I; it may be that he will send you before the King’s Grace--that I know not--but at least he will know how to get the truth out of you, if I cannot--” Once more the Prior broke in, in an agony of terror; but the doctor silenced him in a moment. “Have I not given my sentence, sir? How dare you speak?” A murmur again ran round the room, and he lifted his hand furiously.