Mr. Herries sprang to the table at the King’s gesture, and struck the little hand-bell that stood there. The door where the page had disappeared five minutes before opened silently, and the servant stood there. “Michael,” said the King, and the page vanished. There was an uncomfortable silence. Cranmer stood back a little with an air of patient deference, and his quick eyes glanced up now and again at the party before him. There was a certain uneasiness in his manner, as Chris could see; but the monk presently dropped his eyes again, as he saw that the King was once more looking at him keenly, with tight pursed lips, and a puzzled look on his forehead. The thoughts began to race through Chris’s brain. He found himself praying with desperate speed that Michael, whoever he was, might not know; and that the King might not remember; and meanwhile through another part of his being ran the thought of the irony of his situation. Here he was, come to plead for his brother’s life, and on the brink of having to plead for his own. The quiet room increased his sense of the irony. It seemed so safe and strong and comfortable, up here in the rich room, with the tall window looking on to the sunlit river, in a palace girt about with guards; and yet the very security of it was his danger. He had penetrated into the stronghold of the great beast that ruled England: he was within striking distance of those red-stained claws and teeth. Then suddenly the creature stirred and snarled. “I know it now, sir. You were one of the knaves that would not sign the surrender of Lewes.” Chris lifted his eyes and dropped them again. “God’s Body,” said the King, “and you come here!” Again there was silence. Chris saw his father half turn towards him with a piteous face, and perceived that the lawyer had drawn a little away. The King turned abruptly to Cranmer. “Did you know this, my Lord?” “Before God, I did not!”--but his voice shook as he answered. Chris was gripping his courage, and at last spoke. “We were told it was a free-will act, your Grace.” Henry said nothing to this. His eyes were rolling up and down the monk’s figure, with tight, thoughtful lips. Cranmer looked desperately at Sir James. “I did not know that, your Grace,” he said again. “I only knew that this priest’s brother had been very active in your Grace’s business.” Henry turned sharply. “Eh?” he said. Sir James’s hands rose and clasped themselves instinctively. Cranmer again looked at him almost fiercely. “Mr. Ralph Torridon was one of the Visitors,” explained the Archbishop nervously. “And this fellow a monk!” cried the King. “They must have met at Lewes, your Grace.” “Ah! my Lord,” cried Sir James suddenly. “I entreated you--” Henry turned on him suddenly. “Tell us the tale, sir. What is all this?” Sir James took a faltering step forward, and then suddenly threw out his hands.