.

CHAPTER XV

THE KING'S FRIEND

Overfield Court was mildly stirred at the news that Master Christopher
would stay there a few days on his way back from London to Lewes. It was
not so exciting as when Master Ralph was to come, as the latter made
more demands than a mere monk; for the one the horses must be in the
pink of condition, the game neither too wild nor too tame, his rooms
must be speckless, neither too full nor too empty of furniture; for the
other it did not matter so much, for he was now not only a younger
brother, but a monk, and therefore accustomed to contradiction and
desirous to acquiesce in arrangements.

Lady Torridon indeed took no steps at all when she heard that Chris was
coming, beyond expressing a desire that she might not be called upon to
discuss the ecclesiastical situation at every meal; and when Chris
finally arrived a week after Bishop Fisher's execution, having parted
with the Prior at Cuckfield, she was walking in her private garden
beyond the moat.

Sir James was in a very different state. He had caused two rooms to be
prepared, that his son might take his choice, one next to Mr. Carleton's
and therefore close to the chapel, and the other the old chamber that
Chris had occupied before he went to Lewes; and when the monk at last
rode up on alone on his tired mule with his little bag strapped to the
crupper, an hour before sunset, his father was out at the gatehouse to
meet him, and walked up beside him to the house, with his hand laid on
his son's knee.

They hardly spoke a word as they went; Sir James had looked up at
Chris's white strained face, and had put one question; and the other had
nodded; and the hearts of both were full as they went together to the
house.

The father and son supped together alone that night in the private
parlour, for no one had dared to ask Lady Torridon to postpone her usual
supper hour; and as soon as that was over and Chris had told what he had
seen, with many silences, they went into the oak-room where Lady
Torridon and Mr. Carleton were awaiting them by the hearth with the
Flemish tiles.

The mother was sitting as usual in her tall chair, with her beautiful
hands on her lap, and smiled with a genial contempt as she ran her eyes
up and down her son's figure.

"The habit suits you very well, my son--in every way," she added,
looking at him curiously.

Chris had greeted her an hour before at his arrival, so there was no
ceremony of sal