rther from human love, but nearer the Divine, he thought.

He sat with his father a few minutes after compline; and Sir James spoke
more frankly of the news that they had heard.

"If she is really a friend of Mr. More's," he said, "she may be his
salvation. I am sorely disappointed in him. I did not know Master
Cromwell when I sent him to him, as I do now. Is it my fault, Chris?"

* * * * *

Chris told his father presently of what the Prior had said as to Ralph's
assistance in the matter of the visit that the two monks had paid to the
Tower; and asked an interpretation.

Sir James sat quiet a minute or two, stroking his pointed grey beard
softly, and looking into the hearth.

"God forgive me if I am wrong, my son," he said at last, "but I wonder
whether they let the my Lord Prior go to the Tower in order to shake the
confidence of both. Do you think so, Chris?"

Chris too was silent a moment; he knew he must not speak evil of
dignities.

"It may be so. I know that my Lord Prior--"

"Well, my son?"

"My Lord Prior has been very anxious--"

Sir James patted his son on the knee, and reassured him.

"Prior Crowham is a very holy man, I think; but--but somewhat delicate.
However their designs have come to nothing. The bishop is in glory; and
the other more courageous than he was."

Chris also had a few words with Mr. Carleton before he went to bed,
sitting where he had sat in the moonlight two years before.

"If they have done so much," said the priest, "they will do more. When a
man has slipped over a precipice he cannot save his fall. Master More
will be the next to go; I make no doubt of that. You are to be a priest
soon, Chris?"

"They have applied for leave," said the monk shortly. "In two years I
shall be a priest, no doubt, if God wills."

"You are happy?" asked the other.

Chris made a little gesture.

"I do not know what that means," he said, "but I know I have done right.
I feel nothing. God's ways and His world are too strange."

The priest looked at him oddly, without speaking.

"Well, father?" asked Chris, smiling.

"You are right," said the chaplain brusquely. "You have done well. You
have crossed the border."

Chris felt the blood surge in his temples.

"The border?" he asked.

"The border of dreams. They surround the Religious Life; and you have
passed through them."

Chris still looked at him with parted lips. This praise was sweet, after
the bi