“I told them who I was--yes.” Cromwell slapped the paper down. “Well, that is to use my name, is it not, Mr. Torridon?” “I suppose it is.” “You suppose it is! And tell me, if you please, why you hindered it.” “I hindered it because it was not decent. My mother had been buried that day. My father asked me to do so.” “Not decent! When the mummers have my authority! “If your Lordship does not understand the indecency, I cannot explain it.” Ralph was growing angry now. It was not often that Cromwell treated him like a naughty boy; and he was beginning to resent it. The other stared at him under black brows. “You are insolent, sir.” Ralph bowed. “See here,” said Cromwell, “my men must have no master but me. They must leave houses and brethren and sisters for my sake. You should understand that by now; and that I repay them a hundredfold. You have been long enough in my service to know it. I have said enough. You can sit down, Mr. Torridon.” Ralph went to his seat in a storm of fury. He felt he was supremely in the right--in the right in stopping the play, and still more so for not destroying the complaint when it was in his hands. He had been scolded like a school-child, insulted and shouted down. His hand shook as he took up his pen, and he kept his back resolutely turned to his master. Once he was obliged to ask him a question, and he did so with an icy aloofness. Cromwell answered him curtly, but not unkindly, and he went to his seat again still angry. When dinner-time came near, he rose, bowed slightly to Cromwell and went towards the door. As his fingers touched the handle he heard his name called; and turned round to see the other looking at him oddly. “Mr. Torridon--you will dine with me?” “I regret I cannot, my Lord,” said Ralph; and went out of the room. * * * * * There were no explanations or apologies on either side when they met again; but in a few days their behaviour to one another was as usual. Yet underneath the smooth surface Ralph’s heart rankled and pricked with resentment. * * * * * At the meeting of Parliament in April, the business in Cromwell’s hands grew more and more heavy and distracting. Ralph went with him to Westminster, and heard him deliver his eloquent little speech on the discord that prevailed in England, and the King’s determination to restore peace and concord. “On the Word of God,” cried the statesman, speaking with extraordinary fervour, his eyes kindling as he looked round the silent crowded benches, and his left hand playing with his chain. “On the Word of God His Highness’ princely mind is fixed; on this Word he depends for his sole support; and with all his might his Majesty will labour that error shall be taken away, and true doctrines be taught to his people, modelled by the rule of the Gospel.” Three days later when Ralph came into his master’s room, Cromwell looked up at him with a strange animation in his dark eyes.