“God’s Body!” jarred in the harsh voice suddenly, “it has not. Nor shall it.” Cranmer waited a moment with downcast eyes; but the King was silent again. “Master Torridon has persuaded me to come with him to your Grace to speak for him. He is not accustomed--” “And who are these fellows?” Chris felt those keen eyes running over him. “This is Master Nicholas Maxwell,” explained the Archbishop, indicating him. “Master Torridon’s son-in-law; and this, Mr. Herries--” “And the priest?” asked the King. “The priest is Sir Christopher Torridon, living with his father at Overfield.” “Ha! has he always lived there then?” “No, your Grace,” said Cranmer smoothly, “he was a monk at Lewes until the dissolution of the house.” “I have heard somewhat of his name,” mused Henry. “What is it, sir, that I have heard of you?” “It was perhaps Mr. Ralph Torridon’s name that your Grace--” began Cranmer. “Nay, nay, it was not. What was it, sir?” Chris’s heart was beating in his ears like a drum now. It had come, then, that peril that had always been brooding on the horizon, and which he had begun to despise. He had thought that there could be no danger in his going to the King; it was so long since Lewes had fallen, and his own part had been so small. But his Grace’s memory was good, it seemed! Danger was close to him, incarnate in that overwhelming presence. He said nothing, but stood awaiting detection. “It is strange,” said Henry. “I have forgot. Well, my Lord?” “I have told your Grace all,” explained the Archbishop. “Mr. Ralph Torridon has not yet been brought to trial, and his father hopes that your Grace will take into consideration these two things: that it was a mistake of over-faithfulness that his son committed; and that it has not hindered the course of justice.” “Well, well,” said Henry, “and that sounds to be in reason. We have none too much of either faithfulness or justice in these days. And there is no other charge against the fellow?” “There is no other charge, your Grace.” There fell a complete silence for a moment or two. Chris glanced up at his father, his own heart uplifted by hope, and saw the old man’s face trembling with it too. The wrinkled eyes were full of tears, and his lips quivered; and Chris could feel the short cloak that hung against him shaking at his hand. Nicholas’s crimson face showed a mingling of such emotion and solemnity that Chris was seized with an internal hysterical spasm; but it suddenly died within him as he brought his eyes round, and saw that the King was staring at him moodily.... The Archbishop’s voice broke in again. “Are we to understand, your Grace, that your Grace’s clemency is extended to Mr. Ralph Torridon?” “Eh! then,” said the King peevishly, “hold your tongue, my Lord. I am trying to remember. Where is Michael?” “Shall I call him, your Grace?” “Nay, then; let the lawyer ring the bell!”